MISANTHROPIC | pjm. [COMPLETED]

Chapter Twenty-Seven

It's been so long. 

Its been so long since I began to speak in Japanese again. But languages were one of the things I enjoyed learning. Though it was quite difficult to process new ways to write, and expand your mind to more knowledge, I was okay with speaking 3 languages. 

Japanese. Korean. English. 

Maybe a bit of Chinese was okay, since plenty of businessmen are Chinese. 

Japan is a beautiful country. Japanese people are amazing. But this place was the root of everything bad - it made me think about my childhood, that I hoped would've given me memories I would miss, but my childhood was something I hated looking back to. 

A new apartment was nice. At least it would get my mind off of it. I was here to face the misery. I know they wouldn't stop if I didn't say it directly. 

Two men continued to carry my luggage behind me as I shouldered my bag, making my way inside the apartment. At least my money was going somewhere. At least I slept well in the plane for getting first class. 

I knew I had good instincts. But were they impressive when I say that the first time I stepped into my new room, I grew uncomfortable? I payed the two men, and they bowed down, taking the money. 

The room was a bit smaller compared to my apartment in Korea, but I didn't mind. It was very modern designed. The first thing I did was arrange my clothes. And when I was done, I took off my hairtie and stared at myself in the mirror. 

From the reflection, my gaze landed on the refrigerator. Slightly tilting my head, I make my way to the kitchen, the sound of my heels hitting the floor as I walked ringing in my ears. I placed my hand on the handle. 

I stood there for a while, trying to pick up any sound that seemed unwelcome. 

I knew it. 

I slowly pulled the refrigerator open, and I found myself smirking at the sight of a string connected to the inside of the handle, to a small grenade. 

"Smart." I was sure now. I sighed and made my way to one of my luggage, pulling out a book. I walked back to the kitchen and placed it on the counter, opening it and turning to a certain page. I pulled the knife out of the page. 

I twirled it in my hand, before crouching and detaching the string from the grenade. I was used to detonating them. Once I heard a satisfying click, I pulled it out of the refrigerator and placed it inside the open luggage. 

"Refrigerators don't welcome explosives," I started, knowing he was listening. "Yoosung." 

As expected, he didn't reply - and I didn't get a sign that he was here. Scoffing, I started to take out all of the weapons I have managed to bring with me - they were pretty simple, all you had to do was hide them well. 

I never rented an apartment without an extra room. When I was done arranging the blades and securing the guns, I holstered two knives, and pulled the luggage to the room, where I was going to keep the weapons. 

I was glad the bed wasn't here, but like my apartment in Korea, it was by the living room. It made me feel homesick, but I was glad there was a new scenery to look at. And it was nice, that there was also a window beside the bed. 

Maybe I've been too reckless. 

But he did improve. 

The second I stepped inside the room, a smoke bomb exploded. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, and I didn't know why the attack excited me. I missed the excitement. I dropped the luggage, pulling out a knife.