art of the kill || chensung

trois

"So, exactly who are you here as?" Renjun hadn't said a word for twenty minutes, so it took Jisung a few seconds to reply.

"Han Yoonso," replied Jisung. "Is Huang Renjun your real name?"

"As far as you're concerned, yes." Renjun turned right at a traffic light and suddenly took another turn inwards again as a police car whizzed by. He kept an eye on the road behind them, then started driving again. "And I didn't ask for a name, Jisung. Who did I kill?"

"You killed Han a month ago at the same airport that I landed at, yes? He was an eighteen-year-old teenage boy who was on his way to Zhong Tech for an internship. He'd graduated high school as the class valedictorian and had been granted scholarships in various different schools. He'd have been directly under Zhong Chenle's and his secretary's supervision, along with —"

"His secretary is me, and I've made sure to have my plate full for the upcoming months," interrupted Renjun, pulling into the car park of what seemed to be a complex of high rise work buildings. They glinted silver and gold in the sunrise, but not in a beautiful way. It was cold hard calculation, harsh lines of light, paradox with reality.

"Don't interrupt me," grumbled Jisung. "And he had blonde hair."

"That last part wasn't all that important."

"It was, because that's the reason I don't have blue hair anymore."

"You don't have blue hair anymore because it's unfitting to be heading off to an internship looking like a half-finished waft of cotton candy."

Jisung narrowed his eyes, then sat back calmly. "Let's keep it formal, Huang. I'm exactly who they make me out to be, and I don't know who you are, so even a little respect would be appreciated."

"Your Chinese is still a little shaky," replied Renjun, taking off the sunglasses and flashing the boy a pair of grey lenses. "I hope you'll work on it a bit more."

"I said that completely correctly," bit back Jisung, leaning back and waiting for the response.

"Yes, but your accent is choppy as hell," replied Renjun. Jisung frowned when he realised Renjun had spoken in Korean.

"Oh, but Han Yoonso's Korean." Jisung swallowed the insult he was definitely about to spit and placed his hand on the door handle, fully ready to pull at it. "I'm getting out. Please just type up the info I need and send it to me in an email or in a ciphered handwritten message. This place opens in an hour and I need to find the apartment and a nearby café."

"They're both in the —" Renjun started cockily, but had Jisung shut the door and was strolling away from the car in a undetectably forced manner.

He'd find them himself if it was the last thing he did. Good God, that Huang hadn't even shown Jisung how useful he could be (or couldn't be) and Jisung had subconsciously made a point to ignore him. Apparently, he would come in quite handy, but Jisung recognised a fellow conman when he saw one, and he was sure that he himself was crafty enough on his own.

Jisung took no time to breathe in the soot and take in the sights of the new city. He'd never been in China and he never wanted to come back. He read over the address on his phone and found his way to the apartment in ten minutes, grabbing a bagel along the way. He administered impressively the many pictures of Zhong and the ads of the company all over te city. So, Zhong was the face of the company as well? Figures.

Wait, why "figures"?

The apartment was locked. He picked the lock and discovered the keys on the inside. He rolled his eyes so hard it sparked a headache. Cursing, he made his way to his room. Among his things, he also found some new work clothes and Han Yoonso's ID sitting on a desk, with his picture on it. He grinned and took it, proceeding to go through the apartment with the lazy precision of an old policeman searching a building.