The Unknown Legendary Assassin
Moomyeong thought to himself: The man is a legendary assassin. But no one knows he's a legendary assassin.
Even in the assassination world, there are legendary figures. Deadeye, the master of long-range kills. Hollowman, the expert in close-quarters takedowns. But they were famous only in name. The one truly unrivaled was this man.
He's here.
This time, Moomyeong's target was Rosalyn Johnson, CEO of the American arms giant Nemesis. She stepped out of the car, flanked by her bodyguards. This was a bustling traditional market teeming with pedestrians. The guards' watchful eyes were sharp.
Now... shall we start the first game?
To Moomyeong, assassination was a game. A thrilling puzzle where you cleared objectives under harsh constraints, one by one. This attempt was like a "taster"—a preview round.
He'd timed a simple "manipulation" to coincide with the Johnsons passing by, setting off the incident.
"Aigoo!"
A middle-aged woman balancing two trays of food slipped, sending them flying forward. This was the opening move in Moomyeong's taster game.
People always asked him how he pulled it off—like telekinesis, manipulating folks without lifting a finger.
What nonsense.
Moomyeong just scoffed at them. It was simple, really. For this one: scout the vendor's delivery routes, place a few orders, slick up a patch of pavement. Done.
Thanks to his "manipulation," the steaming hot soup that had been bubbling moments ago now poured toward the guards and the Johnsons.
"Danger!"
The Johnsons had hired the best bodyguards money could buy. But even the elite couldn't focus on two things at once—they were only human.
Moomyeong had slipped behind Rosalyn, aiming a gun disguised as a bag, loaded with poisoned needles.
The moment the food crashed down and drew every eye, the game would end.
Boring.
Disappointed at the easy win, Moomyeong reached for the button on his bag. That is, until someone stepped up.
This someone squeezed through the guards, caught the falling woman with one hand, snatched the airborne trays from the sky with the other. Then, with ghostly precision, he righted every spilling dish and morsel back to normal.
What the—?
Moomyeong was stunned. That feat demanded insane dynamic vision, reflexes, and cool-headed situational awareness. You couldn't even fake it without all three.
No way—is he not human? A robot? But that guy... Ben Johnson?
Moomyeong dredged up a low-priority detail from his briefing files. A once-hot British action star, now faded to irrelevance. That was the Ben Johnson he remembered.
While Moomyeong processed, Ben Johnson flashed a charming smile, wrapping up the scene. The crowd cheered and applauded his heroics.
Which drew the guards' eyes straight to Moomyeong, standing frozen.
"...Everything okay, sir?"
"Just curious. You filming? Famous or something?"
Playing the innocent onlooker, Moomyeong got a "move along" glare from the guard. He feigned fascination with the Johnsons and backed off.
That was close. Me, losing my cool...?
His grip tightened on the assassin bag. For a split second, he'd swear Ben Johnson's eyes met his. He shook it off—this was just a taster.
Moomyeong passed the Johnsons and slipped into a second-floor cafe overlooking the market. He ordered a hot Americano and sandwich, claiming a window seat.
As time passed and his coffee cooled, he spotted the Johnsons browsing below. They stopped at a snack bar.
A random pick amid the market stroll, no doubt.
Exactly as I planned.
Guiding them there was child's play. Rosalyn's love for Korean snacks, plus hiring influencers for promo. Two birds, one stone.
The real challenge? The guards tested every dish for poison with kits and taste-tests before the couple ate. Already, the Johnsons were munching verified blood sausage, chatting for the cameras.
Moomyeong's real play was the tteokbokki next.
If they check the food, just spike the bowl. Easy.
Not that simple, as he well knew. He'd crafted a custom, odorless, tasteless poison to evade detection. And rigged the snack bar owner to grab the tainted disposable bowl.
Both conditions met for success. He'd prepped the supplier with market foot traffic patterns, bowl usage habits, even "accidental" discards factored in. A work of assassination art.
Like a casino card-counter, Moomyeong tracked his marked bowl. Sure enough, tteokbokki landed in it.
The Johnsons reached for it, oblivious.
Hm, minor hiccup, but solved. Genius.
Drunk on his brilliance, he rose to leave—then Ben Johnson knocked over the tteokbokki. Moomyeong yelped in shock.
"No way!"
"Sir...?"
The barista called out, but he couldn't respond. Through the window, Ben eyed his spilled pants, chuckling. Then scanned around... and locked eyes with Moomyeong.
No... he knows.
Moomyeong realized: Ben had faked a clumsy fish cake grab to spill the tteokbokki on purpose.
But it's just suspicion.
His poison was special. You'd know if you ate it—but testing took time. So Ben had staged it to bait the assassin: him.
Provoking me? Challenging the legendary Moomyeong? The nerve...
"Sir? Problem?"
Ignoring the approaching barista, Moomyeong stormed out. Determination ignited in his deadpan eyes.
Fine. Time for the real kill. Then I'll savor your despairing face, Ben Johnson!
I was the one in despair. All I could do was sit in the car, screaming internally.
Just one coin... can't I get just one extra life?
In a game, you'd get a retry. Reality? Not so forgiving.
"Hm..."
Conel swallowed a sigh. I snuck a peek at her phone, where footage played of "Ben Johnson"—baggy pants and all—strolling the market.
Me, in other words. The clip had hit 1.5 million views in under 30 minutes.
"Our video's at 1.5 million already... massive ripple effect."
"Big... trouble?"
Aaand there went another 100k—1.6 million now. The comments were exploding.
My Ben Johnson act hit every sweet spot: Korean culture buff, fluent speaker, total heartthrob. The reactions snowballed into media bites.
The has-been actor Ben Johnson was now a global superstar, courtesy of Korean press.
Conel's face turned serious for the first time today.
"At this visibility, Rosalyn might call off the op."
"S-sorry..."
"It's fine. They're not the only ones scheming. No real 'assassination attempt' even happened, so don't worry."
Her reassurance eased my unease a bit. As I fidgeted in the car, Blackie's comms crackled in.
"Sorry to inconvenience the Johnsons. You got the full sitrep?"
"Shai?"
Blackie sighed, launching into it. During the private runway swap with the real Johnsons, Shai had guarded them. Shai already hated babysitting, and Ben Johnson had apparently flirted nonstop.
"Nothing for it but to tell her to hang in there..."
"Th-that's... no, just the mission."
Conel said it while avoiding my eyes. Before things got awkward, I cut in with the important bit.
"Blackie, what'd the Johnsons say? They want to scrap the schedule?"
"...What?"
With that, Blackie signed off, griping about Shai again.
...Lucky break? I sighed in relief, hoping the next event went smoothly.
"Next up: experiencing Korean traditional games and a wedding ceremony."
"W-wedding? Like, marriage?"