A stern-faced police officer stood before me, his roar crashing down like thunder:

  "Z, you've broken the law—do you even realize that!?

  "That girl is a murderer with countless lives on her hands. Not only have you illegally concealed a firearm and ammunition, you've also harbored and sheltered her!

  "You're an accomplice—her partner in crime!"

  I couldn't meet his gaze. I hurriedly covered my ears and turned away, only to find my parents standing right behind me, their expressions and voices dripping with utter disappointment:

  "We worked hard to raise you, paid for your college education—not so you could grow up to be a criminal who destabilizes society.

  "Just go ahead and rot in prison. After you're released, don't ever contact us again.

  "We don't have a son like you…"

  My friends appeared in front of me too, but the moment our eyes met, they backed away, calling out from a distance:

  "A-Cheng, I never thought you'd actually break the law…

  "From now on, don't tell anyone you know me. I don't have a friend like you—I don't want to get dragged down because of you…"

  Everything around me plunged into pitch-black darkness, then flared up again.

  Under blinding lights, a judge loomed high above, looking down at me with solemn, merciless authority as he pronounced:

  "The defendant Z has sheltered and concealed a murderer, illegally possessed firearms and ammunition, shown no remorse, and committed grave offenses. For these multiple crimes, he is sentenced to life imprisonment, to be carried out immediately!"

  "!!!"

  —

  A dizzying sense of imbalance, a violent jolt, sharp pain.

  I snapped awake.

  But the room around me wasn't my familiar bedroom.

  It took two full seconds for my mind to catch up. Everything just now had been a nightmare. I'd rolled off the sofa in my sleep and fallen to the floor. This was my living room; sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, and I could faintly hear the sounds of the city stirring outside.

  It was already daytime.

  Why was I sleeping on the living-room sofa…?

  Right—last night I'd given the bedroom bed to the mysterious beauty I'd brought back from outside… That part wasn't a dream.

  As I pieced together my scattered thoughts, I pushed myself up using the sofa for support. That's when I noticed the metallic object lying on the cushion.

  The handgun.

  Last night, instead of going straight to sleep, I'd spent a long time handling the pistol. I wouldn't go so far as to call it "a real man's romance" out loud, but I had been deeply fascinated by it. I'd toyed with it while imagining pointing it at imaginary enemies and pulling the trigger—aiming in turn at the dining table, the fridge, the TV, having way too much fun with the whole thing.

  I wasn't worried about an accidental discharge. I'd seen plenty of action movies where characters got into trouble because they forgot to disengage the safety. Though I knew next to nothing about firearms, that one detail had stuck with me. I'd brought my laptop into the living room and looked up information online. I discovered the safety on this pistol was already off, so I switched it back on.

  Still, a real gun is a real gun—a terrifying instrument that can take a life in an instant. If the authorities ever found out I was in illegal possession of a firearm and hiding an extremely dangerous fugitive, the nightmare I'd just had would become merciless reality, destroying my future in the blink of an eye.

  No, no… I still couldn't be sure the girl was a murderer. I knew absolutely nothing about her yet.

  How was she doing now? Had she woken up? Could she have slipped away already?

  I picked up the handgun and hid it behind my back, then moved nervously toward the bedroom door.

  The empty can was still balanced exactly where I'd left it on the doorknob. I let out a small breath of relief, removed the can, and then—moving as silently as a character in a zombie game—eased the door open and peeked inside.

  Thankfully, the girl was still there. She lay on her back unchanged, just like the can, her chest rising and falling faintly with steady breaths.

  After a full night, the blood on her had dried into dark, crusted patches.

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  If you ignored the speckles of dried blood on her cheeks and the filthy, torn blue-and-white hospital gown, her sleeping face looked completely innocent—a pure, adorable girl-next-door with no connection whatsoever to words like firearms, murderers, or life sentences.

  After a night's sleep, the feverish excitement in my chest had cooled, and I finally started thinking seriously about the consequences of my impulsive decision.

  I wouldn't regret what I'd done—that wasn't my style. The only thing I couldn't be sure of now was whether this girl would live up to my expectations. What if the secrets she was hiding turned out to be far less extraordinary than I'd hoped?

  If, after she woke up, I asked about her past and she answered honestly, only to hand me a disappointingly ordinary explanation, it would feel like a betrayal of the enormous risk I'd taken.

  At that point, to protect myself… I might have no choice but to dispose of her quietly.

  Dispose of her quietly… I couldn't believe such a cold-blooded thought had crossed my mind.

  Even that might not be enough. If this girl really was a wanted and dangerous criminal, my amateur attempts at covering my tracks would never outsmart a proper investigation. The evidence I'd left behind last night might be more than enough for the authorities to zero in on me.

  Still, part of me almost hoped that would happen. Being let off the hook so easily felt too anticlimactic. It would be far more interesting if the police picked up on some tiny clue and came knocking at my door.

  Caught between anxiety and anticipation, I took another couple of steps closer to study her sleeping face.

  Then it happened.

  Her eyes snapped open. The arm hidden under the blanket shot out like lightning and seized my collar.

  At the same instant, her body surged up from the bed like a hunting predator, combining her wrist strength and body weight to destroy what little balance I had.

  I reflexively struggled, but it was useless. She might have used some judo technique—or something similar—to borrow my own force against me. I couldn't even describe the sequence clearly; the world flipped violently, and a brutal impact slammed into my torso.

  When my senses returned, I realized she'd pinned me facedown on the floor, my arms and legs locked in painful joint holds.

  This was an unexpected ambush—I never imagined a girl her age could overpower me so completely. Had she been pretending to sleep the whole time? So she really wasn't an ordinary person? A thrill of excitement shot through me.

  After executing that impressive takedown, she didn't speak or make any further move. She simply pressed her full weight against my back, breathing heavily beside my ear.

  "You're awake?" I spoke first, curious to see how she'd respond.

  After a long pause, she finally answered.

  "Who… are you?" Her voice was sweet and childish, yet carried an unmistakable edge of menace. "Where is this place? Why am I here? If you don't want to suffer, answer me right now."

  "My name is Z. This is my home." The question wasn't unexpected, so I answered honestly and concisely. "Last night I found you collapsed in blood at the abandoned construction site nearby, so I brought you back here."

  "…I don't understand." She kept up her intense state of alert while asking in genuine confusion, "What do you mean 'so I brought you back'? What's the connection between those two things?"

  "Didn't you tell me 'don't call the police'?" I replied patiently. "I couldn't just leave you lying out there. What if some creep with bad intentions found you instead?"

  "…Is that so? But…"

  She took a deep breath, then propped herself up on my back and freed one hand, apparently running it over her own body. Was she checking whether I'd taken advantage of her while she was unconscious?

  No—more likely she was searching for the gun she'd been carrying.

  She still seemed very weak. Suddenly her balance faltered, and she nearly collapsed.

  Seizing the perfect opening, I swiftly pulled my left hand free from her lock, then drew the pistol I'd hidden at the small of my back. Without turning around, I pressed the muzzle firmly against her torso.

  "Is this what you're looking for?"

  Her body instantly went rigid.

  I'd turned the tables!

  I was extremely pleased with my own lightning-fast reaction. This moment felt like it belonged in an action movie.

  Clearly the opposite of my energized state, she was in poor condition. Even though she was pinning me down, she hadn't noticed the gun tucked at my waist. From her earlier moves and demeanor, I'd sensed the sharp, seasoned edge of a true fighter—but a real warrior wouldn't have made that mistake just now. So this definitely wasn't her normal state… Was that a fair assumption?

  Maybe her body really was uninjured on the surface, but the damage was internal… Internal injuries?

  "Turnabout is fair play. Now it's your turn to answer my questions." To keep her from sensing how exhilarated I was, I forced my voice to stay calm and steady. "Who are you, and where did you come from?"

  "You think this means you've won?"

  Clearly my unexpected counterattack hadn't intimidated her at all—it had only stoked her fighting spirit.

  This alone wasn't enough to claim victory. The situation had escalated too fast; I hadn't had time to disengage the safety. Even if I had, firing a gun inside an apartment complex wasn't an option. More importantly, I genuinely didn't want to shoot her.

  But she probably didn't know the safety was currently engaged.

  Was she not afraid of live ammunition either?

  "You don't want to make a big scene here either, right?" I refused to lose the verbal standoff. "Get off me first."

  "I refuse." Right now she was like a cat with its fur bristling, instantly countering everything I said. "Right now—"

  Thump, thump, thump.

  At that moment, an unexpected knock came from the front door.

  We both fell silent at once.

  "Is anyone home?" a stranger's voice called from outside.

  Who could that be? A delivery person? Did I have any packages coming?

  "I'll go get rid of them," I said, twisting my neck to speak to the girl.

  "No." She rejected it immediately. "What if—"

  "Or I could start yelling right now. Or even fire a shot."

  Hearing my bluff, she went quiet, apparently weighing her options or trying to gauge whether my threat was serious.

  Soon she released me and backed off, then climbed onto the bed like a wary wild animal, watching me from above.

  I stood up at once, grabbed a random T-shirt from the closet, walked out of the bedroom, and closed the door behind me. The close contact with her had gotten blood on my clothes, so as I headed toward the entrance I quickly changed my top, shouting "Coming, coming!" while wrapping the pistol in the dirty shirt and stashing it behind the sofa.

  When I reached the door and opened it, I saw who was standing there—and my heart nearly stopped.

  Right in front of me was a mature-looking police officer with a grave, serious expression.

  "Can I help you?" I consciously kept my facial muscles under control.

  "Sorry to bother you. I'm with the police. We're currently searching for an escaped serial killer." He showed me his badge, then held out a photograph. "If you've seen this person in the area, please provide any information you have."

  I took the photo and looked down.

  My heart almost gave out completely.

  The face in the picture—the "escaped serial killer" the police were hunting—was unmistakably the teenage girl I was hiding in my bedroom.