{Staring at the sheet of paper blocking his path, the Man in the Black Trench Coat frowned, hesitating for a moment.}
{He carefully scanned his surroundings, repeatedly confirming there were no hidden dangers. Then, he tore the paper down, staying alert, ready to react at a moment's notice.}
{He waited. Nothing happened. No sudden traps or surprises. He immediately realized it was a decoy you had set up.}
{Already furious, his rage only deepened. He bolted upstairs again.}
{Just as he stepped forward, he suddenly stopped again, his sharp eyes sweeping the area, once more checking for potential threats.}
{After confirming once more that there was indeed no danger, the Man in the Black Trench Coat frowned deeply. His face twisted in frustration. He was angry at his own over-caution—something that had never happened before.}
{Irritated and humiliated, he charged upward even faster.}
{At the eleventh floor, his foot landed on a slick, greasy surface. His footing gave way, and his body—propelled forward by momentum—pitched uncontrollably.}
{As he was about to hit the ground, he spotted a floor full of rusted nails. If he landed there, he'd be riddled with punctures.}
{With a powerful twist of his waist, he redirected his fall. Remembering the fake wall from earlier, he instinctively angled himself toward the metal handrail.}
{But just as he made that move, he suddenly remembered the previous shock—and dread surged within him.}
{The moment his body touched the railing, a jolt of high-voltage electricity surged through him again. Even he couldn't suppress the violent shudder.}
{Losing control of his limbs, he slammed heavily into the stairs. The steps were coated in thick grease, and before he could recover, he began sliding downward.}
{He didn't stop until his foot jammed against a corner wall.}
{As soon as he regained control, a sharp, agonizing pain shot from his foot to his skull.}
{It felt like something had bitten him savagely. Even with his pain tolerance, the Man in the Black Trench Coat broke into a cold sweat.}
{He gritted his teeth and pulled out more than a dozen rusted nails lodged in his body before lowering his gaze to his feet—two rat traps clamped tightly onto each foot.}
{The stairwell's voice-activated lights had all been broken, so visibility was poor. But the pain told him clearly—his feet must be swollen and red.}
{Burning, stinging, aching, and furious, the Man in the Black Trench Coat felt like he might explode. Even the mental discipline drilled into him since youth was beginning to crack.}
{He forced the rat traps off his feet. His soles were swollen, some parts even bleeding.}
{He discovered that a row of traps had been glued to the wall and covered with a paper sheet dyed the same color as the wall. In the poor lighting, it was impossible to spot them without close inspection.}
{His brows furrowed into a deep crease. On the paper was a line of writing:}
"Told you not to rip it off. You just had to. Haven't learned your lesson yet, huh?"
{"?????"}
{His mind was full of question marks. After so many missions, he had never felt this humiliated. No—never in his entire life had he been so humiliated.}
{Rage. Boundless rage. His composure shattered. He had never been this furious before. Ignoring the pain in his feet, he charged upstairs, rage burning through his veins.}
{Watching all of this unfold from the shadows, you couldn't help but smile. You stuck your final sheet of paper to the door of the scout's room on the fifteenth floor.}
{You quietly ascended, awaiting the final outcome.}
{Still, anxiety gnawed at you. Part of this plan was to slow him down—but the other part was to make him lose control.}
{At the fifteenth floor, the Man in the Black Trench Coat saw the note taped to the door:}
"Don't enter. You were warned."
{His eyes blazed. The last thing he wanted to see now was the phrase "You were warned."}
{A firestorm of rage erupted. He kicked the door. The heavy security door flew open.}
{Inside, a scout holding a pair of binoculars was peering at something. Startled, he turned around—he instantly realized he'd been exposed.}
{He quickly pulled a gun and aimed at the Man in the Black Trench Coat, trying to use the weapon to deter him. Simultaneously, he grabbed a communicator, clearly intending to report the intrusion.}
{But before he could utter a word, a cold flash of silver pierced his throat—a poisoned steel needle.}
{The scout choked and coughed. He couldn't even form a full sentence. He fell to the ground, eyes wide open, his contorted, pained face frozen in disbelief—}
"How could a needle be faster than a gun?"
{The Man in the Black Trench Coat limped over and pulled the steel needle from the scout's throat. It was coated with poison—his death was inevitable.}
{The scout stared wide-eyed at the disheveled, injured man before him. Confusion filled his final expression.}
Wasn't this guy supposed to be the one protecting the family?
Why was he the one killing him?
He wanted to speak, but it was too late. The poison had reached his heart. He died with his eyes wide open.
{The Man in the Black Trench Coat scanned the room but didn't see you. His expression darkened further. He now knew—he'd been used as a pawn!}
{The rage inside him boiled over. He was seething, nearly insane. He stormed upstairs again.}
{As a killer who had taken countless lives, he actually hated killing. But right now—he wanted nothing more than to kill you.}
{You glanced at the time. It was 12:10 AM. Just three more minutes, and you'd know whether you had successfully stopped the rooster crow.}
{The Man in the Black Trench Coat limped his way up the stairs. As he neared the eighteenth floor, he saw you sitting there calmly, as if waiting for him.}
{It was now 12:12. Just one minute left.}
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