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Sylus, was the most notorious and formidable hitman in all of Onychinus.No one dared cross his path, let alone challenge him. He reigned supreme, a king in a world of whispers and concealed daggers. Money flowed like a river to his coffers, fame clung to him like a second skin, and women… well, women were simply drawn to him like moths to a flickering flame. Yet, none of them ever truly captured his attention. He was a man consumed by his work, a solitary figure in a world of chaos. Love, romance, those were stories for fools, not for Sylus. Or so he thought.
One sweltering afternoon, Sylus found himself in a brightly lit, decidedly ordinary convenience store. He needed supplies, the mundane necessities of a life lived in the shadows. He moved through the aisles, gathering his items with an air of detached efficiency. At the checkout, he kept his gaze averted, a habit born of necessity. He wasn't looking for trouble, or even conversation. He just wanted to pay and disappear. As he placed his items on the counter, he fumbled for his wallet, and that's when he heard it – a voice as sweet and unexpected as birdsong in a battlefield.
"Hi!! How may I help you, sir?"
He looked up. And the world stopped.
Behind the counter stood a girl. A girl with a sweet smile that could hit Sylus like a supernova. Sylus, the man who could take down a whole gang without breaking a sweat, suddenly turned into a stammering mess. His heart did a little pitter-patter dance, and he felt his cheeks turning the color of a ripe strawberry. Is this what they call love at first sight? The thought was so foreign, so utterly ridiculous, that it almost made him laugh. Almost.
He was still staring, completely mesmerized, Just then, the adorable cashier noticed a little… uh… occupational hazard on his shirt. "O-oh no! Is that blood?" she stammered, her eyes widening.
Sylus blinked, suddenly aware of the crimson stain blossoming on his shirt. He instinctively clutched at his shirt, trying to conceal the evidence. He opened his mouth to explain, to offer some plausible excuse, but before he could utter a word, the girl had vanished. She was gone, disappearing into the back room.
He sighed, a sound of resignation. Even his bloodstains scared away the cute cashiers. Why would she be anything but terrified? He found his wallet, threw some money on the counter and left the store, the weight of his solitary existence pressing down on him once more.
"W-wait!!"
He stopped, his senses on high alert. That voice… it was the girl from the counter. He turned to see her rushing towards him, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short gasps. Why? Why was she following him? Hadn't she been scared?
She skidded to a halt in front of him, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and… something else. Something that made his heart do another one of those disconcerting flips. She held out a small, brightly colored band-aid.
Sylus stared at it, then at her. "For me?" he managed to croak out.
"Yes," she said, her voice a little breathless. "S-sorry it took me so long to find these… We ran out of other medicines to treat wounds, but I hope this helps." She thrust the band-aid into his hand, her fingers brushing against his. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him.
"Please clean your wounds when you get home!"
He was speechless. He, the most feared assassin in Onychinus, was rendered mute by a simple act of kindness. He mumbled a "thank you" and turned to leave, feeling strangely flustered. As he walked away, he glanced back and saw her still watching him, a small smile on her face. "Be safe on your way home!" she called out.
He gave her a small, almost hesitant wave in return.
Inside his car, Sylus placed his purchases on the back seat. He took a deep breath, his hand instinctively going to his chest. Thump-thump, thump-thump . What was this feeling? Why was his heart behaving like a runaway train?
He drove home, his heart doing a little happy dance. A smile touched his lips as he replayed the encounter in his mind. Sylus, the man who never bothered with minor injuries, suddenly became obsessed with the cleanliness of his skin. After that night, he made sure no one, absolutely no one, even dared to scratch him. The band-aid, still in its brightly colored packaging, remained untouched, a precious memento of a chance encounter, a tiny seed of something… more.