But the angel-faced man was still doubled over in laughter.

After a while, the so-called “princess” wiped the tears from his eyes with his large gloved hands and said through a chuckle:

“No one’s ever called me that before.”

Zāgh, still holding his gun with a mocking grin, replied:

“Maybe that’s because I judged you by your face and didn’t get a good look at that body of yours.”

The angel burst out laughing again.

“You bastard! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Zāgh, in his head:

Even his laugh sounds rich.

With a smirk, he finally lowered the gun and tucked it back into his waistband.

Then, casually:

“Look, do whatever the hell you want. I don’t even know what your precious boss is thinking—he didn’t show up, just sent you instead.

Honestly, he should’ve looked at your face, not your body.

Man, if you get a scratch on that pretty little face, guess who they’ll blame?

Why weren’t you watching the kid, huh? Why’s his face scratched up?”

The “princess” only laughed harder, clutching his stomach.

Zāgh grew more and more baffled. He’d expected him to get pissed, maybe throw a punch or two.

But no. The guy didn’t seem to care about a single insult.

Zāgh, mentally:

Okay, no, this one’s a full-on masochist. I mean sure, I’ve got a bit of a personality disorder, but this guy? Damn.

Finally, Zāgh let out a long sigh.

Just then, a hand—silent, swift, snake-like—brushed against Zāgh’s neck.

A chill shot down his spine.

The “princess’s” laughter faded into a sharp, dangerous stare. Zāgh immediately clocked the shift. He pulled out his gun and fired.

The man dodged with almost lazy ease.

Zāgh exhaled slowly, giving a sheepish grin, and thought:

Don’t underestimate him, idiot. There’s a reason the boss sent this guy.

Anyone who can get that close to my neck—like that—

Back on the train, yeah, that was chaos. But now? He’s calm. Cool. Just like me.

Even last night, it felt the same. Familiar. Relaxed. Which means—

He’s used to this.

Damn it, Zāgh. You were so focused on blowing up the train, you missed the real danger.

Zāgh tilted his head, grinning with mischief.

“Well, guess I underestimated you. My bad.

Apparently, you gotta be part-Godzilla just to become one of the boss’s favorites.”

The “princess” glanced down at his own empty hands—hands that had nearly caught Zāgh—then back up at him with a look that made Zāgh pause.

It was the kind of expression hunters get when they spot something rare. Something exciting.

A worthy game.

Zāgh could see it clear as day:

He’s enjoying this.

And in that moment, it hit Zāgh like a brick:

Every sarcastic word I’ve ever thrown, every smug little insult—yeah… Karma’s coming.

And this guy? He’s bringing it gift-wrapped.

Zāgh watched the “princess,” who was visibly thrilled—almost too thrilled.

Calmly, like a snake slithering toward its prey, he walked closer.

A smirk played on his lips, but his eyes burned with quiet fear.

He already knew—this man wasn’t someone you could taunt and walk away from.

He was the kind that enjoyed playing with his prey.

Finally, the man spoke, his voice smooth and wicked,

with a smile that could easily belong to a serpent.

“Your name was Zāgh, right?”

And just like that—Zāgh knew.

Trouble hadn’t just found him. It had locked eyes and said hello.

He inhaled deeply, the way he always did before diving into chaos,

then straightened up with his trademark grin and said:

“Glad a royal like you remembers a peasant like me.

I might have to climb Mount Everest just to cool off from the excitement.”

The “princess” laughed.

“Perfect.”

Zāgh heard it.

But chose to ignore the way he said it—because he didn’t want to feed this man’s curiosity any more than he already had.

Still grinning, he tilted his head and asked:

“So… you know my name. What’s yours?”

Instantly, the man’s expression changed.

What had once been a playful, predatory gleam

turned razor-sharp. Cold.

The look of a killer who’d just remembered he was bored.

Zāgh didn’t hesitate—he drew his gun and braced himself.

Running from people with goals is easy.

You can predict them.

But running from someone who’s only here for fun?

That’s a nightmare.

What happens if this guy gets bored?

That thought chilled him more than anything.

Now that he was really paying attention,

he noticed the man’s height—well over two meters—

and the way his muscles flexed beneath that sharp suit.

Even his gaze carried the kind of weight that could crush things.

Maybe people.

But Zāgh, ever the performer, still managed a grin and muttered:

“You know what? Doesn’t matter.

As long as your hair stays that long—

I’m calling you Princess.”The “princess” grinned mischievously.

“So you’re saying as long as my hair’s long, you’ll call me Princess?”

Zāgh replied in the same tone:

“At first, I didn’t want to say ‘girly,’ but honestly, the best nickname for girly types is ‘Princess’—and it seems like you don’t mind it either!”

The “princess” burst out laughing again, but then immediately shot Zāgh a predator’s look.

Like he was already waiting for Zāgh’s next move, another chance to toy with him.

Zāgh thought to himself:

Feels like I’ve become the court jester—except if I can’t keep this crazy prince entertained, he might actually chop my head off!