The moment the streetlight revealed the assassin's shadow, he lunged at her with blinding speed.
Chantelle turned to face him with a calm smile.
The assassin, dressed in black, hesitated for a moment, startled by her reaction.
Before he could react, a net dropped from above, trapping him underneath.
The specially-made net wrapped tightly around the assassin the moment it touched him, leaving him no room to escape.
Chantelle pulled out a remote and pressed a button.
A surge of electricity ran through the net, making the assassin scream in pain before collapsing unconscious.
Is that it? Did I really capture him?
It felt too easy. Chantelle cautiously approached him.
Just as she crouched to get a better look, the assassin suddenly sprang to life.
He pulled a sharp hook from under his coat and slashed through the metal net in an instant.
The blade shot toward Chantelle's face. Luckily, she reacted on instinct, jerking back just in time to avoid the attack.
"Heh, looks like Lone Wolf's assassins come well-prepared!"
"Someone paid a huge amount of money to make sure you die. You won't be lucky this time!"
"Really? I don't think so."
Chantelle smiled and swiftly threw a dagger at him.
The assassin reacted on instinct, dodging the attack.
Suddenly, a whip coiled tightly around the assassin's neck.
A red-haired young man, dressed in white, leaped down from the roof.
With a sharp flick of his wrist, he sent the assassin crashing into the wall. He then followed up with a swift kick to the neck, but the assassin managed to block it.
Not far away, Calvin had been waiting for the right moment, aiming a tranquilizer gun at the assassin.
Seizing the opportunity, he pulled the trigger.
All three darts struck the assassin's chest before he could react.
The assassin released the young man's foot and collapsed unconscious once again.
Chantelle let out a sigh of relief. Catching this guy was way too difficult!
She wouldn't have taken the risk if Thirteen hadn't been there to back her up.
"So, what do you think, Chantie? Did I look cool just now?" Thirteen put away his whip and walked over, clearly fishing for praise.
"Yes, you are. Aren't you the coolest kid, Thirteen?" Chantelle smiled and gave him a thumbs-up.
"Heheh, I know! I'm your favorite!"
Thirteen grinned and spread his arms, expecting a hug from Chantelle.
Before he could get one, Calvin sighed and pulled him away.
Thirteen was one of his master's youngest and most skilled students.
His master had taken him in when he was just thirteen, which was how he got his nickname.
Like the other disciples, his past was a mystery. No one knew where he came from or even what his real name was.
Chantelle had been very close to Thirteen during her time abroad.
He was the strongest fighter on the team and the most obedient. He had never once failed his master.
But despite being an adult, he was developmentally delayed. His mind was no more mature than that of a ten-year-old.
If the assassins from Lone Wolf weren't so dangerous, Chantelle wouldn't have let Thirteen risk his life.
"What should we do with him, Ms. Bently?"
"Take him to Russell and make him talk."
Calvin flipped the unconscious assassin over, secured him with high-tech nano-wire, and threw him into the trunk.
"I'll take you home first, Ms. Bently."
"Yeah, Chantie. It's not safe here," Thirteen muttered, tugging at her sleeve. He wasn't happy about leaving so soon after finally seeing her again.
"I have to go somewhere else. You two should leave."
"Be a good boy, won't you?"
Thirteen didn't want to go, but he couldn't bring himself to disobey Chantelle. With a reluctant sigh, he got into the car and left with Calvin.
Chantelle scanned her surroundings, retraced her steps to her car near the café, and drove to Silver Crest Global District.
Philip was scrolling through Facebook, keeping up with the latest gossip, when the door suddenly swung open.
The man everyone was talking about was carried in, covered in blood.
Philip sat up in alarm.
"What happened to Daniel?"
"Mr. Wilson's wound reopened! He's running a high fever and is unconscious!" Ashton said urgently.
Following Philip's instructions, he carried Daniel into the consultation room and carefully laid him on the bed.
"So what happened? How did the wound reopen?" Philip's frustration was clear. Daniel had been fine just a day ago.
"An assassin attacked Ms. Bently, and Mr. Wilson got injured protecting her. The assassin was clearly out to kill them both. It's my fault for not keeping a closer eye on him!"
Guilt weighed heavily on Ashton.
It was the second time he had failed to keep Daniel safe.
His usual playful attitude disappeared. Without another word, he carefully cut open Daniel's shirt, exposing the wound.
Philip removed the bandages, cleaned the wound, checked for infection, sutured it again, and redressed it. The process left him exhausted.
Thankfully, despite taking the full force of the attack, Daniel hadn't suffered severe internal damage.
However, he had lost a lot of blood and needed a transfusion immediately. Philip's lab was well-equipped, but it didn't have a blood bank.
"Ashton, contact the hospital now. Daniel needs a blood transfusion right away."
Before Ashton could react, Chantelle walked into the room. One arm was already exposed.
"Take my blood. We have the same type."
Leaning against the sofa, Chantelle felt an odd sense of relief as her blood slowly flowed into Daniel's body.
She owed him her life.
Drowsiness crept over her, though she wasn't sure if it was from the blood loss. Her eyes closed, and memories from years ago resurfaced.
That day, rain poured heavily, and a young man was in a terrible accident.
The young man was on the brink of death, and the doctor warned that he wouldn't survive without a matching blood donor.
That year, Chantelle was only eight, but she was fearless. She stepped forward and d her blood willingly. No one ever knew her secret.
As the doctor drew a large amount of blood, her body weakened.
Soon, she lost consciousness.
When she woke up, the young man was gone.
Years later, when she met him again, she recognized him immediately.
But he had no memory of her at all.