The night was unusually quiet at Sparkle & Spin. The only sound was the low hum of Dryer Number 4, which Old Man Kang insisted had a "soul" that needed to be respected. Min-jun was sitting on a plastic crate, effortlessly memorizing a 400-page logistical report on Aegis Corp's shipping routes while balancing a stack of porcelain bowls on his head.
"Balance is the key to both murder and accounting," Kang shouted from the back, where he was busy stir-frying something that smelled suspiciously like gunpowder and garlic.
Suddenly, the bell above the door chimed.
Two men in charcoal-grey tactical suits stepped in. They didn't have laundry. They didn't have smiles. They had the cold, hollow eyes of professional "cleaners"—the kind Aegis Corp hired when an audit wasn't enough to make a problem go away.
"Min-jun?" the taller one asked, his hand sliding into his jacket.
Min-jun didn't move. The bowls on his head didn't even wobble. "I'm busy. If you have shirts, leave them in the bin. If you're here to kill me, please wait for the rinse cycle to finish. I hate wasting water."
The assassins paused, confused by the intern's sudden bravado. The shorter one sneered, pulling out a silenced pistol. "Choi says hello. He also says you know too much for a dead man."
Thwip.
The bullet hissed through the air. In one fluid motion—the same motion he used to snap a wet sheet flat—Min-jun tilted his head. The porcelain bowls didn't fall; they shifted with him. The bullet shattered a "No Smoking" sign behind him.
"Master?" Min-jun called out, his voice calm. "They broke the sign."
"Charge them for it!" Kang yelled back, clanking his wok. "And don't get blood on the floor! I just waxed it!"
The assassins lunged. The tall one swung a heavy baton aimed at Min-jun's temple. Min-jun didn't cower. He stepped into the strike, his hand flashing out like a snake. He grabbed the man's throat, not with a fist, but with a "pinch" he'd learned while removing stubborn stains from delicate lace.
The assassin gasped, his knees hitting the floor instantly as his oxygen was cut off.
"You're sloppy," Min-jun whispered, leaning into the man's ear. "Your stance is wide, and your suit is a polyester blend. It's offensive."
The second assassin fired again, but Min-jun was already moving. He grabbed a heavy industrial iron from the counter—the cord still plugged in—and swung it in a wide arc. The hot metal slammed into the assassin's chest, the steam triggering with a loud hiss.
"AHH! My skin!" the man screamed, falling back into a pile of dirty towels.
"That's for the 'accident' in the alley," Min-jun said, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, cold light. He stood over them, the stack of bowls still perfectly balanced on his head. "Go back to the CEO. Tell him the errand boy is finished. Tell him the Emperor is coming to collect his debt."