Miss Assassin is heavily addicted

Chapter 53, Section 10: Lawrence and the Golden Retriever

—Northern Street Psychological Clinic—

The sign outside Monica's Psychological Clinic read "Closed," but the door wasn't locked. The young man with black hair easily pushed the door open and entered, looking somewhat melancholy.

It was undoubtedly He Ye—a sexy magazine was tucked under his left arm, and half a box of anti-inflammatory medicine and bandages were in his right pocket. He seemed to be visiting someone, but the accompanying gifts were rather embarrassing.

In the reception area on the first floor of the psychological clinic, sat a blond, curly-haired charlatan uncle, who was clearly a familiar face.

Mark Coslin.

Mark was casually reading the newspaper, pretending to be a receptionist, when he saw He Ye walk in with a gift bag. He immediately perked up a bit:
“Leon?” Mark called out.

He Ye looked over at the sound of his voice, immediately hissed, and shrank back, coming up to him and saying, "Keep your voice down! Don't call my name! It'll be troublesome if someone hears us!"

Mark didn't understand: "What are you afraid of?"

"Isn't Sophia here?" He Ye frowned and said in a low voice, "I reckon she should be here. If you call out like this and she finds out, wouldn't that be terrible? I took a huge risk to come here! Don't get me into trouble!"

"Oh, you mean this?" Mark scratched his curly wig and sighed. "Sophia went on a mission."

"On a mission?"

He Ye stared blankly, not expecting that she would be assigned a mission so soon. The CORE Action Bureau had only won the revival competition less than two weeks ago, right?
Mark didn't tell him the operation level was Owl, he just mentioned it briefly:
"Well, so Sophia will probably be back in about two weeks... She is indeed staying with Monica, but she'll be back in two weeks. You can come over and catch up whenever you want, don't worry."

"..." He Ye was silent for a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief and dared to straighten her back and look at him. "You should have said so earlier—by the way, what was that code you left in the bookstore? Did something bad happen?"

He Ye came here because of the coded message he left behind, which made him distracted the whole way.

"Lawrence is injured," Mark said after a moment's hesitation.

"Are you alright?" He Ye asked with concern.

“It must be nothing serious, otherwise I would have sent you a funeral invitation,” Mark joked.

Seeing that the spy captain still had the leisure to joke, He Ye's anxiety eased slightly. Not seeing the blue-haired, blue-eyed killer in sight, he decided to go upstairs to check…

So, I was still worried? Even though I had decided to leave behind the people and things here and start a new life.

It seems their decision is unclear.

"Then I'll go up and check on him."

"Yes, the first one on the right."

Conversation ends.

He Ye, his eyes somewhat glazed, climbed the stairs. Just as he reached the second floor, he heard a faint sound coming from behind the wooden door.

That was the sound of two people talking.

"Monica... gently, gently."

"Are you begging for mercy? It's just a bandage change."

"Why is the bandage pressing on the wound when you're changing it?"

"If I don't let you know how painful it is, you won't learn your lesson. You'll just think you can tough it out and stay alive—even though it's dangerous, you always think I'll replace your wounds. Who do you think you are? Superman or Sophia?"

"..."

The man's voice trailed off. Lawrence fell silent, perhaps biting the white cloth in his mouth to hold back his emotions.

He Ye could tell that their conversation was full of unspoken meanings. He felt that he might have come at a bad time and that going in would disturb their conversation. But as he stood in the corridor in a daze for a while, he heard footsteps coming from the door inside.

Then, the door to the room on the second-floor corridor opened.

Monica, her hands stained with blood, stood before me and calmly asked, "Why are you here?"

Wearing a white coat and glasses, she could clearly transition seamlessly from a psychologist to a surgeon.

He Ye had already left the sexy magazine downstairs; Mark was probably admiring it. He pulled out his souvenir from his pocket, waved it in front of his eyes, and said:
"I was wondering if you had enough medicine here, so I brought this along."

"No trace was left, right?"

"Who am I? You can rest assured about that..." He Ye felt a little awkward and turned to leave. "If that person is alright, I'll be going now."

"Wait!" Lawrence called out from inside.

He Ye had no choice but to stay and exchange a glance with Monica—then the surgeon turned and walked into the room, and He Ye had no choice but to follow.

Inside the room, Lawrence was hunched over in a chair, in a posture reminiscent of a boxer taking a break in a ring match.

He wearily propped himself up on his elbows, with a wound on his left shoulder—a terrifying gunshot wound.

The wound was covered with iodine and white powder, and the bottom of the chair was covered with blood-stained gauze that had been removed. His panting filled the air.

Seeing this, Monica came to his side and calmly continued to clean his wounds and change the bandages.

Lawrence could only look at He Ye. The pain of changing the bandage made his temples throb, but he stubbornly refused to cry out in pain, only enduring the pain until his cheeks turned red—it seemed that Monica's words had silenced him.

“If…the intelligence department…takes any action…remember…to tell Mark…”

Lawrence spoke slowly and with difficulty, looking at He Ye as if he wanted to make him feel the pain.

“Of course,” He Ye said softly.

"You..." Lawrence seemed to be thinking about something, but finally he could only grit his teeth and say, "Sophia...she...still...thinks about you..."

He Ye was taken aback by these words and didn't know how to respond. Why did these people always say such things? Was that national-level assassin thinking about him? But their relationship wasn't that deep; at most, they were just pretending to be husband and wife.

During the time they spent together, He Ye's attempts to please her were all for self-preservation. More than feelings, it was out of awe for the title of "national-level".

"Okay... how did you get hurt?" He Ye asked with concern after thinking for a moment, changing the subject.

Lawrence's eyes suddenly widened, clearly his wound was aching from being tampered with again, and he gritted his teeth with difficulty—and the culprit was Monica, it seemed that He Ye's words just now reminded her of something unpleasant.

“He went on a mission yesterday as well.”

Monica casually bandaged her wound, watching the horrifying flesh gradually being covered by the bandage, and continued:
"It's been a day since I came back from my injury, and I'm recovering fairly well. This hothead won't die."

Seeing this, He Ye felt a little embarrassed. He realized he shouldn't have said so much, sighed, and really intended to leave.

"It's good that you're alright... Then I'll really be going now and won't stay any longer. Lawrence, you can focus on recovering."

This time, there was no attempt to stop them from leaving.

He Ye walked downstairs, his eyes filled with melancholy again. He thought that he might not be able to pursue his new life. CORE was obviously brewing some measures, and the oppressive social situation was also very tense.

As he was thinking, he walked up to Mark.

Whoosh~ This guy is indeed appreciating that magazine.

He Ye waved his hand in front of him, trying to take the magazine back.

"You still prefer mature women with curves, huh?" Mark teased, closing the magazine.

He Ye reached out and successfully retrieved the magazine, tucking it under her arm as she said goodbye.

"I've already gone up to visit Lawrence, and I'm leaving now... If you need any further help, you can leave your message in front of 'Sky Tailor Shop' on Seagull Street; I pass by there on my way to and from get off work."

He Ye calmly finished giving his instructions.

But then they noticed that Mark's expression suddenly became melancholic.

He suddenly grabbed He Ye's wrist and whispered, "...When are you planning to leave? Do you have enough money?"

He Ye blinked and turned around in confusion: "Why are you suddenly bringing this up?"

Mark didn't explain his reasoning; he simply pursed his lips for a moment, then pulled a wad of green bills from his pocket.
"Here, this is about 53,400 yuan in cash. You should have received more, but this is all the money I have on me."

He Ye felt the money was a bit too hot to handle: "What's going on?"

“It’s nothing, just consider it payment from me in advance. You’re right…” The thought of ‘we have never lived for ourselves’ flashed through Mark’s mind, but he hesitated and didn’t continue, only saying dryly.

“You’re right, I should give you some money.” Mark let go of her hand.

Although He Ye was still confused, he hesitated before accepting the money, because although it was nothing to the organization, it would be very useful to him.

"Alright then." He Ye shrugged. "Thanks."

He turned to leave, and as he walked to the door, the silver bells jingled. As he pulled the door open, he remembered that he hadn't formally said goodbye to Mark, so he added a sentence.

"I'm leaving," He Ye said.

"Goodbye, goodbye." Mark sat on the sofa looking at the newspaper, the Weekly Mail obscuring his expression.

……

—Seagull Street. Upscale Townhouses—

It was 10 p.m., and the streetlights were dim.

A young girl was strolling home in front of the row houses on Seagull Street.

Originating from Victorian-era townhouses, these were among the most sought-after residences by the middle class. Known as 'suburban villas' in the city, they were decorated with red or yellow bricks and white stone, following a strict symmetrical design. Each house was about 15-20 meters wide, eventually forming a long, winding street.

Its nobility is reflected in many aspects.

For example, the porch steps may have 3-5 steps, raising the distance of the entrance and symbolizing the distance from the lower-class laborers;
Bay windows inside the house can increase the amount of natural light in the room and display curtains and potted plants, showcasing the leisurely lifestyle of the middle class.

In short, this is an upper-class residence.

The view then falls on the upscale townhouse at No. 11, Lane 7.

Lorice had already reached her doorstep.

She took out the key and inserted it into the lock.

As soon as she turned the lock, she heard sounds of welcoming her home from inside the house—and as expected, when she opened the door, a large, golden-haired dog rushed towards her, wagging its tail and panting enthusiastically around her.

"Wang Wang!"

"Good boy... Brook, stop fooling around." Loris chuckled and pressed its head down.

"Woof!" The golden retriever sat obediently on the ground.

Its wagging tail remained enthusiastic, and Lolis understood that it was excited to see her after waiting for her at home all day.

Close the door.

"Bang."

This two-story villa in the city is very large, but only Loris lives there.

She took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack, then went to the kitchen cabinet, took out the instant food and dog food she had bought earlier, and began to prepare dinner for herself and her dog.

After a brief period of tinkering.

A person and a dog sat at the dining table. Loris ate bread with strawberry jam, while the golden retriever next to her ate its distinct kibble. It was as if a small family was having dinner together.

The radio in the living room was playing a radio drama from some unknown channel. Loris ate while wondering why, because she didn't recognize the title at all, only that it was called "Shadow" and that there were dead people in the story.

The last time I listened to the radio drama was about four days ago? It must have been a different program.

Loris wanted to change the channel, but just as she was about to get up, she felt a little tired. In the end, she decided not to get up and just silently ate her bread.

About ten minutes later.

This makeshift dinner was finished. Loris put the plates in the kitchen sink, where a tall pile of white porcelain plates had already been placed. She didn't bother with them, thinking she would wash them later.

Stretching lazily, Lolis felt a little listless. She went to the bedroom, yawning, and prepared to take out her clothes to shower and rest.

He pulled open the wardrobe with his fingers.

Inside were a dazzling array of clothes, from evening gowns to expensive casual wear and slightly sexy lingerie. It is said that a woman's wardrobe is like a real treasure chest, because you can never imagine how much is inside until you open it.

Lolis grabbed a light nightgown and a towel, then closed the closet door.

"Wang Wang!"

The big golden retriever circled around her, seemingly wanting to go for a walk, and occasionally whimpered and rubbed against her calves to express its grievance.

Loris watched all this and could only pat its head. She hadn't had much rest lately, and her next break would be in five days—since graduating from police academy and no longer staying at home, she hadn't taken her golden retriever, Brooke, for a walk in a long time.

The bathroom was filled with steam.

The sprayed water droplets carried a warm temperature. Loris tossed her blonde hair aside and looked at the blurry white tiles in front of her, in which her smooth body was reflected. Although she was almost twenty-two years old, her height was still not much different, and she looked like a high school student who had just graduated.

"Ugh……"

If only I could grow a little taller.

Lorice's sigh was filled with various kinds of exhaustion, but as she dried her hair and arms, changed into her pajamas and walked out of the bathroom, her expression became less forlorn.

Most people probably have random thoughts or reflections while taking a shower.

Prepare a cup of hot milk in the kitchen.

I carried it back to my bedroom on the second floor.

Loris leaned against the window, gazing at the night view outside, lost in thought. She sat in a chair, sipping hot milk, trying to ward off the drowsiness that overwhelmed her.

Brook, the golden retriever, seemed to sense his owner's mood.

It lay down beside my legs, curled up in a ball, resting.

When Lolis noticed it, it was already asleep, and there was still half a cup of hot milk in her hand. Teacher Vina had told her that milk was full of nutrients, so she had been drinking it for half a year.

A gentle evening breeze blew by the window, ruffling the golden hair.

Recalling the events of today, deciding what to do tomorrow... until suddenly remembering something that has been forgotten.

So Loris put down her glass and slowly walked downstairs.

When she came up again, she had a record in her hand. It was a low-quality record, and the label on it was so vulgar that it wouldn't even be considered high-class enough to be placed on the expensive radio in her bedroom—but it could still make a sound.

After a while.

Listening to the familiar and cheerful melody coming from inside, with the notes leaping out from under the record player's needles, Lolis couldn't help but chuckle.

"What? It doesn't look like it at all."

The hot milk was finished, and the muffled, slightly distorted voice echoed in the room on the evening breeze. Loris rested her chin on her hand, thinking it was probably just a coincidence of namesakes. After all, how could a talented musician be such a despicable fool?

"Go to sleep."

　Yesterday I went through the outline. The tone of Volume 3 will still be slice-of-life and foreshadowing. Then I moved the storyline of Yugiri & Sofia to the middle of Volume 4 and cut some slice-of-life scenes.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)