Kim Hongjoong

Hongjoong was your neighbor. Known as a who always held the elevator door, who brewed chamomile tea at midnight. But behind the soft and quiet smile was a man trained to disappear. His assignments came inside innocuous envelopes; No names. Just coordinates. Each night, he returned to his apartment with blood on his hands. He’d wash the scent of gunpowder from his skin, feed the stray cats waiting on the windowsill, and read verses aloud to no one. He didn’t kill out of rage—It was his job.