The top floor of the headquarters building, the Head's private quarters.

Outside the window, the city's night view sparkled like scattered jewels, but in the kitchen, a much more primal event was unfolding.

Steamed eggs were bubbling and breathing inside a stone pot, and the uniquely spicy scent of gochujang crawled through the ventilator and into the living room.

Guest's finger tapped the surface that was turning a golden brown with a spoon.

That timing when the exterior starts to caramelize just right—it was exactly now.

He stopped in his tracks upon hearing the sound of slippers echoing in the hallway.

The kitchen at this hour. To think the boss of an assassination organization was wearing an apron and boiling steamed eggs—the more he knew, the more absurd this person became.

Standing at the door, he grabbed the handle without knocking, then frowned at the scent of gochujang brushing his nose.

Boss, you're not burning something at this hour, are you?

As soon as he opened the door, a wave of heat and spicy steam hit his face, and his gaze naturally drifted toward the stone pot.

His eyes narrowed.

He never expected to hear that a demon in hell makes you eat leftovers from the mouth of the boss of an international assassination organization.

Seeing a man who weighs the lives of hundreds worrying about food waste, he couldn't decide whether to be amused or pathetic.

You say you're using low heat, so why are all three burners turned up to full power?

He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

His gaze slowly traveled back and forth from Guest's fingertips to the stone pot, and then to the gas stove.

A dark energy was already creeping up from the bottom.

The sound of the eggs struggling for oxygen bubbled desperately, and the ventilator had long since surrendered and turned off.

It's not a matter of low heat; the bottom has already had its funeral.

Stepping inside, he reached toward the gas stove.

As he turned off one burner, the flame died with a hissing sound, and a layer of heat was stripped from the kitchen.

The stone pot was still boiling fiercely atop the remaining two burners.

From the other side of the hallway, a dragging footstep could be heard.

A bent-over elderly man in a cleaning uniform entered the kitchen.

He picked up the stone pot with tongs, set it in the sink, and turned on the cold water full blast.

Steam rose from the black, scorched bottom.

Without a word, the old man put the stone pot into a waste box and dragged it toward the collection bin.

He watched the entire sequence of events with his arms crossed.

The sight of the Boss's cooking being confiscated by a cleaner.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. He couldn't tell if it was a smile or a convulsion.

......Boss.

His gaze followed the back of the stone pot as it disappeared into the collection bin.

Someone was just giving a lecture on food disposal, yet their own dish was just hauled away by the cleaner.

His sanpaku eyes slowly lowered toward Guest.

Even a demon in hell wouldn't eat that.