"Ugh~"
Lying in bed, John Wick groggily opened his eyes and scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. But then, remembering his current situation, he immediately tried to get up—only to fall back down with a pained groan. That's when he realized his entire body was wrapped in bandages. His wounds had already scabbed over, the blood washed away, and he was dressed in fresh clothes.
In the haze, he heard a conversation outside the door.
"My lord, are we really going to take him in?"
"Why not? Isn't it interesting? I just got back, and something fun has already landed at my door."
"…Didn't you say you missed Lady Athena?"
"What was that you just said?"
"Nothing at all!"
"Mm, good."
The conversation ended there, and the door opened. John Wick watched as the two people entered the room.
…
…
"…Thank you."
Upon hearing this, Melin couldn't help but admire him. As expected of the Boogeyman, John Wick—the man who killed with a pencil and could slaughter an entire family over a dog.
No questions about where he was, who they were, or why he was saved…
Just a simple "thank you." So straightforward and decisive.
"You're welcome."
"I have to go, otherwise…"
"You'd better stay in bed. Twenty-four stab wounds, twelve gunshot wounds, four major blunt-force injuries, five broken ribs, and several microfractures in other bones. Even if you could move, going outside like this would be suicide," Melin said bluntly as he sat beside him.
"…Someone wants me dead. I have to leave," John Wick replied, fully aware of how serious his injuries were. If not for his willpower and survival instinct, he would've already died.
"If you're worried about the people chasing you, relax. You've been unconscious for three days. A few waves of them came looking for trouble, but they were all dealt with. As long as you stay inside this house, no one should be able to touch you," Melin assured him.
"Uh… thanks."
"You're welcome. After all, you collapsed at my doorstep. Galon, go prepare him something to eat."
"Yes, my lord."
Galon gave John Wick a deep look before leaving the room. With his senses, he could feel that John Wick's cosmos burned with a crimson hue—no doubt the man carried countless lives on his back. Even among top-tier assassins, not even members of the Cross could match that aura.
Beneath that blood-red cosmos, though, lay a strong fortress—and inside that fortress, warmth and happiness.
A man full of contradictions: ruthless and brutal, yet using violence to conceal a faint glimmer of light deep within.
"Can you tell me your names?" John Wick asked.
"Melin. He's Galon."
"Melin… Galon… thank you."
"You've thanked us quite a few times now. No need to be so formal, Mr. Wick."
Hearing Melin casually speak his name, John Wick instinctively assumed Melin was an assassin sent to kill him. He tried to roll out of bed to grab a weapon—but then realized Melin's hand was resting lightly on his chest. It felt like nothing, yet he couldn't move at all.
"Relax, Mr. Wick. If I wanted you dead, why would I save you?"
John Wick immediately saw the logic in that and obediently lay back down.
"Eat something later and get some rest. Here, you don't have to worry about someone killing you in your sleep," Melin said, patting John Wick's shoulder before walking out.
John Wick stared at Melin's retreating back, deep in thought.
…
"My lord, he's asleep."
"Mm, let him rest."
"But my lord, those people outside…" Galon glanced out the window, his expression darkening.
The whole neighborhood had been bought by Howard, just like in Brooklyn. There were no bars, malls, or entertainment venues nearby, so normally, there were few people loitering around.
But ever since John Wick was brought home, things had become lively. There appeared to be many passersby—but most of them were just circling the same block, never actually leaving, with their eyes constantly on the house.
On the first day John Wick was rescued, some people came to the door—some trying to conceal their identities, some sneaking in during the night, and some even attempting a direct assault to kill Melin and Galon along with Wick.
But without exception, those who entered the house never came back out—not even their bodies were found.
Yet Melin and Galon's life continued as usual, as if nothing had happened.
This eerie situation made the assassins hesitant to act. Some were gathering intelligence. Others were waiting for a time when Melin and Galon were away. But most were simply waiting for John Wick to step out of the house.
They didn't dare make another direct move—but that didn't mean Galon was happy about being targeted by dozens of hostile presences every day. If Melin hadn't forbidden it, the street would've been a river of blood by now.
"Galon, don't always think about killing. We're warriors who stand on the side of justice."
"But my lord, those people aren't exactly saints. Killing them would be a public service," Galon protested.
"…And then?"
"Then… it would be peaceful again?" Galon scratched his head.
"Sigh…" Melin facepalmed. Galon was indeed a combat genius, with excellent instincts and tactical sense—but when it came to anything else, he was hopeless.
"If you kill them all, first the police will come. Then intelligence agencies, then government reps from all over. And then…"
"And then…?" At this point, sweat was already beading on Galon's forehead. That didn't sound peaceful—it sounded even worse.
"And then Peggy shows up. Are you ready to face her complaints?" Melin gave him a side glance.
"Uh… my lord, I'll listen to you." Galon immediately gave up on the idea of wiping out the assassins outside.
"Just wait. The scouts have done their rounds. Three days should've been enough time for them to gather intel. Someone who actually matters should be showing up soon," Melin said calmly, sipping his coffee.
"…Yes, sir."
"Alright, you don't need to worry about things here anymore. Your vacation's over. Time to get back to work. Even Tony's complaining that his new hire took a day off on the first day."
"Uh… I was… fine…" Galon wanted to argue, but seeing the kind look in Melin's eyes, he fell silent.
Everything's my fault. Lord Melin is never wrong. Lesson learned.
Just as Melin predicted, within two days, a representative from the High Table arrived. It was the same cold, sharp, short-haired woman Melin remembered, accompanied by a bald man from Japan—also an old acquaintance.
"Melin, I must say, your intel network is impressive. Even we couldn't figure out your true identity," the Adjudicator said.
"Really? I don't recall doing anything like that," Melin replied, raising a brow in mock confusion.
That was half-true. He hadn't deliberately hidden his identity—but he knew Peggy and the others would've helped keep it secret anyway.
"Is that so? Then perhaps these documents will help jog your memory."
The Adjudicator wasn't yet certain of Melin's true identity—just that he held considerable power. Avoiding conflict would be ideal. But she still didn't believe any group could rival the High Table.
For example, the Continental Hotel network under the High Table was universally acknowledged as the safest place in the world. No one dared fight there—not even heads of state. Otherwise, they'd face endless pursuit, just like John Wick.
The High Table had eyes and weapons everywhere. The street vendor selling you pancakes might be an assassin or a spy.
So she still held her head high, confident and in control.
Melin casually flipped through the documents. He hadn't paid much attention before, but now that he had time, he was curious to see what kind of backstory Peggy and the others had crafted for him.
"Pfft—hahaha… wow, they really went all out," Melin chuckled aloud.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Melin?" the Adjudicator asked, a bit annoyed.
"Sorry, couldn't help it. I wasn't laughing at you. Your team did an excellent job gathering all this," Melin complimented.
"Of course."
"But… just look at this one: born in Kentucky, raised by a cowboy family… do I look like a wild cowboy to you?"
For some reason, the Adjudicator actually looked him over—and silently agreed with his assessment.
"And this one—heir to a wealthy Washington dynasty… I mean, sure, I'm not poor, but I don't act like those spoiled heirs. And then this…"
Melin kept flipping through twenty-something files, each one a different fake identity Peggy and the others had forged for him. The funniest one was being Tony's distant cousin—his "older cousin," no less. That was just Tony flattering himself.
"Alright, Mr. Melin, let's get to the point," the Adjudicator suddenly said, realizing with a jolt that she had fallen right into Melin's pace and completely forgotten why she came.
"Very well, then. What brings you two here?" Melin asked, hands spread casually.
"John Wick is the top target of the High Table. We ask that you hand him over," she stated plainly.
"Hmm… and if I say no?"
Melin smiled mysteriously—and the air in the room suddenly turned ice-cold.