Rigo pushed open the wooden door of her chamber with a quick, almost rough motion and stepped inside, her face more tense than usual.
Her mother, Elina, was sitting on the edge of the bed as always, waiting for her with bandages, warm water, and herbal medicine already prepared. But the moment she saw the darker expression on her daughter’s face, her heart began to beat faster. A mother’s instinct immediately told her that something was wrong.
Rigo removed her cloak stiffly and sat on the edge of the bed, just as she always did.
Elina knelt in front of her without a word and began examining her wounds. Her fingers moved skillfully as she cleaned the dried blood from Rigo’s skin.
“How did the mission go this time?” Elina asked softly, trying to keep her voice calm despite the worry filling her heart.
Rigo fell silent.
Her eyes stared straight ahead.
After a few seconds, she let out a long breath—something she rarely did.
“It failed,” she said at last.
Her voice was flat, yet carried a tone difficult to describe—a faint trace of disappointment.
Elina froze.
In all the years she had treated Rigo after her missions, this was the first time her daughter had admitted failure.
Her chest tightened instantly. Her mind filled with fear. The Emperor’s punishment could be severe for anyone who failed an order—especially for a personal assassin as trusted as Rigo.
“Failed?” Elina repeated, her voice trembling slightly with concern. “Are you sure, my dear? What happened?”
Rigo lowered her head briefly, as if searching for the right words.
Elina rarely saw her like this—uncertain. Confused. So unlike the cold and decisive girl she had become.
“Yes,” Rigo finally said quietly.
“There was… a child. About seven years old. He fought me.”
Elina was startled by the answer, but she listened carefully, resisting the urge to interrupt. Rigo rarely spoke more than a few factual sentences about her missions, yet tonight something was clearly different.
“A child?” Elina repeated, confused. “How could a child stop you?”
Rigo looked at her.
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In her eyes there was something rarely seen—deep confusion.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “He was strong. Stronger than he should have been.”
“But that wasn’t what stopped me.”
Elina frowned slightly.
“Then what was it?” she asked gently.
Rigo exhaled again.
“There was something strange when I faced him,” she said hoarsely. “When I looked into his eyes… it felt like I was connected to him.”
“As if I were facing myself.”
Elina froze.
Her hand, which had been applying medicine to Rigo’s arm, stopped mid-motion.
“Connected?” she repeated softly. “What do you mean, Rigo?”
“It’s hard to explain,” Rigo replied, frustration slipping into her voice.
“When I looked at him… I could understand his pain. His anger. His determination.”
“It was as if I could see myself inside him.”
Elina remained silent for a moment, her eyes softening with deep concern.
“Was the boy… similar to you?” she asked carefully.
Rigo nodded slowly.
“Yes. Very similar.”
Her voice sounded weaker than usual.
“Not just his strength or skill. But the way he looked at me.”
“As if he felt the same thing.”
Elina felt her heart beat faster.
A child capable of affecting Rigo in such a way was no ordinary child. She knew better than anyone how strong Rigo’s mental discipline had become.
To hear that a seven-year-old boy could make Rigo feel connected unsettled her deeply.
“What happened when you fought him?” Elina asked gently. “Could you defeat him?”
Rigo nodded without hesitation.
“I could easily overpower him,” she said flatly, returning briefly to her usual cold composure.
“But when I was about to deliver the final strike… I couldn’t do it.”
Her voice grew quieter.
“When I looked into his eyes… I saw the same pain. The same fear I once felt.”
“It felt like I was about to cut down myself.”
Elina felt a sharp ache in her chest.
Behind the cold cruelty Rigo had been forced to build since childhood, there was still a small piece of her that could feel something—something Rigo herself barely understood.
“And that’s why the mission failed?” Elina asked gently.
Rigo nodded.
“I couldn’t strike him, Mother.”
The confession came out almost helplessly—a rare and honest admission from Rigo.
Elina looked at her daughter with deep compassion.
She knew how hard Rigo had worked to build walls around her heart in order to survive in such a cruel world.
But now, she could see something she had not seen in years.
A trace of vulnerability.
A quiet pain hidden behind Rigo’s cold expression.
“Rigo,” Elina whispered softly.
“It’s alright if you feel something. That isn’t weakness.”
“Sometimes, our humanity is what makes us stronger—not weaker.”
Rigo lowered her head without replying.
Inside her, a battle raged—one she did not fully understand.
Something was beginning to crack the walls she had spent years building.
She did not want to feel this.
Attachment.
Empathy.
To her, such things were weaknesses that could cause failure in her next mission.
Yet this time, the feeling was too strong to ignore.
Elina finished tending her wounds more gently than usual.
She understood that Rigo’s wounds tonight were not only on her body—but within the tightly sealed heart she carried.
“No matter what happens, I will always be here for you,” Elina said sincerely.
“Don’t be afraid to feel—even if it confuses you. It only means that you are still human.”
Rigo did not answer.
But for the first time in a very long time, she felt a small weight lift from her chest.
She knew the feeling she had toward that boy was real—something she might not be able to ignore.
When she finally lay down on her bed, the boy’s gaze still filled her thoughts.
A gaze that reminded her of her lost childhood.
Of pain.
Of the desperate will to survive that once belonged to her.
In the silence of the dark room, Rigo struggled against the unfamiliar emotions rising within her—emotions that forced her to question who she truly was…
and what she should do next.
