When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 55: Just a Scratch

Chapter 55: Just a Scratch

Kant ran after the scarred man, and the barman happened to step in to help him get away. They were headed to the staircase at the end of the hall.

The barman looked back in fear, almost losing his balance as he recognized Kant. "Wh-What do you want?"

"What do you think?" Kant shot back, weaving through the remaining henchmen, delivering blows just enough to clear his path to the stairs.

The fleeing pair reached the end of the hallway, and the scarred man waited for Kant to come closer before shoving a tower of crates in his path.

Kant covered his head as the wooden boxes rained down on him. A sharp pain ran through his thigh. He ignored it and moved on, but the pain shot up his leg, making him stumble.

A blood-stained blade swung toward his face. He barely ducked in time, panting heavily.

There was no time for fighting. Kant threw one of the fallen crates at the guy, then forced his way up the stairs. However, he only managed to get up a few steps before he was hauled back by the collar.

With a grunt, he aimed for the wrist holding him, but his hand was slapped away.

"Jesus, stop it already!" Hunter hissed, dragging him down the stairs before releasing his collar. "Are you out of your mind?"

Kant gaped at him, then at the cut on Hunter’s wrist, then up at the stairs, his mind racing. Only when he felt something wet trickling down his leg, did he look down.

There was a deep gash on his thigh, bleeding through his pants and over his boot. He glanced at the last guy who attacked him, knocked out, a bloody knife in his hand. That blade must’ve struck Kant while he was distracted by the crates.

Bruised and wounded, all for nothing. The bastard from six years ago was gone like the wind.

"Damn it..." Kant grunted, limping back the way they came. "I should’ve killed him when I had the chance."

"And I should’ve killed you," Hunter bit out, his boots thudding angrily. "Every bloody time, you make the matters worse. The barman would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for your little episode."

Kant scoffed. "Why didn’t you just shoot him, since you’re so competent?"

Hunter repeated the question in a mocking voice, then pushed him forward. "Just shut up and move. I’m not dragging your bleeding ass out of here."

. . .

The doorbell rang. Gabriel yanked the door open eagerly, expecting Kant, but instead was met by the looming shadow.

His face fell. "It’s barely morning, come back later," he grumbled, closing the door.

But Hale stepped in through the wall, jumping right into his monologue. "Out to kill, spilling blood! Heaven granted him rebirth, but it’s all being thrown away! And for what?"

Puzzled, Gabriel moved back, keeping a safe distance. "What are you talking about?"

"Ein! He barged in to confront someone—a blood debt, no doubt." Hale clenched his fists, shaking his head. "This kind of blind rage pulled me right in! Such sinful, wrathful emotion!"

Gabriel leaned back in surprise. Blind rage? He was having a hard time imagining Kant like that.

"Come, you must stop him immediately," Hale gestured towards the door.

Gabriel nodded and reached for his shoes, but then faltered. "I, uh—I’m not sure Kant would appreciate me meddling in his business."

Unease stirred in him. What if something happened to Kant? Like a bad injury?

Gabriel asked urgently. "Did he get hurt?"

"He will if you don’t stop this madness! It’s two men against many!" Hale exclaimed.

Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, pacing. "Ugh, but I’m not good at fighting... What do I do?"

As a ghost, he might have been untouchable, but as a living, breathing, very-killable human, he’d be the first casualty.

In fact, he was fully convinced that if he had switched places with Kant while Hunter was firing shots at the cult leader, he would’ve panicked and ran in front of the first bullet by accident.

"Wait, you said two against many?" Gabriel stepped towards Hale. "Who’s with him?"

"The brute who stabbed me." Hale crossed his arms, looking away petulantly.

Gabriel tilted his head, puzzled. "Hunter?"

. . .

Kant sat on the plastic wrap-covered couch in Hunter’s apartment while the owner gingerly prepared for this rare opportunity to practice his surgical skills.

Anger and regret bore down on Kant like two devils on his shoulders. The image of the scarred man’s twisted grin circled in his mind, undead.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a bit. Luke’s frightened gaze flashed before him. Kant’s eyes snapped open, and he focused on the small plastic island of suture supplies, clean towels, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"What’s your price for this?" Kant asked dryly.

"As if you can offer me anything useful," Hunter said as he began cleaning the wound. "It’s on the house."

Even with the painkillers, the sting bit deep, searing through his thigh. Kant’s muscles tensed, and he bit down hard, grinding his teeth.

Hunter handed him one of the towels, completely at ease. "Bite down on this if you want. The wound’s gotta be thoroughly clean if you want to keep your leg." He pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth firmly against the wound.

Kant hissed through his teeth. "You’re making it more painful than it has to be."

"Oh? Maybe you should’ve thought about pain before forcing your way through men with knives," Hunter shot back, dabbing at the most painful spot longer than necessary.

"Just finish it already," Kant snapped back.

"Keep bitching and I’ll finish you instead," Hunter mumbled back, too concentrated to sound dangerous. He was even humming some melody as if he were in a good mood.

"I will cut you."

Hunter barked a laugh. "Think I can’t dodge a knife?"

Once the wound was clean, Hunter set the bloodied gauze aside and held up a surgical needle with a smug smirk. "Time for stitches."

Kant stared at the curved needle, then took a deep breath, shifting uncomfortably on the couch, the plastic wrap crunching with every move. It had been a while since he needed stitches, and an even longer while since he had allowed Hunter to do it.

Hunter scoffed and tilted the arm lamp to shine the light in Kant’s face. "Relax. I don’t let any grudges get in the way of work."

"Can’t say I’m convinced." Kant squinted until Hunter redirected the light back to the wound.

Hunter smiled nicely and threaded the needle.