The Assassin Who Became A Princess
The night erupted into chaos.
Rain poured over the city, turning the streets into mirrors of flashing red and blue lights. Sirens screamed through the darkness as a black SUV tore through traffic, chased by a line of police cruisers.
Inside the lead cruiser, Officer Johnson tightened his grip on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the black SUV disappearing through the rain.
"He's not getting away," he said through clenched teeth.
Beside him, Officer Martinez spoke into the radio, her voice sharp and controlled.
"Suspect is heading east through downtown. Requesting backup. All units, intercept if possible."
The criminal's SUV swerved violently, forcing cars out of the way as it sped toward the outskirts of the city.
Johnson pushed the cruiser faster.
"He knows exactly where he's going."
"Damn it."
Johnson slammed the wheel, following without hesitation.
But the moment they entered the alley, something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Like they had driven straight into a waiting grave.
Several black SUVs emerged from the darkness, blocking the path ahead.
Martinez's expression changed.
"It's a trap."
Before Johnson could respond, gunfire exploded through the night.
Bullets ripped through the air. The sound echoed between the buildings like thunder.
"Take cover!"
The windshield shattered as Johnson swerved, barely avoiding the attack. Behind them, police cruisers crashed into walls and each other as officers scrambled for safety.
The alley became a battlefield. Smoke filled the air. Tires screeched. Radios screamed with desperate calls for help.
"Dispatch, we're under heavy fire!" Martinez shouted into the radio. "We need immediate backup!"
Only static answered. Johnson glanced at the rearview mirror.
A woman was lying casually across the backseat of their cruiser, completely unfazed by the chaos outside.
Short black hair. Pale skin. A calm expression that didn't belong in the middle of a battlefield.
Sheila Williams.
One of the world's most feared assassins. And somehow, she was asleep.
Johnson stared. "You have got to be kidding me."
Martinez turned around. "Sheila!"
The woman slowly opened her eyes. Emerald-green eyes stared back at them, cold and sharp. She stretched lazily.
"What's with all the noise?"
Martinez's jaw clenched.
"We're being shot at! Get up!"
Sheila raised an eyebrow, cool and detached. "I don't recall agreeing to chasing criminals."
"What?" Johnson snapped, narrowly missing another volley of gunfire.
"I'm an assassin," Sheila said flatly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Not your personal soldier."
Johnson's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "If you want that sentence of yours cut short, do something!"
Martinez looked at her in disbelief.
"We're being shot at. Does that not bother you?"
Sheila blinked. "And?"
Martinez's expression hardened.
"And we're supposed to be working together. We let you out of prison so you could help us put an end to these criminals."
Sheila looked out the window at the chaos outside. Bullets continued to rain against the cruiser.
"I don't remember agreeing to such a thing."
"You were given a choice," Johnson snapped. "Help us bring these criminals down, and your sentence gets reduced. Don't play dumb with us Williams."
Another bullet struck the vehicle. Johnson gritted his teeth.
"Do better do your part, you damn killer."
For a moment, Sheila said nothing. Then she sighed. "Fine."
She reached beneath the seat and pulled out a custom-made pistol. The weapon looked almost natural in her hand.
A faint smile touched her lips. It had been a while.
"Keep the car steady," she said.
Martinez frowned. "What are you planning?"
Sheila looked toward the enemy vehicles. "Something simple."
She pointed upward. "Open the sunroof."
Martinez stared. "You can't be serious."
Sheila's expression remained blank. "Do I look like I'm joking?"
"The sunroof, now." Sheila's tone was sharp, brooking no argument.
Martinez hesitated only a second before reaching up and sliding the sunroof open with a swift click. Cool night air rushed into the car, mingling with the acrid smell of gunpowder and burning tires.
Sheila rose through the opening, standing above the moving cruiser as if she were standing on solid ground.
The wind whipped through her short hair. The gunfire continued. But Sheila Williams didn't flinch.
She fired.
A pursuing SUV's front tire exploded, sending the vehicle spiraling into the one beside it. Metal crunched and sparks flew as the two crashed into a wall.
Sheila didn't hesitate.
Her eyes moved faster than the chaos around her. She wasn't aiming at people—she was calculating weaknesses.
One shot.
The first SUV lost control.
Another shot.
The second vehicle's engine died.
One by one, the pursuers fell, their vehicles reduced to twisted wreckage littering the alleyway.
Within seconds, the alley fell silent.
Breathing steady, Sheila lowered her weapon, sliding back into the car with practiced grace.
She calmly closed the sunroof behind her, as though she'd merely stepped out for fresh air.
Johnson and Martinez stared, wide-eyed, speechless.
The final black SUV attempted to escape through the alley, swerving around the wreckage of its fallen allies.
Sheila watched it disappear into the distance. Her expression remained calm.
"One left."
Johnson glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
"You can still do that?"
Sheila raised an eyebrow.
"Do what?"
"Act like this is nothing."
A faint smirk appeared on her lips.
"It usually is." Then Sheila looked toward the fleeing SUV.
"Catch up."
Johnson stepped on the accelerator.
The cruiser shot forward, racing through the smoke-filled alley.
Ahead, the criminal's vehicle grew closer.
"Drive faster," Sheila commanded, her voice cool but firm. "I'd like to finish this quickly and return to my cell. There's a good medieval romance novel waiting for me."
Martinez shot her a sharp look. "Now's really not the time."
Johnson pressed harder on the gas, closing the distance between them and the fleeing SUV. The fiery wreckage of the destroyed pursuers burned brightly behind them, casting ominous shadows across the narrow alley.
As they gained ground, Sheila pushed the sunroof open again and climbed through with fluid ease. Balancing atop the moving car, she raised her weapon, eyes narrowing as she lined up her shot.
One precise squeeze of the trigger.
The bullet struck the SUV's rear fuel tank. A split-second later, the vehicle erupted in a massive fireball, engulfing the entire car in a searing blaze. The flaming wreck careened into a wall, collapsing part of the alleyway in a cloud of smoke and sparks.
Sheila slipped back into the car with practiced indifference. "Done," she said, dusting her hands as though finishing a minor chore.
Johnson stared at the burning wreck ahead.
Then he looked at the dashboard.
"We were hoping to capture at least one of these bastards alive. However, they're too dangerous. The higher-ups would rather see them dead than let them escape."
A warning light flashed. His expression changed.
"Wait." Martinez noticed immediately. "What?"
Johnson pressed the brake. Nothing happened. His face hardened.
"The brakes aren't working."
Johnson pressed the brake pedal again.
Nothing.
His face drained of color.
"The brakes are dead."
For the first time that night, Sheila's calm expression disappeared.
"What?"
She leaned forward, checking the system.
Impossible.
Someone had disabled them.
Ignoring her usual composure, she lunged forward, slamming her foot onto the brake pedal-but it didn't budge.
"Why isn't it working?!" she snapped, her tone sharp with rising urgency.
The burning remains of the SUV blocked the only exit. The cruiser was moving too fast.
Martinez grabbed the emergency brake. It didn't respond.
"We're going to hit-!"
The cruiser slammed into the wreckage. The world exploded.
Metal twisted. Glass shattered. Fire consumed everything..
On the blood-stained pavement, Sheila's body lay motionless, her breath shallow, her frame broken. Blood pooled beneath her, seeping into the cracked ground as her chest rose and fell with labored effort.
Her eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.
So this is how it ends...She thought.
A hollow chuckle escaped her lips, bitter and sharp. She never imagined this would be her fate-dying in some forsaken alley like common prey. Sheila Williams, the untouchable assassin...
Her mind drifted, dragging her back to memories she had spent years trying to bury.
She saw her parents' faces-faint, distant-before the crushing memory of their deaths consumed her. Their loss had shattered her childhood, leaving behind only emptiness and rage.
Then came him-the assassin who took her in, not out of kindness but out of greed. His cruel training turned her into a living weapon, stripping her of innocence and replacing it with cold, lethal precision.
Faces of her countless victims blurred together in a nightmarish haze-men and women, strangers and targets. Their accusing eyes haunted her still.
The world had only ever offered her hatred. Fear and loathing were all she'd known. She was a tool, a weapon, never truly living-just surviving.
Was this all I was?
A weapon.
A monster.
Someone the world feared but nobody ever knew.
For the first time in her life, Sheila wished she had lived instead of survived.
"I just... wanted to live. Live a normal life. Like everyone else." Sheila whispered, her voice cracked and broken.
If... if there's another chance...Her fingers twitched against the cold pavement, clenching weakly.
Let me be free... free from this life... free from the darkness...
Her vision dimmed as the fire roared louder around her. One final shuddering breath.
And then...Nothing.
《1》
The first thing Sheila felt was cold.
Not pain.
Not fire.
Cold.
Her eyes slowly opened. The sound of rushing water filled her ears. She tried to move. A sharp wave of pain shot through her body.
She wasn't lying on the pavement anymore.
She was floating. In water.
Panic immediately took over. Sheila fought against the current, forcing her damaged body toward the surface.
Her lungs burned. Her instincts took control. Survive. Always survive.
With one final burst of strength, she reached the riverbank and pulled herself onto the shore. She collapsed onto the wet ground, coughing violently.
For several moments, she simply lay there. Breathing. Alive.
Groaning, she pushed herself into a sitting position, a sharp ache blooming in her head. When her fingers brushed her temple, they came away slick with blood. Her pulse quickened.
She surveyed her surroundings, her instincts immediately searching for threats.
But there were none.
Only cascading waterfalls, lush green mountains, and endless forest.
The waterfalls tumbled down jagged rocky formations into a crystal-clear pool below, its surface shimmering like polished glass. The towering mountains in the distance pierced the bright sky, dotted with soft, rolling clouds.
Where... am I?
Her eyes darted around, seeking some sign of familiarity, but found none.
Sheila slowly sat up, touching her body. There were no broken bones. No burns. No scars.
Her hand moved to her face. Then she froze.
Something was wrong. Her fingers were different. Smaller. Smoother. Delicate.
These weren't her hands.
She stumbled toward the river, using the rocks for support.
When she looked into the water...She stopped breathing.
A stranger stared back.
The same face, but with long, wavy black hair flowing over her shoulders.
Her emerald eyes were gone. Replaced by pale gray eyes that looked almost silver. Her face was younger. Softer. Beautiful.
Sheila touched her reflection. The woman in the water copied her movement.
"What..." Her voice caught.
It wasn't hers. She looked down. The clothes covering her body were just as strange.
A white dress made of fine fabric. Elegant. Expensive. Almost royal.
What... is this? Her breath hitched as she reached up, touching the unfamiliar contours of her face, feeling the soft, unmarred skin.
Whose body is this...? What happened to me...?
Her mind raced with questions, but answers remained as elusive as the wind that danced through the trees.
Sheila scanned her surroundings, her sharp gaze taking in the unfamiliar landscape. The towering mountains, dense forest, and cascading waterfalls were nothing like the cold, industrial city she remembered. A creeping sense of unease prickled her skin.
This isn't the city, she thought, her mind working with practiced precision. Everything feels...different.
As she pondered her strange predicament something floated nearby in the river. A small leather journal.
Sheila hesitated. Then curiosity won. She stepped into the water and grabbed it. The leather was old and worn. On the cover was a single name.
Leila.
She frowned. "Leila?"
She opened the journal. It was wet, but visible. The handwriting inside was elegant, almost like something from another century.
The first entry read: "Today was no different from the countless days before it."
"My father looked at me with disappointment, as if my existence was a burden he wished he could erase.
"Princess Leila, they call me-yet what princess lives so wretched a life?"
Sheila stared at the name written on the journal.
Leila.
A princess who had suffered enough to wish for death.
“What kind of nightmare did I wake up in?”
