Reborn Assassin God

The sky was clear and boundless as a domestic flight soared through the azure heavens, carrying over a hundred passengers from all corners of the country. Two flight attendants, dressed in crisp professional uniforms, bustled about the cabin.

A crisp chime sounded, followed by the broadcast: “We will soon arrive at Biali Airport. We are entering landing procedures. Please check your seat belts. As the plane is landing, please refrain from using the restroom.”

Passengers heeded the announcement, each checking their seat belts. But as most were occupied with this task, a middle-aged man seated by the aisle suddenly stood up, scanning his surroundings before heading toward the restroom.

One of the flight attendants quickly stepped forward, politely urging, “Sir, we’re about to land. Please return to your seat.”

The man’s face darkened. He glared coldly at the attendant, then brusquely shoved her aside and continued forward. Caught off guard, the attendant stumbled and fell beside the aisle.

Seeing the fallen attendant, Old Hans frowned. As a policeman, even though retirement was imminent, he would not tolerate violence before his eyes. He helped her up, pulled his badge from his jacket pocket, flashed it at the man, and said, “Return to your seat.”

“I need to use the restroom,” the man replied, indifferent.

“Hold it for a few minutes,” Hans insisted.

The man eyed the old policeman, seemingly frail, and tried to slip past him. But Hans anticipated his move and blocked him again, this time less politely: “Once we land at Biali,