John Wick - Chapter 39: The God of Death's Traits (Patreon)

Nate picked up the suit, and the two of them prepared to leave.

Elena suddenly stopped.

“Wait.”

She quickly ran back to her own room.

When she returned, she was carrying several bags of various sizes.

“Why are you bringing all that?”

“We're meeting my idol. You're allowed to bring something, but I'm not?”

Elena's mood had improved considerably, and she was back to her usual lively self.

They took the elevator to the ninth floor, then followed the hallway all the way to the end.

Room 818 was the last room in the corridor.

Nate's excitement surged again as he raised his hand and knocked three times.

About five seconds passed before the door opened.

John Wick stood in the doorway.

He was still wearing the same black suit, though the top button of his shirt was undone and his sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms.

His gaze swept over Nate first, then paused briefly on Elena.

“Elena?”

“Mr. Wick?” Elena's voice tightened slightly. “You remember me?”

John nodded.

Nate noticed that her breathing had become uneven.

Even the tips of her ears were turning red.

“Sorry to bother you.”

Nate lifted the garment bag in his hand.

“The bulletproof suit.”

John looked at the bag, then back at Nate.

“Come in.”

He turned and walked into the room without looking back.

Either he trusted them not to try anything behind him, or he simply wasn't worried about what they might try.

His room was considerably smaller than Nate's, a little over thirty square meters. From the doorway, almost the entire place was visible at once.

A bed.

A sofa.

A table.

There wasn't much else.

Compared to Nate's room, the only noteworthy thing about it was how immaculate everything was.

“You're staying here?” Nate asked.

“Smaller spaces feel safer.”

John sat in the armchair and gestured for them to sit.

Elena remained standing there awkwardly, still clutching all her bags.

Nate took them from her, placed them to one side, then pulled Elena down onto the sofa opposite John.

The man sat across from them, head slightly lowered, saying nothing.

System, Trait Viewer.

Nate silently gave the command.

[Trait Viewer activated.]

John Wick:

[Baba Yaga (Exclusive Trait): While in combat, all attributes gradually increase as the battle continues, up to a maximum of 80%.

While in combat, detects hostility and threats within the user's field of vision regardless of distance.

At night, presence is reduced by 60% while in stealth.

At night, all attributes increase by 30% while in combat.

While severely injured, if the user's will to survive is strong enough, health is forcibly prevented from dropping further. Stamina and wound recovery speed increase by 200%.]

[Intimidation (Max Level): Locks killing intent onto a single target. Enemies within 10 meters suffer a 30% reduction in Agility. Beyond 10 meters, enemy ranged weapon accuracy is reduced by 70%.]

[Weapon Master (Max Level): Can rapidly become proficient with all types of weapons. Weapon proficiency gain increased by 200%. Weapon effectiveness increased by 50%.]

[Adaptation (Max Level): After suffering a severe injury, damage from the same type of attack is reduced by 50% the next time it occurs.]

[Grief (Lv3): Burdened by grief beyond what an ordinary person could endure. All attributes reduced by 50%. Trait effects reduced by half.]

What the fuck?!

These max-level Traits were more broken than the last.

John really was John.

Now the whole joke about him having a body of steel finally made sense.

He could get smashed around by cars and refuse to die. He could fall five stories, hit the ground hard, and still keep fighting.

Nate could no longer keep his expression under control.

The effects of those Traits had completely blown him away.

Sure, the Traits helped, but John's own ability spoke for itself.

The man had fought his way through four entire movies while suffering a fifty-percent debuff!

Just how terrifying had he been at his peak?

But which one should he copy?

Nate's indecisiveness struck again.

He stared at the system display, mentally tearing himself apart over the choice.

What he failed to notice was that the atmosphere in the room had become increasingly awkward.

Nobody was talking.

John, naturally, wasn't much of a conversationalist.

Elena sat with her head lowered, twisting her fingers together. She was so nervous about meeting her idol that she couldn't get a word out.

She nudged Nate.

Only then did he snap out of his thoughts.

“Elena,” Nate said, introducing her. “She's a fan of yours too.”

Elena glared at him.

Her expression clearly said, That's how you're going to sell me out?

But the very next second she turned toward John, her voice trembling.

“Mr. Wick, I've admired you for a long time. I saw you seven years ago, when I was helping out at the underground bar.”

John's expression didn't change.

But Nate noticed one of his fingers pause slightly against the armrest.

Just for an instant.

Then his hand returned to his knee.

“Seven years?” John asked.

His voice was flat, as though they were discussing someone else entirely.

Elena nodded vigorously. Almost too vigorously.

“You were wearing a very dark black suit that day. There was a small bloodstain near the collar.”

“You ordered a bourbon and stayed at the bar for eleven minutes.”

“Three women came over to talk to you while you were there. I didn't dare come near you...”

Nate turned and stared at Elena in disbelief.

Holy shit.

There were levels to being a fan.

This wasn't fandom anymore. She was a walking surveillance camera.

John didn't interrupt her.

He simply listened, his expression unchanged and showing no sign that he wanted her to stop.

“I was behind the bar polishing glasses.”

Elena's voice gradually slowed.

She no longer sounded quite as nervous. Instead, there was something unexpectedly gentle in her tone.

“When you left, you walked past the bar and looked at me.”

“There was a man back then who kept putting his hands on me. But after that day, he never bothered me again.”

She paused.

“I don't know if you did anything. Maybe it was just a coincidence.”

“But it made me realize there are people in this world who don't need to say anything. Just their presence can change things.”

John was silent for a moment.

“It wasn't me.”

“You didn't have to ruin it for me.” Elena smiled. “You could've just let me keep believing it was.”

Nate almost burst out laughing.

He managed to hold it in.

Elena immediately shot him a glare.

Only then did she remember all the things she had brought.

She bent down and began taking items from the bags one by one.

Two boxes of macarons.

A thermos.

A scarf.

A small container of coffee beans.

And something shaped like a pen that was, in fact, simply a pen.

“This.”

She pushed the thermos toward John.

“Colombian coffee. Medium roast. Nutty, caramel notes, and not acidic.”

Then she pointed at the container of coffee beans, speaking rapidly again.

“These are extra. And the scarf is wool because it's going to get colder soon. I made the macarons myself. If they're too sweet, you can have them with the coffee.”

“As for this pen, it's really good quality!”

Apparently worried that John might misunderstand why she was giving him a pen, she quickly added,

“You can actually write with it.”

John looked down at the pile of gifts that had suddenly appeared on his coffee table.

Nate stared at Elena.

“Are you moving in?”

“Shut up.”

She didn't even turn around.

John reached out and picked up the thermos.

He unscrewed the lid and smelled the coffee inside.

His movements were slow.

Then he closed it again and placed it beside him.

“Thank you.”

Two words.

That was all.

But Elena's face immediately broke into such an enormous smile that Nate almost felt embarrassed on her behalf.

“Did you come here just to see me?” John asked.

“Uh...”

Elena froze.

Her smile faded slightly.

“You know something bad happened at the hotel today.”

“He mentioned it.” John looked at her. “Is the hotel no longer safe?”

“No. No, that's not it. Winston will deal with it, so please don't worry.”

Elena hurried to explain.

“The person who died was a friend I grew up with.”

Her voice grew subdued.

“Her mother came to the hotel this afternoon. Winston only managed to find her family and reunite her with Judy a few years ago.”

“I watched her mother stand there with her mouth open, unable to cry, while her hands shook as she accepted her daughter's belongings.”

Elena pressed her lips together.

“Her mother couldn't cry.”

“But I did.”

John said nothing.

He simply looked at Elena.

There was no pity in his eyes.

Sometimes pity wasn't what someone grieving the dead needed.

Some emotions had to be worked through alone.

John clearly understood that better than most.

“I don't like this assassin business,” Elena continued. “But I love this hotel. Winston, Charon... they've always treated me well.”

“Enough.”

John raised one hand slightly.

Elena immediately stopped.

He sighed.

“If you have something to say, keep it brief.”

Elena took a deep breath.

Her shoulders lowered, her pace slowed, and when she spoke again, her voice was much steadier.

“I want you to help Winston.”

“Stand with him and drive the High Table out of New York.”

“Why?”

“Winston has a lot of supporters. He's wanted to break away for a long time. He doesn't make it obvious yet, but sooner or later the High Table will notice.”

“This attack was a test.”

“They'll send more people.”

“One group after another.”

She paused.

“Judy was only the first.”

“She won't be the last.”

John stared at her without expression.

“Do you know what you're saying?”

“I do.”

Elena's voice remained calm.

“No one who opposes the High Table survives.”

“That was before,” Elena said. “Now you and Mr. Wang are here. Doesn't that change things?”

John's hand rested motionless on his knee.

Nate felt the atmosphere in the room grow heavier, almost like physical pressure settling onto his shoulders.

“Why should I do that?” John asked.

“You don't want someone showing up one day to tell you Winston or Charon is dead.”

Elena stared directly into his eyes.

“You've already lost too much.”

Something shifted in John's eyes.

“I owe Winston,” he said. “But I can repay him another way.”

“What way?”

Elena's voice wasn't provocative.

She was simply stating a fact.

“Wait until he's dead and leave flowers on his grave?”

Nate broke into a cold sweat beside her.

John didn't get angry.

He stood and walked over to the window, turning his back to them.

“Your logic is flawed,” he said. “The High Table isn't one person.”

“You kill one, ten more come.”

“You kill ten, a hundred come.”

“You can't win.”

“We don't need to win.”

Elena stood as well.

“We just need to make it hurt.”

“Mr. Wang did it decades ago. I believe you can too.”

“The High Table understands cost better than anyone. Once they realize taking New York would cost more than it's worth, they'll choose another option.”

“What option?”

“Negotiation.”

John turned around.

He didn't answer.

But the corner of his mouth moved slightly, almost like a smile.

“I won't join you.”

Elena's heart sank, but she held his gaze.

“Okay.”

“I won't help you either.”

“Fine.”

“But what you said about making them hurt...”

John walked back to the coffee table and picked up the pen Elena had brought.

He rolled it halfway around his fingers.

“That part isn't bad.”