Mark

He was once a legendary mercenary known by the codename “Black Reaper,” a man who could wipe out an entire warzone whenever he took action.
After retiring, his only wish was to be a landlord: quietly collect rent, slowly pay off his mortgage, and keep up with the property tax.

Until that arrogant genius chemist rented his room.

A drug that could make addicts quit for good put her on every cartel’s kill list—and dragged Klein back into a world of blood and gunfire.

By day, he runs errands and does odd jobs for her, playing the part of a tool-like assistant.
By night, he pulls on his gloves, picks up his weapons, and single‑handedly beats the killers and gangsters who come knocking until they question their life choices.

When the neighbors start acting suspicious, brutal drug traffickers close in, and the powerful West family steps in to clean house, Klein finally admits:
Protecting his tenant is harder than fighting a war.

Staring at the pitiful rent that hits his account every month, he begins to seriously ponder a question:
“I only rented the place out to pay the property tax… so in this deal… am I actually losing out or what?”