My Tenant Dragged Me Back to Hell

My name is Klein. I used to be a highly renowned mercenary known as the "Black Reaper." After retiring, all I wanted was to be an ordinary landlord: collect rent, curse out the vampire banks, and quietly pay my property tax. Then that arrogant, brilliant chemist Carol rented my house. The addiction-curing drug she developed threw the entire drug world into chaos — Hitmen, gangs, and the powerful West family all came sniffing around. Worse yet, my long-dead old enemies started crawling out of the woodwork one by one. But compared to all that danger, what really breaks my heart is this — Carol's underwear got stolen, and she actually suspects me. I just wanted to collect the rent. Why does the whole world want me dead?