Italy looked nothing like the city Karan ran from.
The moment he stepped outside Rome's airport, the warm Mediterranean breeze brushed his face, carrying scents of basil, tomatoes, ocean salt, and coffee from nearby cafés. The sky was a soft shade of gold, the sun lazily sinking behind old stone buildings.
People laughed everywhere.
Street musicians played soft violins.
Tourists snapped photos.
Life felt slow and gentle.
But Karan…
Karan felt heavy.
Dragging his suitcase down the cobblestone street, he imagined Arthit running to him.
He imagined Arthit touching his wrist.
He imagined Arthit calling out—
*"Karan, stop."*
*"Don't leave me."*
*"I'll protect you."*
His throat tightened.
But those were dreams.
Dreams didn't survive in the real world.
Not with mafia secrets.
Not with a father like Mr. Sakda.
Karan blinked away the sting in his eyes.
He came here to become stronger.
A better chef.
Independent.
Safe.
He forced himself to breathe.
---
WELCOME TO CASA DEL SAPORE
The culinary institute greeted him like an old European palace—tall arches, carved pillars, marble floors, and the smell of fresh bread drifting through every hallway.
A cheerful woman in her fifties approached him.
"You must be Karan Kim, yes?" she said with a warm Italian accent.
"Yes," Karan bowed politely. "Nice to meet you."
"I'm Signora Lucia, your instructor. Come, come! We will prepare your schedule."
Karan followed her into a bright kitchen filled with copper pans, fresh herbs, wooden counters, and students chatting excitedly.
Lucia glanced at him kindly.
"You look tired, caro."
Karan gave a small smile. "Long flight."
"Or long heartache?" she said gently.
Karan stiffened.
"It's written in your eyes," she added. "But don't worry. Italy heals the heart."
Karan said nothing.
He wasn't sure anything could heal him.
---
ARTHIT TRAINING LIKE A BEAST
In a dark warehouse converted into a secret training facility, the echo of fists colliding with punching bags thundered like war drums.
*BAM.*
*BAM.*
*BAM.*
Arthit's fists were raw, wrapped in bloody bandages. His breath was ragged, sweat dripping onto the concrete floor. His trainer shook his head.
"You'll die at this pace."
Arthit didn't even look up.
"Again."
"You haven't slept in two days—"
"I SAID AGAIN!"
The trainer swallowed and reset the timer.
As soon as the bell rang—
Arthit launched himself at the sandbag with brutal force, muscles straining, breath tearing from his chest.
Every punch was a memory of Karan crying.
Every kick was Karan trembling in fear.
Every harsh breath was Karan's broken voice—
*"He kidnapped me."*
Arthit's vision blurred with anger.
*BAM!*
*"He threatened my family."*
BAM!
*"I left because I was scared."*
BAM!
Arthit roared and slammed his fist so hard the bag shook violently.
"Don't worry, Karan…"
His breath shuddered.
"I'll win. I'll tear this world apart if I have to."
But no matter how strong he trained—
Karan was no longer in the same country.
---
BACK IN ITALY — LONELY NIGHTS
Karan sat outside a small balcony in his dorm, overlooking the city streets. Italian voices drifted up from below—children laughing, couples arguing, neighbors chatting.
The food institute was amazing.
The people were warm.
The city was beautiful.
But nights were the worst.
He took out his phone.
Dozens of unread messages from Arthit.
**Arthit:**
*Karan, please answer.*
**Arthit:**
*Where are you?*
**Arthit:**
*I don't care how far you go… just talk to me.*
Karan's fingers trembled above the screen.
He typed.
*I'm okay.*
He deleted it.
He tried again.
*I miss you.*
He deleted that too.
Finally, he typed nothing and put the phone face down.
"I can't," he whispered.
"If I talk to you… I won't leave."
He hugged his knees to his chest.
"Arthit… please stay safe."
And he cried silently.
---
ARTHIT'S BREAKDOWN
After another round of brutal sparring, Arthit collapsed onto the floor, chest heaving.
Anant rushed over.
"Arthit! That's enough!"
Arthit pushed him away weakly.
"I'm fine."
"You're not," Anant snapped. "You're destroying yourself."
Arthit glared at him.
"You don't understand."
Anant softened.
"I do. I've seen you love him. I've seen how you look when you talk about him."
A pause.
"And I saw what Father did."
Arthit froze.
"You knew?"
His voice shook with betrayal.
Anant exhaled heavily.
"Yes. I knew. I warned him… but he didn't listen."
Arthit's heart clenched painfully.
"Where is he?" He whispered.
"Where did Karan go?"
Anant shook his head.
"I don't know. He left the country quietly."
Arthit covered his face with shaking hands.
"Karan… don't leave me…"
Anant placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You have one hope left," he said quietly.
"Win the championship."
Arthit lowered his hands.
"And then?"
"Then you'll be powerful enough to protect him yourself."
Arthit's breath hitched.
"I'll win," he whispered fiercely.
"For him. Only him."
---
THE HIDDEN PLAN
Inside the mansion, Mr. Sakda spoke to a shadowy man on the phone.
"Everything is set?"
"Yes," the man replied coldly. "If Arthit wins, the syndicate will crown him their leader."
"And if he loses?"
"Then he will be eliminated."
Mr. Sakda smiled thinly.
"Good."
He ended the call.
Then whispered to himself—
"Once Arthit becomes king, he will understand my world… and he will forget that boy."
But Mr. Sakda didn't know—
Arthit would never forget Karan.
---
KARAN FINDING HIMSELF
Weeks passed.
Karan attended classes, cooked dishes he'd never even heard of, learned from master chefs, walked through narrow Roman streets, visited markets, practiced Italian phrases.
Slowly—
painfully—
he grew stronger.
One evening, after a long lesson making ravioli, Signora Lucia approached him.
"You're improving," she said warmly. "But your eyes still look lonely."
Karan forced a smile.
"I'm trying my best."
Lucia patted his back gently.
"Let me give Italian advice," she said with a wink.
"When the heart breaks… feed it well."
Karan laughed softly despite himself.
Later, in the empty kitchen, he cooked a dish from his home—
his father's kimchi fried rice.
Simple.
Comforting.
Safe.
He plated it carefully and whispered:
"This is who I am."
But as he took the first bite—
he remembered Arthit eating from his chopsticks.
Arthit smiling.
Arthit teasing him.
His eyes filled with tears.
"I miss you…"
His voice trembled.
"I miss you so much…"
---
ARTHIT — LATE-NIGHT TRAINING
It was midnight.
Everyone was gone.
But Arthit stayed.
Punching.
Kicking.
Bleeding.
Each strike echoed his pain.
*I love you.*
*Come back.*
*Please… come back.*
He fell to his knees, chest burning, breath ragged.
He whispered into the empty gym—
"Karan… wait for me."
A single tear hit the floor.
---
THE DISTANCE GROWS
Karan and Arthit didn't speak.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
But both checked their phones every night.
Karan stared at old photos—
Arthit smiling, holding him, teasing him.
Arthit stared at Karan's empty chatbox—
wishing it would light up again.
They were apart.
But couldn't move on.
Their love stretched across countries—
hurting but unbroken.
---
In Italy
Karan stood on a balcony, looking at the moon.
"Are you looking at this too?"
He whispered softly.
In Arthit's gym
Arthit leaned against the wall, bruised and breathless, staring at the same moon through the skylight.
"Karan…"
His voice cracked.
"I'll find you."
**Two countries.
Two hearts.
One unspoken promise.**
---
End of chapter 22