Italy woke up slowly—warm light stretching over tiled rooftops, cafés opening their doors, the smell of espresso drifting through narrow streets. Students from the culinary academy hurried through the courtyard, laughing, greeting each other.
Except for one.
Karan sat alone on a stone bench at the far edge of campus, head down, notebook on his lap. His pen wasn't moving. His mind wasn't here.
Every morning he told himself he was healing.
Every night he knew he was lying.
And today… something felt strange.
A heavy, uneasy pressure settled in his chest the moment he woke up.
"Why do I feel like… something bad happened…?" he whispered.
He rubbed his arms, shaking off the feeling—until a shadow fell over him.
A mailman stood there.
"Signor Karan Kim?"
Karan blinked. "Yes?"
The mailman handed him a cream-colored envelope. "This came for you. No return address."
Karan frowned.
The handwriting was elegant, old-fashioned.
The paper smelled faintly of cologne.
His hands trembled.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
The mailman tipped his cap and walked away.
Karan stared at the letter.
He didn't know why…
but he felt fear.
---
The sound of fists slamming into flesh echoed through the gym.
Arthit fought like a demon.
Every punch was a vow to protect Karan.
Every kick was a threat to anyone who hurt him.
Every blow was a promise to himself—
*"Win. For him."*
His trainer circled nervously.
"Arthit, slow down! If you break your hand again—"
"I SAID KEEP GOING!"
His trainer flinched. "At least take a break—"
Arthit's eyes were dark, sharp, unhinged.
"I don't get breaks," he growled. "Start the next round."
The trainer sighed and clicked the timer.
Arthit charged forward.
His opponent barely blocked the first punch when—
*BANG!*
The lights snapped off.
The air chilled.
The trainer froze.
"Arthit…? This isn't normal—"
Arthit stiffened, combat senses awakening.
Footsteps approached.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Dangerous.
Then—
*SWISH!*
A blade sliced through the space he had just moved from.
"WHAT THE HELL—?!"
Arthit rolled on instinct, grabbing the steel bar from the corner. He swung it blindly.
Clang.
Clang.
A metallic echo filled the darkness.
The attacker spoke in a low whisper.
"You train well, son of Sakda…"
Arthit's blood turned to ice.
Mafia.
His father's men.
They attacked him.
*WHY?*
"Come out and fight properly!" Arthit barked.
A chuckle.
"You'll be killed easily in the championship if you fight with this emotion."
Arthit gripped his weapon tighter.
"What do you want?!"
"To deliver a message."
Arthit snarled. "Say it!"
The voice lowered.
"Your father expects you to survive."
A pause.
"But he doesn't expect you to win."
Arthit's heart froze.
"What?"
"Your father's plan is already in motion."
Before Arthit could react, something metallic hit his shoulder, exploding with force—
*BOOM.*
Arthit hit the ground hard, vision blurring.
He heard the killer whisper:
"You were never meant to protect him."
Arthit's world spun.
Him?
Protect Karan?
He forced himself up, grabbing the attacker's shirt and snarling in his face—
"IF YOU TOUCH HIM—"
Too late.
The attacker vanished through the emergency exit.
The lights flickered back on.
Arthit collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, shoulder bleeding.
"…Dad…"
His voice broke.
"What did you do…?"
---
BACK IN ITALY — THE LETTER
Karan carried the envelope to his apartment. His heart pounded painfully, but he sat down at the table and forced himself to breathe.
"Okay," he whispered. "Just open it."
He slid a finger under the seal and unfolded the paper.
His breath stopped.
---
Karan,Leave Italy immediately.
You are not safe.
He will come for you.**
**—A friend**
---
Karan stared at the words.
"What…?"
He read it again.
And again.
Each time, his heartbeat quickened.
"This isn't a joke…"
Someone knew he was in Italy.
Someone was warning him.
He swallowed hard.
"Who wrote this…?"
His hands shook.
Arthit?
No… the handwriting wasn't his.
Anant?
Nova? Lusi?
No. It wasn't familiar at all.
His stomach twisted in fear.
"Is this… connected to Mr. Sakda…?"
He suddenly remembered the cold, suffocating voice the day he was kidnapped.
*"If you stay with Arthit, your family will pay."*
A chill ran down his spine.
Karan clutched the letter.
"No… I can't pull him into danger again. I can't…"
But the fear in his chest only grew stronger.
He whispered shakily—
"Arthit… please be safe."
---
ITALY'S NARROW STREETS
Karan walked outside, trying to clear his head. The sun was setting, painting the sky orange, couples were holding hands, restaurants filling with chatter.
But everything felt wrong.
He kept looking over his shoulder.
Every shadow felt like a threat.
Every stranger seemed suspicious.
He hugged his arms around himself.
"I shouldn't panic… Italy is safe… right?"
But his instincts were screaming.
He stepped into a quiet alley for a moment to breathe.
And then—
A hand grabbed his arm.
Karan flinched. "HEY—!"
It was a tall man in a black coat.
"You're Karan Kim, right?"
Karan's heart stopped.
"W-Who are you?!"
"I need to warn you," the man whispered urgently. "You have to leave Italy—now."
Karan stumbled back.
"Why?! Who sent you?!"
The man shook his head. "I can't say—"
"ANSWER ME!"
"The mafia knows you're here."
Every drop of blood in Karan's body went cold.
The man released him and walked away quickly.
Karan stood frozen.
Mafia.
Again.
Not safe.
Again.
Because of Arthit.
Again.
He pressed a hand to his chest as he whispered—
"I can't involve him anymore…"
But tears filled his eyes anyway.
---
MEANWHILE — ARTHIT IS BLEEDING
Anant rushed into the gym the moment he heard the noise.
"ARTHIT!"
Arthit was slumped on the floor, clutching his shoulder, blood running down his arm.
Anant dropped to his knees.
"Who did this?!"
Arthit winced. "Father's men…"
Anant's expression hardened.
"That bastard…"
Arthit forced himself up.
"Where is Karan?"
"Arthit—"
"WHERE IS HE?!"
Anant swallowed. "Still in Italy."
Arthit's breath broke.
"Good… then he's far from this madness…"
Anant's eyes softened. "Do you want him back?"
Arthit closed his eyes.
"I want him safe more than I want him near."
But deep down—
He wanted both.
---
NIGHT IN ITALY — KARAN'S FEAR
Karan locked his apartment door, slid the chain, and backed away slowly.
His hands trembled uncontrollably.
"This is not happening… Not again…"
He sat on the bed and hugged himself tightly, tears streaming down his face.
"Arthit… why is your world so dangerous…?"
He buried his face in his hands.
"Why can't I forget you…?"
He cried until his breath shook.
He cried even more when he realized—
He missed him.
He loved him.
He wanted him.
But love wasn't enough.
"No one can get hurt because of me," he whispered.
"Not my family… not my friends… not even you."
He wiped his eyes.
"I need to stay away…"
---
ARTHIT CALLS HIM
Arthit's hands trembled as he dialed Karan's number.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
No answer.
He tried again.
Nothing.
He whispered painfully—
"Please… pick up…"
He tried one last time.
**Your call cannot be completed at this time.**
Arthit stared at the phone, broken.
"Did he… block me?"
He pressed his forehead to the wall, tears burning his eyes.
"Don't disappear… not like this…"
But somewhere deep inside—
He felt Karan slipping away.
---
END OF CHAPTER 23