Rion Sky lived above the world — literally and figuratively.

From the 100th floor of Sky Corporation’s headquarters, he stood before a wall of glass, overlooking the city as if it were a mere painting on display. Traffic lights glittered like obedient ants, people moved like numbers on a spreadsheet, and everything beneath him served one purpose — profit.

His reflection stared back in the glass.

Tall. Composed. Perfectly groomed black hair. A suit cut to his frame so sharply it could kill a man if thrown.

His face was calm.

Too calm.

Most men needed to raise their voices to prove power. Rion had long discovered that the softer he spoke, the more the world trembled.

Behind him, two executives waited. One trembled. The other tried not to.

“This quarter’s investment portfolio shows—” the older one began.

Rion raised a hand.

Silence.

He didn’t turn around.

“I asked for results,” he said quietly, “not explanations.”

The younger executive swallowed. “W-We had complications with—”

“Complications?” Rion’s voice remained steady and composed. “Do banks accept complications as collateral? Do competitors fold when you cry about complications?”

They both fell silent.

Good. He hated incompetence.

Rion finally turned, taking slow, deliberate steps toward them. He never walked fast. Fast movements showed desperation. He had never once needed desperation.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I pay you to prevent problems. Not report them.”

His gaze settled on the older man.

“You have one day.”

Then the younger.

“You have one hour.”

Neither dared ask who was given the worse fate.

Rion brushed past them, heading toward the elevator. His secretary — a seasoned woman who survived longer than anyone else — followed him, keeping three respectful steps behind.

“Your schedule, sir,” she said, handing over a tablet. “Morning shareholder briefing, lunch with Prime Minister Sato’s envoy, and in the evening… your engagement dinner with Miss Cherry Ling.”

She said it carefully. As if approaching a beast with a stick.

Rion didn’t look at her.

“Cancel it.”

She hesitated. “Sir, Miss Ling already flew in from Shanghai—”

“Cancel. It.” His tone didn’t shift. But it never needed to.

“Yes, sir.”

The elevator opened.

Rion stepped in, alone.

As the doors closed, silence wrapped around him like a familiar lover.

Silence never lied.

People lied.

---

Flashback.

Screaming. Begging. A child hiding behind a couch while lawyers and relatives fought over his dead parents’ fortune. They didn’t even cover the bodies before arguing over who got what.

His father’s funeral wasn’t a funeral. It was a bidding war.

Rion was eleven when he made his first decision:

Never feel.

---

He opened his eyes as the elevator reached the rooftop, where his private helicopter waited.

The pilot bowed. “Where to, sir?”

“The east district.”

The pilot froze. “Sir, that area is—”

A single glance from Rion shut him up. “—understood.”

They took off.

---

The eastern district was nothing like Rion’s world of glass and gold. It was chaos — flickering neon signs, graffiti-covered walls, piles of trash in alleys that smelled of smoke and desperation.

Rion stepped out of the helicopter with his hands in his coat pockets. His driver was already waiting with a black car.

The driver opened the door for him, nervous. “Sir… with all due respect, you shouldn’t handle these matters personally. We could send men—”

“I don’t trust men,” Rion said calmly as he entered the car. “I trust myself.”

The driver shut his mouth.

They drove deeper into the alleys until the road narrowed. The car stopped.

“Wait here.”

Rion stepped out and walked into the darkness.

No bodyguards.

No entourage.

Just him — a billionaire strolling through danger like it was a park.

Calm.

Unbothered.

Unbreakable.

He had a meeting with a crime syndicate leader who recently disrupted one of his quiet operations. Rion preferred negotiation over violence — but only because negotiations were more efficient. If they refused…

He glanced at his watch.

They have five minutes to arrive before I end them.

The wind rustled.

Then — footsteps.

Four men emerged from the shadows, surrounding him. None were the leader he expected.

Amateurs.

Sloppy.

The one in front grinned. “You lost, Mr. Rich Boy?”

Rion didn’t answer.

Another pulled out a knife. “Nice watch. Must be worth—”

The man didn’t finish.

Rion stepped forward once.

Only once.

His gaze — steady, emotionless — met the man’s eyes.

“Touch it,” he said quietly, “and I’ll see to it that your whole bloodline vanishes from public records.”

They froze. Not because of the threat itself — but because he sounded dead serious. Too calm to be joking.

These weren’t normal rich boy threats.

This was a promise from someone who had erased people before.

Their hesitation broke when one fool lunged.

Rion sidestepped effortlessly.

A swift, efficient movement — like swatting a fly.

He twisted the attacker’s wrist, breaking it with a sickening crack.

The man screamed.

The others panicked.

They pulled weapons.

Rion sighed.

He could kill them.

He probably should.

But before he could decide—

Gunshot.

His shoulder jerked.

He blinked slowly, more annoyed than pained, as warm blood seeped through his coat.

Someone had fired from behind.

He turned—just as another shot hit his leg.

His body stumbled against the wall, but his expression didn’t change.

He looked mildly inconvenienced.

The attackers laughed nervously, thinking he’d fall.

He didn’t.

He stayed standing.

Like a dying god refusing to kneel.

But blood loss demanded obedience.

His vision blurred.

He slid down the wall slowly.

Still calm.

Still silent.

If this was how he died, so be it.

He would die standing in dignity, not crawling in fear.

The world dimmed.

---

 ASHIN POV's

Ashin Storm was late.

Again.

“Crap crap crap,” he muttered, sprinting through the alleyways while clutching a plastic bag of steamed buns. “Grandma’s gonna kill me if dinner gets cold—”

Then he stopped.

A metallic scent hit his nose.

Blood.

He turned right — and froze.

There, slumped against the wall, was a man in a suit so expensive it didn’t belong anywhere near this gutter. Blood dripped down his arm. His eyes were half-open, yet burning with refusal to fall.

Ashin’s brain screamed RUN.

His body moved forward.

“Hey! Sir! Can you hear me?!”

No response.

Ashin dropped to his knees, tearing open the bag, pulling out napkins. “Crap, okay—apply pressure, stop the bleeding, don’t die, don’t die—”

The man’s eyes rolled toward him slowly.

Cold. Sharp. Silver-gray.

Ashin felt like those eyes could kill him on the spot.

But instead of pushing him away…

The man spoke, voice calm and terrifyingly steady.

“Leave. Now.”

Ashin swallowed.

“…No.”

---

Chapter 1 — End

Blood.

Ashin’s hands were covered in it.

Warm. Slippery. Relentless.

He pressed the bundled napkins harder against the stranger’s shoulder wound, heart racing like a jackhammer. He had no medical kit, no gloves, no proper tools—only desperation and a bag of steamed buns rolling sadly across the dirty ground.

“Hey! Stay with me!” he pleaded, leaning closer. “Don’t close your eyes. Seriously. I don’t know what to do if you die—”

“I told you…” the man murmured, voice unnervingly steady for someone bleeding out. “Leave.”

Ashin blinked. “You’re still on that? Dude, you’re dying, not offering Uber directions.”

The stranger didn’t respond.

His eyes were heavy now—still open, but dimming, like frost gathering on glass.

Ashin panicked harder.

“Okay, okay, um—hospital time!”

He grabbed the man’s arm and attempted to pull him up.

Didn’t budge.

The man was built like a marble statue. Heavy, solid, immovable. Ashin gritted his teeth and tried again, practically climbing onto him in an attempt to drag him upright.

The man hissed under his breath—not in pain, but in warning. “Don’t touch me so casually.”

Ashin froze, halfway wrapped around the man like an octopus.

He stared at the stranger.

The stranger stared back.

A silent standoff.

Then Ashin whispered, “Would you rather I casually let you bleed to death?”

Silence.

The man’s jaw twitched.

“…Fine.”

That one word—quietly surrendered—felt like a victory.

Ashin exhaled shakily. “Okay. On three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“—Three—oof!”

With every ounce of strength his noodle arms had, Ashin hauled the stranger upward. The man helped with minimal effort, standing with the dignity of a king even while soaked in blood.

Up close, Ashin finally saw his face clearly.

Strong jaw.

Cold eyes.

A presence so intense it made Ashin feel like he was standing in front of danger itself.

Yet…

There was something heartbreakingly lonely in those eyes.

No time to stare.

Ashin slung the man's good arm over his shoulders, nearly collapsing from the weight. “Okay! My house isn't far. Just hang on. Don’t die on me.”

“...Where are you taking me?” the man muttered as Ashin dragged him out of the alley.

“To safety.”

“I don’t go anywhere without my security detail.”

Ashin snorted. “Well, they’re not here. So tonight, your security detail is named Ashin Storm, and he charges zero dollars per hour, but maybe a thank you.”

The man—bleeding, bruised, barely standing—still had the audacity to lift an eyebrow.

“...No.”

Ashin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, figures.”

---

 RION POV's

Pathetic.

No—not the weaklings who had attacked him.

Not the blood spilling from his body.

Himself.

He—Rion Sky—being dragged by a nobody in a hoodie through filthy streets like some wounded animal.

His pride screamed.

But… so did his instincts.

He could barely remain conscious. His legs were losing strength first. His arm was numb. His vision blurred. His breathing—too shallow.

Unacceptable.

He should be dead by now.

But this… boy… refused to let him be.

“Hurry,” the boy grunted. “You’re heavy.”

Rion glanced down.

The boy was half his size. Dusty sneakers. Messy hair. Cheap plastic bag swinging from his wrist.

A nobody.

Yet somehow… fearless.

No one—no one—had ever dared touch Rion without permission. Not since he took control of his empire. Not since he buried emotions and raised walls. Even doctors asked permission before brushing his sleeve.

But this boy…

He held him like a responsibility he’d willingly chosen.

Ridiculous.

Rion should shove him away.

Should disappear before this stranger realized who he was.

Should never allow himself to be indebted.

Yet…

His body had already made the decision.

Leaning on this boy was the only reason he was still conscious.

---

They reached a shabby apartment complex.

Rusty stairs.

Dim hallway.

Peeling paint.

Ashin fumbled with keys, muttering, “Sorry, sorry—my place is kinda messy—don’t judge.”

Rion’s lip twitched.

Judge?

He could buy this building ten times. Demolish it and rebuild it in gold. Call it a closet.

But instead of mocking, he remained silent.

Words were beneath him.

Ashin finally pushed the door open.

“Welcome to Casa Storm!” he declared, pushing Rion inside. “Home of unmatched chaos and instant noodles.”

Rion stared.

A small living room with mismatched furniture. A couch with a cartoon blanket. Potted plants. Fairy lights. A TV slightly tilted.

It was… warm.

Lived in.

Human.

Rion’s chest tightened for a moment before he shoved the feeling down. Useless.

Ashin set him down on the couch gently, grabbing a first aid kit.

“Okay! Shirt off.”

Rion turned to him slowly.

Ashin blinked. “...For the wound. Not for fun. I mean unless you want it to be fun—NO, ignore that, I didn’t say that—okay, stop looking at me like that—”

Rion’s gaze was cold and unreadable.

“If you speak one more unnecessary word,” he said calmly, “I’ll reconsider bleeding to death.”

Ashin shut his mouth instantly.

“…Noted.”

He carefully reached for Rion’s coat and peeled it off. Blood had soaked through the fabric, sticky and dark. Ashin’s brows furrowed in focus.

He cleaned the wound, sanitized it, wrapped it in firm bandages. His hands were steady now—work mode activated.

Rion observed silently.

The boy’s earlier chaos had vanished.

Serious.

Focused.

Skilled.

Rion almost… respected it.

When Ashin finally finished, he sat back with a sigh of relief. “Okay. You’ll live. Probably. Assuming no internal bleeding. Or infection. Or rogue organ failure. But we’ll deal with that later.”

Rion stared.

Ashin smiled awkwardly. “Uh. I’m Ashin, by the way.”

Rion said nothing.

Name exchanges were pointless.

Ashin shrugged. “Okay. Silent type. Cool.”

He stood. “I’ll get you water. Don’t move.”

As Ashin walked away, Rion whispered quietly.

“...Rion.”

Ashin paused.

“Huh?”

Rion didn’t repeat himself.

Ashin blinked—then grinned.

“So you can talk normally.”

---

 ASHIN POV's

He brought water to the stranger—Rion—and watched him drink with dignified movements, as if even sipping water was a business meeting.

Ashin spoke softly. “You’re safe here.”

Rion looked at him.

A long, piercing stare.

It wasn’t suspicion.

It was… confusion.

As if the concept of someone choosing to help him didn’t compute.

Ashin smiled reassuringly. “You don’t owe me anything.”

Wrong words.

Rion’s eyes darkened dangerously.

Ashin blinked.

“…Okay. You owe me something. I’ll take one smile as payment.”

Rion didn’t smile.

Didn’t even blink.

Ashin chuckled. “Tough crowd.”

He stood and stretched. “You can sleep here. I’ll take the floor.”

Rion’s voice finally returned.

“I don’t sleep in unfamiliar places.”

Ashin nodded. “Cool. Then don’t sleep. Pass out with dignity.”

The billionaire stared at him like he couldn’t tell if Ashin was stupid or fearless.

Then—something unexpected.

A faint exhale.

Not quite a sigh.

Not quite laughter.

Something in between.

Ashin grinned at his tiny victory.

---

Minutes passed.

Rion leaned back against the couch, eyes heavy.

Ashin watched from a distance.

It was strange.

This man radiated danger, power, and intimidation.

But right now…

He looked human.

Vulnerable, even.

Ashin didn’t know why, but he whispered softly into the quiet:

“Don’t worry. I’m here.”

He didn’t know if Rion heard.

But Rion’s eyes—half-closed—softened almost imperceptibly.

For the first time in years…

He let himself sleep.

---

Chapter 2 — End

Ashin’s POV

Ashin woke up with a gasp.

His body lurched upright before his mind could catch up, breath ragged as sweat clung to his skin. For one horrible moment, he didn’t know where he was. The smell of antiseptic, the familiar hum of the small electric fan, and the sight of his hand-me-down curtains finally grounded him.

He was in his room. On his thin futon. Safe.

But his body didn’t feel safe.

His hands trembled as they touched his own skin — as if confirming something had changed. His lips parted slowly. His breathing wouldn’t calm.

It wasn’t a dream.

It happened.

Last night. The alley. The blood. Him.

That man.

Ashin squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his palms against them until stars burst in the darkness. His throat tightened. His heart was beating so loudly he wondered if the neighbors could hear it.

Why… why did he do it?

He hadn’t been thinking. He just saw someone dying — stabbed and bleeding — and his body moved before his brain could catch up. He had patched wounds before, helped drunks in alleyways, even fought off street thugs. But last night was different.

It wasn’t just saving a life.

It was giving something he could never take back.

His lips trembled. Shame twisted inside him — but so did something else. Something he couldn’t name.

He remembered hands — large, trembling — gripping him.

A voice — low, broken — whispering something that sounded like “Don’t stop.”

Ashin curled in on himself.

Was it wrong?

He didn’t ask. He didn’t think. He just… acted.

Maybe he crossed a line. Maybe he ruined everything.

But… if he was honest with himself — brutally honest — the worst part wasn’t what happened.

It was that he couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The man’s face — pale, cold, breathtakingly beautiful even in agony.

Who was he?

A criminal? A victim? Someone dangerous?

Ashin stared at the wall. The crack in the paint looked like a question mark.

Would he ever see him again?

He didn’t know.

He also didn’t know if he wanted to.

His chest ached with a strange mix of dread and longing.

Then — his phone buzzed on the floor beside him.

He jumped.

A single message from his boss at the cafe:

> “Ashin\, you’re late for your shift again. If you’re not here in 10\, don’t bother coming.”

Ashin exhaled shakily, grabbed his jacket, and ran.

He didn’t have time to fall apart.

Not when survival didn’t wait.

---

Rion’s POV

Silence.

Too silent.

Rion Sky sat behind his glass desk on the top floor of Sky Corporation Tower, staring at documents he couldn’t read. The skyline stretched endlessly beyond his window, but he saw none of it.

He only saw him.

That nameless stranger with trembling hands and fierce, determined eyes.

Ash-stained hair. Lips parted in fear and defiance. Warm. Too warm.

Rion’s jaw tightened.

Ridiculous.

He never remembered faces. People were background noise. Tools. Obstacles. Assets.

But this one—

This boy—

He invaded Rion’s mind like a virus. Persistent. Unwanted. Uncontrollable.

For the first time in years, Rion felt something he despised.

Vulnerability.

His fingers curled slightly.

He had been dying. He knew it. He had felt the knife. The warmth of blood spilling. His vision fading.

And then — blinding heat.

Hands on him, urgent. A body against his. Desperation. Salvation.

It was madness. He should be disgusted. Enraged.

So why… was he remembering it on purpose?

He wanted to hear that stranger’s voice again.

Rion leaned back in his chair, expression blank yet lethal.

This was unacceptable.

He could not afford distractions. He could not afford weakness.

And yet —

He lifted his hand.

“Reese.”

A voice answered instantly through the desk speaker.

“Yes, sir.”

“Find him.”

There was no need to specify.

His assistant understood. Reese had been trained to decode even his silence.

“Understood,” came the steady reply.

Rion ended the call.

He sat there quietly, fingers steepled before his lips. His reflection stared back at him in the glass.

Cold. Controlled.

But beneath that…

Unease.

What would he do once he found him?

…He didn’t know.

Possibly ruin him.

Possibly protect him.

Possibly both.

Rion wasn’t sure which option terrified him more.

---

End of Chapter 3