Chapter 1

Midday sunlight pierced through the sheer curtains of a five-star hotel in the heart of Nam Ha City.

On the 27th floor, inside an expensive suite, the thick scent of cigarettes mingled with strong liquor, swirling in the air like a storm warning.

On Triet sat leaned back on a black leather sofa, one leg casually resting on the cushion.

His eyes, sharp as blades, swept across the men bowing before him. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

“Looks like the rats are about to climb on top of my head.” — His voice was calm, neither loud nor soft, but each word fell heavy like lead.

On the table, a dossier lay open.

Photos taken at midnight on the docks were spread out—several familiar faces, ones who had once bowed to him with both hands, now seen secretly exchanging something with unfamiliar men of unclear origin.

Their faces were blurred, but their postures were unmistakable.

“You know my rules.” — He exhaled smoke, eyes fixed on a trembling subordinate. — “Betrayal. Means. Death.”

The room froze.

He stood, slowly smoothing the sleeve of his black shirt, and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

Below his feet, the city moved like clockwork—orderly, peaceful, yet all under his control.

Except for one thing he hadn’t planned for: betrayal.

“Tonight,” — he turned back, eyes dark as the abyss — “wipe them out. Leave no one alive.”

Just as his voice faded, the phone in his pocket buzzed softly.

He glanced at the screen.

Unknown number. No name. No sign of familiarity.

Only a single message:

“There’s a rat right beside you.”

No signature. No identity.

Just one sentence—like a cold bullet to the brain.

On Triet’s gaze dropped.

Darker. Sharper.

“Everyone out.” — He waved a hand.

The men filed out in silence, leaving only Thanh Huy—his adopted younger brother, his closest confidant since before he took the throne.

“Probably just someone trying to stir the pot,” — Thanh Huy said, pouring him a drink and setting the glass down by his side.

On Triet smirked. But his fingers discreetly tapped his watch, pressing a short-coded signal.

A message sent straight to his private assassins—ones who answered to no one but him.

On the outside, he smiled. But inside, a storm was brewing.

In this world, trust was a luxury—and betrayal was paid in blood.

“A rat, huh...” — He repeated the word, tasting it on his tongue. — “I’ll skin you myself.”

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The sleek black Meybeck (don’t ask) slid past rows of golden city lights.

The tinted window reflected the face of the man inside—On Triet—cold, sharp, but with an odd, empty glint in his eyes.

He sat at an angle, one arm resting on the window, the other flipping an old, tarnished silver lighter.

An old gift.

A gift from him—Thanh Huy.

The glass mirrored his face, but what On Triet saw was a messy-haired boy, cheeks smudged with coal dust, holding a half-melted lollipop:

“Triet ca, don’t fight anymore. I don’t want big brother getting hurt again.”

That childish voice echoed in his mind, squeezing tight around his chest.

Years ago, a younger, colder On Triet had spotted that boy in an underground base—the enemy’s little brother, taken hostage for leverage.

But for some reason, he’d hidden him.

Protected him.

Raised him with his own blood and money.

“I like people like you, not those fake ones out there…”

Those memories, that time, that gaze... once the only thing he clung to in a world full of blood.

Until...

The car slowed down at a deserted intersection.

On Triet frowned, rolled down the window.

The night was eerily still. But the wind howled suddenly, unnaturally.

A faint click came from behind.

He turned.

Mafia instincts kicked in—

But it was too late.

Bang!

The gunshot pierced the air.

The bullet slammed into his shoulder.

On Triet lurched forward, slamming against the door.

The lighter slipped from his hand, sparking as it hit the floor.

Pop… pop…

Two more muffled shots. Like the final gasps of trust.

Blood sprayed—bright red like spring blossoms, but cold as a winter grave.

The wheels skidded.

The car veered to the side.

CRASH!

It rolled off the small slope beside the road, flipped once, and slammed into a tree.

Inside, On Triet slumped against the seat, body trembling from blood loss.

The car’s emergency system blared in his ears—but the clearest sound was...

The drip of blood on the floor.

Drip. Drip.

Like an hourglass in reverse, counting down what little time he had left.

He looked up, dazed, catching a glimpse through the shattered windshield—

A man was walking toward him.

Unhurried. Unshaken.

A black briefcase in one hand. A small flashlight in the other.

“Shit… who…”

On Triet muttered, half-conscious.

But before he could see clearly, the door yanked open.

A hand—cold from the night, warm from the person—reached in.“Shut up. If you die now, it’ll be a pain in the ass.”

That voice—low, steady, slightly annoyed but strangely dependable.

It belonged to no one else but a university professor—the man he once saved from an assassination attempt.

Back then, he didn’t care.

But now, in the haze of blood and pain, he saw clearly:

This man was lifting him, like slinging a sack of rice over his shoulder.

The flashlight illuminated On Triet’s face.

Those dark, deep eyes stared at him—furious, but filled with something more... concern.

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“You really are an idiot. Got ambushed and didn’t even see it coming.”

The man crouched down, pulling gauze and a syringe from the case, working fast.

The sound of metal piercing flesh.

Scissors cutting through bloodied clothes.

“Bullet missed the heart. Barely. But if you talk too much, I can’t guarantee you’ll make it.”

The night breeze whispered across the empty field.

On Triet wanted to laugh.

But he had no strength left.

He closed his eyes.

And faintly—he heard a soft murmur:

“Don’t die.At least… not yet.”

And just like that, he passed out in the professor’s arms—

Letting fate drag them both into a spiral of blood, betrayal…

And secrets still waiting to be revealed.

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Faint light filtered through the curtains, catching dust particles in the air like a thin mist.

The room was simple—white walls, wooden floors, the faint scent of antiseptic mingling with jasmine tea.

On Triet frowned.

A sharp pain split through his skull like a hammer blow, making it impossible to open his eyes right away.

His mind felt like it had just been dragged up from the bottom of the sea.

A searing ache tore through his right shoulder—every breath sliced through him like a knife.

Dried blood crusted one temple, roughly bandaged.

The ticking of a wall clock echoed in his ears.

A low, unfamiliar voice spoke nearby:

“You’re awake.”

On Triet opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a white-painted ceiling—then, the face of a young man.

Tousled black hair, thin-rimmed glasses, rolled-up shirt sleeves, and a calm expression that bordered on indifferent.

He froze for a second.

His left hand moved instinctively to his waist—

Empty.

No gun.

No blade.

Nothing.

Shit.

“You were in a car accident,” — the man said, as if reading off a report. — “I found you near a wooded stretch south of town. You were bleeding badly. No ID… but I couldn’t just leave you there.”

No warmth in his tone.

Just facts.

On Triet pushed himself up, wincing as the pain flared.

His muscles spasmed from the strain.

Still, he managed to growl—low, hoarse, and sharp as ever:

“Who the hell are you?”

“That’s what I should be asking.”

The man stepped back, keeping a polite distance.

One hand held a steaming cup of tea, the other an old book he hadn’t closed.

“My name is Trinh Khai Duong. I’m a criminology professor at Triet Quyen University.”

On Triet didn’t respond immediately.

He filed the name away.

Khai Duong.

A professor?

His eyes scanned the room.

No cameras. No communication devices.

An ordinary person.

Which made him even more dangerous.

“I need a phone.”

Khai Duong’s brow furrowed slightly.

Still calm, but the glint behind his glasses sharpened just a little.

“Sorry, but you’re in no condition to get out of bed. I stitched your shoulder wound and bandaged two cuts from broken glass. You also took a hit to the head. Could be a mild concussion. Move too much, and the stitches will tear.”

On Triet didn’t speak.

Just stared.

Cold, calculating—like the two of them were playing chess in silence.

After a few moments, he asked:

“Why’d you save me?”

“I don’t want to watch someone die in front of me.”

“Liar!”

For the first time, Khai Duong’s expression faltered.

But he only shrugged:

“Think what you want.”

Silence stretched between them.

Only the wind outside stirred.

Khai Duong poured some water, set the glass by the bedside.

Just as he turned to leave, On Triet muttered:

“I don’t need your pity. You don’t even know who I am… do you?”

Khai Duong paused.

Then, softly:

“No. I don’t. And I don’t want to. If you’re dangerous… Then leave once you’ve healed.”

The door closed behind him.

On Triet lay alone.

But his eyes remained open.

He was used to the dark.

But this time… the light around him was foggy, strange.

As if he were trapped between life and death.

And in this unfamiliar space,

There was a man with cracks in his soul—

But still quietly tending to someone like him.

Trinh Khai Duong.

The name repeated in his mind.

Those eyes—no fear, no pretense.

Just… calm.

Too calm for a normal man.

On Triet clenched his fist.

Pain flared.

But it grounded him.

He remembered every detail.

The signal watch—

Disabled.

Only one person knew the code.

Thanh Huy.

The name hit like a jolt through his blood.

No.

It couldn’t be him.

But those eyes.

That betrayal.

The gunshots.

The blood.

It was all real.

And now…

He’d woken up in a stranger’s home,

In the care of a man whose gaze seemed to see straight through him.

Coincidence? Or… the next move in a deeper betrayal?

Sunday 27-07-2025 / 01:33 am

Translation: Sunday 07-27-2025 / 02:19 am

Note: I don't know if the translation is okay :)...

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