2 CALM DOWN MR. ROME

Chapter 2

Mhok woke up early the next morning. The unfamiliar room was quiet, and sunlight filtered faintly through the curtains. He did not go out immediately. Instead, he stayed inside and did simple exercises, keeping his movements controlled and silent. Only after his body warmed and sweat soaked his clothes did he allow himself to relax slightly. He took a quick shower, changed, and made sure everything was in order before sitting down to wait.

He had learned long ago that in an unfamiliar place, patience mattered more than curiosity.

Not long after, a knock sounded at the door.

Mhok opened it to find Alof standing outside, dressed in black as always. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable. “Come with me,” Alof said. “The sir is waiting for you upstairs.”

Mhok nodded, locked the door behind him, and followed.

As they walked, he quietly observed the mansion. The second floor overlooked a vast circular living room at the center of the building. The floor below was padded with thick carpeting, and above, frosted glass covered the high ceiling, allowing soft daylight to pour in. A spiral staircase wrapped around the open space, elegant yet imposing. The mansion was luxurious, but not ostentatious—it carried the quiet authority of someone who did not need to show off power.

Alof led him to a finely carved wooden door. After knocking and receiving permission, Alof opened it but remained outside. Mhok lowered his head slightly and stepped in alone.

The room was cool and solemn. One wall was lined with towering bookshelves and filing cabinets, while a massive desk piled with documents sat in the center. On the opposite side was a leather sofa set with a small coffee table.

“Come in and sit,” a calm voice said in Russian.

Vassili Arseni sat on the sofa, holding a cup of hot coffee. His tall frame radiated pressure even at rest. His light gray eyes briefly lifted to examine Mhok before returning to the cup in his hand.

Mhok followed instructions and sat down on the opposite sofa. Only then did he notice Kian and Rome seated nearby, their expressions cold and distant. He glanced at them briefly, then focused his attention on Vassili.

“Let me formally introduce you,” Vassili said unhurriedly. “These are my sons. The eldest is Kian. The younger is Rome.”

“Call me Thee,” Kian said immediately, his voice sharp. He spared Mhok a brief, cold glance before turning away.

Vassili smiled faintly and gestured toward Mhok. “This is Mhok. From today on, he will be your right-hand man.”

“I don’t need an assistant,” Kian replied without hesitation, his hostility obvious.

“You will need one someday,” Vassili said calmly. “Try first. If you truly dislike it, I won’t force you.”

Kian pressed his lips together but did not argue further. That silence was his reluctant acceptance.

Vassili turned his attention to Rome. “Mhok is close to your age. School starts next month. You’ll go together and look after each other.”

“Me?” Rome dragged the word out, sounding bored.

“Who else?” Vassili chuckled. “Besides, I think he’s more suited to taking care of you.”

“Him? Take care of me?” Rome scoffed and turned his head away.

“If you behave, your mother won’t worry,” Vassili said mildly.

“I’ll be in high school next year,” Rome replied lazily. “I won’t have time to fight.”

Mhok watched quietly. The two brothers were completely different. Kian was cold and rigid like ice, while Rome appeared relaxed, like a calm sea—though Mhok suspected hidden storms beneath that surface.

Rome noticed Mhok’s gaze and looked back. Their eyes met briefly before Rome looked away again.

“Rome, calm down,” Vassili said gently. “I believe Mhok can become your best friend. And Kian—don’t shut yourself away. Not everyone in this world is bad.”

Neither brother responded.

Vassili then fixed his sharp gaze on Mhok. “I’ve already handled your enrollment. My sons are now in your care. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir,” Mhok replied evenly.

Satisfied, Vassili waved his sons away. Once the door closed, the oppressive aura in the room softened.

“I didn’t bring you here to be my subordinate,” Vassili said quietly. “I want you to be my son’s confidant.”

Mhok lowered his head. He understood what that meant—to grow beside the future gang leader, support him, correct him, and even die for him if necessary.

“I understand,” he said, though doubt lingered in his heart.

“They may be difficult,” Vassili continued. “Be patient. But if they cross the line, you’re allowed to fight back. Just don’t stab them.”

Mhok looked up in surprise.

“Don’t hold back,” Vassili added lightly. “They’re tough.”

Mhok nodded silently, storing the permission away, hoping he would never need to use it.

After leaving the study, Alof guided him through the grounds, explaining the mansion’s rules. The third floor was restricted. The study and bedrooms required permission. The white building housed the kitchen.

Inside, the smell of food filled the air. It resembled a large canteen. Alof handed Mhok a plate and instructed him to serve himself.

Mhok took modest portions—toast, eggs, bacon, and ham—and sat at a long table surrounded by men in black. He stood out immediately: a thin Asian teenager among towering bodyguards.

A scar-faced man struck up a conversation, introducing himself as Kelaifu. He laughed loudly, questioned Mhok’s age, and teased him for eating so little, piling sausages onto his plate.

“I don’t want it,” Mhok said calmly, pushing them back.

Kelaifu burst out laughing.

After breakfast, Alof called Mhok away. “Master Kian is waiting.”

Mhok followed, steady and silent.

It was time to meet his new master.

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