CHAPTER 3: Between Life and Vengeance

The crowd did not obstruct them. He gasped, heart racing,

breath quickening as he pushed through the crowd. Never had

he felt his hands tremble like this. Hope and fear battled within

him, hoping that he would not witness anything unbearable.

When he finally reached her, he froze for a moment. Her

forehead was bleeding, and she sat slumped in a chair. Beside

Melina, her friend pressed a cloth against the wound, trying

desperately to stop the flow of blood.

"Ah... you're here," Melina murmured, her voice dazed, as if she

had been waiting only for him.

Seeing her like this, a sharp pang tore through him. Without a

second thought, he knelt before her.

"Open your eyes," he said, his voice trembling with both fear

and urgency.

He removed his shirt, revealing his bare chest, though he did not

care. Sitting carefully beside her, he wrapped the cloth around

her forehead with the utmost care. "We're going to the

hospital," he said firmly.

"I do not want to go... I am fine," she whispered, struggling to

speak as her eyes fluttered, heavy with exhaustion.

"You are okay. Just do not pass out," he urged, his voice gentle

but resolute.

Lifting her effortlessly into his arms, he carried her toward the

car. Johnny followed him closely, making sure they were not

obstructed by the crowd. Every heartbeat, every trembling step

reminded him of how fragile she was and how fiercely he needed

to protect her.

"I'll bring the car," Johnny said urgently.

He brushed a gentle kiss against her forehead, but there was no

response, as if she could not feel it anymore.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Why did you take off your shirt?" she asked weakly.

"For you," he replied, hiding his tears.

"Come on," Johnny called, pulling the car up beside them. He

was already in the driver's seat.

He opened the passenger door and sat inside, pulling her

carefully onto his lap. He rested her head against his bare chest

so she could feel safe in his arms, protected by his heartbeat.

"I'm in pain," she whispered with difficulty, her voice trembling.

He placed his hand gently on her waist and kissed her forehead

once more.

"If only I could take your pain away," he said softly.

Then he noticed her eyes fluttering, her body growing heavier.

She was losing consciousness.

Panic surged through him.

"Drive faster!" he shouted. "If anything happens to her, I swear

I'll burn the university to the ground!"

"Calm down," his friend said firmly but encouragingly. "Keep

her awake. Talk to her. Keep her active."

And so, he held her tighter, refusing to let her slip away.

He gently lifted her to the side, his hand trembling slightly.

"Open your eyes, please... do not faint. Please," he whispered,

his voice breaking. "I can't live without you." Tears streamed

down his face, splashing onto hers.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. With significant effort, she raised

her hand toward his neck. Seeing this, he immediately leaned

forward, pressing his face against her neck. She kissed him softly

and whispered, "Bye..."

And with that, she lost consciousness.

"No! Open your eyes! I will not let you go!" he cried, his voice

raw with anguish. He had never cried like this before. "How

long... and hurry!" he shouted to his friend, forcing him

forward. Johnny smiled faintly and, from the rearview, followed

his instructions.

The car stopped, and before it had even come to a full halt, he

flung open the door and dashed straight into the hospital. "Bring

a stretcher, quickly!" he yelled, panic in his voice.

A doctor nearby rushed over, seeing her bleeding profusely.

"She's losing a lot of blood," the doctor said, concerned.

He helped place her gently on the stretcher. "Open your eyes,

please," he pleaded, his hands trembling. But she could no

longer hear him. "Relax... everything will be fine," the doctor

soothed, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

He was crying as if grief had completely consumed him. Just

moments ago, she had been smiling, full of life, and now she lay

unconscious.

"She was so happy only a while ago... and now she isn't even

aware," he said in a voice heavy with sorrow.

Suddenly, he stood up in anger and started to walk away.

"Where are you going?" his friend asked.

"To the university," he replied coldly.

"And what are you going to do there?" his friend pressed.

"What you're already thinking," he said grimly.

"No, stop. I will not let you go," his friend said firmly.

"If you're truly my best friend," he continued, holding his arm,

"then you will stay here and wait for me. If anything happens,

call me."

Before he could say another word, he turned and disappeared

from his sight, moving too fast to stop.

A car screeched to a halt in front of the university gates. It was

his car.

He stepped out slowly.

"Today, I won't spare anyone," he muttered.

His eyes were burning red with rage. His hands were stained

with her blood, the same blood he had left behind at the

hospital, where she lay in critical condition. He stared at his

blood-soaked hands, then brought them to his lips and kissed

them before moving forward.

There was no shirt on his body.

With every step he took, his anger grew stronger, heavier, more

dangerous.

"I need a bat," he said to a group of boys who were playing

nearby. Seeing the fury in his eyes, they handed it to him without

a word.

Bat in hand, he walked straight toward the stadium court.

The stadium was still crowded.

He let out a cold smile.

"Now," he whispered, "this will be even more interesting."

They were laughing as if some long-awaited wish had finally

been fulfilled.

Suddenly, their leader's eyes fell on him, and the laughter died

instantly. Alertness spread among them like wildfire.

"Look... he's coming," the leader said sharply.

"Who?" one of the members asked casually, turning around.

Zosh, the leader, said in a frightened voice.

"I'll be the one to silence that laughter of yours," he growled.

Bat clenched tightly in his hand, he stepped forward. The entire

stadium fell into an eerie silence, as if a match were about to

begin again, yet no one could have guessed what was truly

coming.

Before anyone could react, he stood right in front of them.

"I knew you'd pull something like this, you lowlife," he said

coldly.

"What are you talking about? What have I done?" the leader

replied, raising an eyebrow at his teammates before looking back

at him with false innocence.

That was it.

The words pushed his rage beyond control, straight to the

seventh sky. His jaw tightened, his grip on the bat hardened, and

the surrounding silence grew heavier than ever.

Something terrible was about to happen.

"I'll show you right now," he said.

With those words, he let the bat slip from his hand and walked

straight into the center of the stadium. The football lay there,

abandoned. He picked it up and hurled it forward, but before it

could go far, he stepped in its path.

He shouted, his voice echoing through the silent arena,

"I forgot to score my goal before leaving. I've come back to

finish that."

The leader's confidence faltered. For the first time, uncertainty

flickered across his face. He had no idea what was about to

happen.

He tossed the ball into the air.

In the very next second, he leapt after it, twisting his body midair

in a powerful flip. The force behind the kick was terrifying, so

intense it felt as though it could tear through iron itself.

The ball struck him straight in the stomach.

The impact sent him flying backward until his body crashed

violently into the stadium border. He collapsed there, wounded,

and breathless, as shock ripped through the crowd.

The stadium, once loud with laughter, now stood frozen in

silence.

After dealing with him, he turned toward the football pitch.

"Goal!" he shouted.

Chaos erupted.

The stadium exploded into screams and panic. People began

running in every direction. Some of the leader's teammates and

spectators rushed toward the fallen man to help him.

The university was plunged into confusion.

"Catch him! Do not let him escape!" one of them yelled.

But it was too late.

"He's gone," a student said breathlessly.

He was driving at full speed along the deserted road, the engine

roaring beneath his control. Rage still burned inside him, but

beneath it lurked a crushing guilt, one that gnawed at his heart

relentlessly.

Just then, his phone rang.

The moment he answered it; his anger melted into sharp panic.

"Hello?" he said tensely.

"Where are you?" his friend asked urgently. "There's a

problem."

"She's okay, right?" he blurted out before the sentence could

even finish.

"No," his friend replied grimly. "She is in critical condition. The

doctors say her body has lost too much blood. She needs blood

urgently."

"Then why are you there?" he snapped in frustration. "Give her

your blood!"

"I've already been evaluated," his friend said quietly. "My blood

group doesn't match hers."

"I'm coming," he said immediately, his voice tight with fear.

He ended the call, and the tension inside him multiplied. His

heartbeat raced uncontrollably, pounding against his chest. He

tried to steady himself, to regain control, but rage and fear had

taken over together, crashing through him like a storm he could

no longer stop.

Her breathing continued, yet her body lay motionless on the

bed. The room was utterly silent; the only sounds were the

steady beeps of the machines surrounding her. Suddenly, a man

entered the room. He was tall and strikingly handsome, a young

man whose beautiful eyes shimmered softly. His glossy, jet-black

curls brushed against his eyes. He wore a white coat and a white

mask, making him look like a doctor who had come to examine

his patient.

He moved closer to her and stopped beside the bed. Pulling a

nearby chair toward himself, he sat down. He watched her with

an intense gaze, as if he knew her deeply, and yet he appeared

completely fearless; the thought of being seen did not concern

him at all. Slowly, he extended his right hand toward hers and

gently held it.

He did not speak. He only looked at her, feeling her presence.

As his hand wrapped around her, her fingers began to stir. It was

as if life flowed back into her through his touch. With great

difficulty, she tried to open her eyes, waking from a heavy,

distant sleep. Her vision was blurred; she could only sense that

someone was there, though she could not see clearly.

"Is... is that you?" she asked, her voice weak and broken.

"What happened to me?" she whispered, but he remained silent.

Leaning closer, he brought his face near hers and kissed her

forehead with deep tenderness. Then he reached into his pocket,

took out a small bottle filled with red liquid, and placed it gently

on the table beside her bed.

He looked at her as if he wished to stay closer to her, yet for

now, she was beyond his reach. It felt as though this brief

glimpse of her had been granted to him with great difficulty, as if

he had waited years for this very moment. Tears shimmered in

his eyes, as though his heart itself was crying. There was so much

he wanted to say, but the time was not right.

He turned to leave, but suddenly the sound of approaching

footsteps echoed toward the room. Without hesitation, he

slipped away and hid inside the washroom, his presence

vanishing into the silence just as quietly as it had arrived.

The nurse entered the room and began checking on her. She was

still examining the equipment when her eyes fell on the bottle.

"What is this?" she murmured. "Oh, my God... this is a bottle

of blood." Her voice carried surprise and concern. "Who placed

this here?" she wondered aloud. Then she sighed in relief.

"Thank God if the staff had seen this, I would have been

scolded. Someone must have donated it for her." She shook her

head slightly. "I should inform the doctor immediately."

Hearing this, he grew uneasy. He knew that before the doctor

arrived, he had to leave this place. Swiftly, he stepped out of the

washroom and went to her side. He gently kissed her hand and

then her forehead, preparing to leave.

Just then, she suddenly caught hold of his hand.

"I know who you are," she said.

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