Rome gripped his wrist tightly, practically dragging him back to the room. The veins on his broad, thick palm bulged from the sheer force of his grip. His face was set in a rigid line, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth clicked, while a rare, volatile fury flickered in his dark eyes. He was radiating an emotional storm so intense that anyone with a shred of sense wouldn’t dare breathe too loudly near him.
Mhok looked down at his trapped wrist, then used his free hand to wrap Rome’s jacket tighter around his chest, trying to block out the sharp gusts of wind biting at his skin. The suit was far too big for him, its sleeves draping past his wrists in a slightly awkward, cumbersome fit, but the heavy fabric trapped a welcome layer of heat against his shivering body.
At the very least, even if his skin was still numb with cold, something deep inside his chest felt strangely warm.
As Rome pushed him through the doorway and slammed the door shut. The room’s heater was already humming, banishing the biting chill from the air. Slipping the oversized jacket off his shoulders, Mhok caught the pungent, stale odor clinging to his uniform. A prickle of guilt washed over him—he had ruined an expensive suit that wasn’t even his.
“I’m sorry. I ruined your jacket… I’ll wash it for you later.”
“Forget the damn clothes! Go take a shower first,” Rome snapped, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. His voice was low, laced with a harsh impatience as he signaled for Mhok to hand over the damp fabric so he could deal with it.
Mhok shook his head slightly, hearing a faint flicker of annoyance rising at the young master’s sharp tone. Still, reading the room, he chose not to argue. Obediently handing the suit back to its owner. Mhok then reached into his wardrobe, grabbed a fresh pair of sweatpants and a dry shirt, and turned to head toward the bathroom. But the freezing, wet uniform clung so uncomfortably to his skin that he couldn’t stand it for another second. Wanting to at least free his chest from the icy fabric before stepping inside, he set his dry clothes on the chair and reached up to unbutton his shirt right there.
“Wait!” Rome suddenly barked, lunging forward to grab his wrist.
Mhok had only undone the second button. He raised his head, staring at the older boy in utter confusion, completely lost as to what was setting him off now.
A bright flush had crept up Rome’s neck, staining his cheeks. Despite his ferocious, scowling expression, the mafia heir looked absurdly flustered. He yanked his gaze away, refusing to look directly at Mhok, his eyes darting frantically around the room while his grip on Mhok’s hand remained like an iron vise.
“Why the hell are you stripping out here?! Take your clothes and go change in the bathroom!” Rome demanded, his voice raised, though he kept his head turned completely sideways. The tips of his ears were burning a deep, violent crimson.
“My shirt is completely soaked through. I just wanted to peel the wet layer off first so I don’t drip water all over the floor,” Mhok explained calmly, a wave of exasperation breaking through his cold, shivering frame.
“Just grab your stuff and get in there! You’re going to catch your death standing around!” Rome growled, looking increasingly restless and overwhelmed. Giving up on logic altogether, he snatched Mhok’s dry clothes off the chair, shoved them into Mhok’s arms, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him straight into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Fortunately, the dormitory’s hot water system was top-tier. Mhok let out a long, shuddering sigh as steaming water cascaded over his head and down his back. The rigid tension in his shoulders slowly melted away, and he lifted his hands, staring silently at his wet palms.
If this had happened in the past…
Before coming here, his instincts would have alerted him to that girl lurking in the shadows long before she got close. He would have easily sidestepped the attack. A simple bucket of dirty water shouldn’t have touched him. Back then, his life was built on hyper-vigilance—he hadn’t even dared to sleep deeply. Yet today, his guard had been so low that he allowed a handful of rich kids to get the drop on him.
Mhok slowly clenched his hands into tight fists, then released them under the warm stream of water. When that freezing bucket hit him earlier, his immediate instinct should have been to draw his blade and strike back.
I’m getting soft. Life here is making me lose my edge.
He mentally berated himself for letting a group of rich kids get the drop on him. Yet, even as he chided his own carelessness, a soft, involuntary smile touched the corners of his lips.
In his line of work, letting his guard down was dangerous. But living alongside this bratty, short-tempered young master—a boy who made so much loud noise trying to protect him—Mhok couldn’t help but soften a little. For the first time in his life, he didn’t have to stand completely alone, and that quiet sense of warmth was something he couldn’t bring himself to regret.
After scrubbing every trace of the chemical odor from his skin, Mhok turned off the shower and dried himself off. He pulled on the loose lounge pants and comfortable, oversized T-shirt he had brought in with him, deciding he had no intention of stepping back out into the cold today.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he found the spacious quarters completely empty. Guessing that Rome had likely stepped out to cool off or meet up with his crew, Mhok tossed a small towel over his wet, dark hair. Lafu would surely bring his lunch up soon anyway, so he planned to just lie down and rest his weary, frozen muscles.
Too lazy to bother with a hairdryer, he wandered out toward the balcony instead. It was a tiny space—barely large enough for one person to stand comfortably—but the crisp, open air made his chest feel a little lighter.
Autumn was settling over the campus, bringing a sharp, noticeable drop in temperature. Even beneath the bright afternoon sun, the breeze carried a biting chill. Despite the scorching hot shower he had just taken, an involuntary shiver ran through Mhok’s frame, as if the cold water from earlier had settled permanently into his marrow.
He knit his brows, dreading the looming winter. As someone who utterly despised the cold, he could only quietly brace himself for the coming months.
As he was thinking about this a sharp knock sounded at the door. Assuming it was Lafu returning with his food, Mhok called out a quiet permission to enter while reaching out to shut the balcony glass. Before his hand could close it, a broad, heavy hand reached past his shoulder and slammed the window shut for him.
“Why are you standing out here with the window wide open? Do you want to get sick?” Rome’s rough, gravelly voice barked right beside his ear.
Mhok turned his head, blinking in mild surprise. Rome’s jaw was still set tight, his dark eyes ablaze with that same lingering, fierce anger. He swept a sharp, critical gaze over Mhok from head to toe, his scowl deepening by the second.
“And why haven’t you dried your hair? You’re wearing such thin clothes—are you made of iron? Do you honestly think your body is indestructible?”
Mhok just blinked up at him, entirely speechless. He couldn’t help but wonder when this terrifying, arrogant young master had transformed into such a fussing nag. Yet, despite himself, a quiet, helpless smile tugged at Mhok’s lips.
He had spent his whole life taking care of himself and surviving alone. To suddenly have someone hovering over him, scolding him with such raw, undisguised concern… it didn’t feel bad at all.
Without giving him a chance to protest, Rome grabbed him by the shoulder, steered him back into the center of the room, and firmly pressed him down onto a chair. He then turned around, grabbed a heavy wool blanket, and draped it snugly over Mhok’s shoulders. Then, he shoved a steaming mug and a large paper bag into his hands.
“You haven’t eaten yet, right? Drink this first.”
Before Mhok could respond, Rome snatched the towel from his lap and began to gently rub his wet hair dry. His movements were surprisingly clumsy and rough, yet executed with an agonizing, careful restraint, as if he were terrified of pulling even a single strand too hard.
Mhok glanced sideways at the intimidating mafia heir standing over him, but surprisingly, he felt no urge to push him away.
Lifting the mug to his lips, he took a slow sip. It was warm milk, carrying a delicate, sweet fragrance. As the hot liquid travelled down his throat, a deep, soothing heat instantly bloomed in his chest, radiating outward until the lingering tremors in his limbs finally died down.
By the time Mhok finished the last drop, Rome had finished drying his hair. His dark hair was still messy and sticking up in places, but it was mostly dry.
Rome’s broad, slender fingers gently combed through his hair. His careful, measured movements stood in stark, jarring contrast to his usual volatile temper—especially now, when the storm raging inside him had far from settled.
Only when he was entirely satisfied that Mhok’s hair was dry did Rome finally release his hold.
Mhok offered a quiet word of thanks and stepped over to the table. Pulling open the paper bag, he peered inside to find a massive, fragrant double-patty cheeseburger oozing with melted cheese, accompanied by a generous portion of crisp golden fries and a cold soda.
He took a large bite. The rich, savory aroma immediately awakened a sharp hunger in his stomach. Opposite him, Rome dragged a heavy chair across the floor and sat down with a dull thud, leaning forward to fix his intense gray eyes on Mhok with an overwhelming, oppressive weight.
“How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?” Rome’s voice was low and rough as his eyes scanned Mhok from head to toe, carefully searching for any hidden injury.
“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt, just… a bit cold,” Mhok murmured between bites, his fingers instinctively tugging the heavy wool blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I’m not used to winter. I didn’t expect the biting wind and freezing water to be this brutal.”
“Now,” Rome’s tone dropped an octave, his pace slow and deliberate as he fought to keep his temper under control, “tell me what happened.”
Mhok paused, weighing his words carefully. He had no desire to shield the girl, but he knew Rome’s explosive nature. This wasn’t just a petty squabble anymore—it touched on the honor of the Arseni Family. Combined with Rome’s volatile mood, letting the full truth out would turn campus politics upside down.
He simply didn’t want the headache, especially over some brat from a third-rate family. It was an impulsive, foolish attack, and since he hadn’t suffered any actual harm, making a massive scene felt unnecessary. Of course, if things escalated further, he wouldn’t hesitate to handle it himself—with or without the Arseni family’s backing.
“It was just a misunderstanding. A minor accident,” Mhok replied smoothly, taking another bite of his burger with an unbothered, nonchalant air, as if the entire event were beneath his notice. “I just let my guard down. It’s no big deal.”
Rome didn’t buy it for a single second.
“Let me rephrase the question,” Rome growled, his gaze sharpening into an icy, lethal stare that was far more dangerous than his usual loud outbursts. “Who did it?”
Mhok blinked, feeling the air in the room suddenly turn suffocatingly dense.
He lowered his eyes and continued eating, attempting to dodge the question, but Rome wasn’t about to let him slip away. Reaching across the table, Rome’s broad hand clamped around Mhok’s wrist in a firm, unyielding grip.
“Mhok,” he repeated, his voice dangerously dark. “Tell me. Who did it?”
“Just mark it down as my own carelessness,” Mhok offered a faint, easy smile, his mind racing for a way to defuse the situation. “I’ve gotten too comfortable lately, so I was sloppy. It’s a good wake-up call.”
He looked up, his eyes softening as he met Rome’s intense gaze. The faint curve at the corners of his eyes was genuine—he had to admit, Rome’s fiery, protective presence brought him an undeniable sense of security. It made him want to let his guard down completely.
It was a dangerous feeling for a man in his position, yet he found himself leaning into it rather than pushing it away.
“You’re soaked to the bone. What if you end up sick?” Rome’s brows knit tight, his sharp tone softening just a fraction despite his lingering anger. “You’re under my wing. It’s my job to protect you.”
“Well, at least you discovered another one of my weaknesses,” Mhok teased lightly, trying to air out the heavy atmosphere. “I despise the cold, and I hate winter. You can add that to your file on me.”
“Is this really the time for jokes?!” Rome barked, his voice cracking with exasperation.
Mhok couldn’t hold it back any longer. A clear, melodic laugh burst from his chest, echoing through the quiet room as his eyes crinkled into bright crescents. For a fleeting second, even the tense air around them seemed to vibrate with his warmth.
That laugh struck Rome straight in the chest, leaving him momentarily speechless.
Realizing he had lost his usual composure, Mhok quickly raised a hand to cover his mouth, clearing his throat to regain his cool demeanor. The awkward silence dissolved. Rome abruptly turned his face away, the tips of his ears flushed a brilliant red, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if he were trying to physically suppress the chaotic emotions surging inside him.
“Getting splashed with some water really isn’t a big deal,” Mhok said softly, his tone far gentler than usual. “I’m just a bodyguard. I didn’t get hurt, so there’s no need to blow this out of proportion.”
“You need to remember something—the Arseni family never lets anyone walk over their people,” Rome snapped, turning his head back with a sharp glare. “It doesn’t matter who you are or where you came from. You are mine, and no one gets to touch what’s mine.”
Mhok froze.
The words echoed in his ears, leaving his mind completely blank for a beat. A strange, sharp throb flared in his chest. Instinctively biting his lower lip, he felt a sudden, unfamiliar flutter deep in his heart.
Oblivious to Mhok’s internal chaos, Rome kept his forehead creased, his gray eyes swirling with complex, turbulent emotions. “If you ever run into trouble, you come to me. I’ll handle it. You promised you wouldn’t betray me, and I won’t turn my back on you either.”
Mhok stared at him, his dark eyes wide with quiet shock. His breath caught in his throat, but a deep, golden warmth flooded his chest—like swallowing a cup of rich, steaming hot chocolate in the dead of winter, chasing away the bitter frost that had settled in his bones.
He loved hot chocolate, though he rarely had the luxury of enjoying it. It was one of the few sweet memories buried under a lifetime of blood, sweat, and absolute vigilance. Right now, standing in this room, Rome gave him that exact same feeling.
Mhok lowered his head, allowing himself to sink into that rare, fleeting comfort. It felt good. Even if it was reckless.
“I’ve already handled it. She won’t be bothering us again,” Mhok said, stuffing the last corner of his burger into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Besides, she’s just a girl. Going after her will only ruin your reputation. Forget it. I’ll just be more careful next time.”
“I don’t care if it’s a man or a woman—if they cross the line, they pay the price,” Rome grumbled, his posture relaxing slightly, though his scowl remained firmly in place. “And ‘being careful’ isn’t your responsibility here. They had no damn right to put a finger on you in the first place.”
Mhok smiled faintly. Rome was always like this—hot-tempered, aggressive, and constantly on the verge of snapping, yet fiercely loyal to his own. He cared deeply about fairness and never used his power to crush others without cause.
Of course, if someone was stupid enough to provoke him first, all bets were off. Russian syndicates didn’t do turn-the-other-cheek; their idea of payback was total annihilation.
“You’re way too soft-hearted,” Rome muttered, reaching into another bag to pull out a sweet dessert and shoving it into Mhok’s hands. “Girl or not, you don’t just hand out free passes. And stop being so careless! Why aren’t you wearing thicker layers in this weather? How do you manage to freeze yourself like this…”
Rome launched into a relentless tirade, his irritable tone clearly serving as an outlet to blow off steam. Mhok quietly took a sip of water, letting the scolding wash over him with a lazy, unbothered expression.
Usually, someone nagging him like this would make his skin crawl, but today… he didn’t mind it at all.
Waiting for Rome to catch his breath, Mhok handed him the glass of water to cut off the lecture, speaking in a low, gentle voice: “I’m sorry for making you worry. It won’t happen again.”
…At least, not while I still need to stay alive, he added silently.
He knew that in his line of work, keeping his employer from worrying was part of the job. But for the first time in his life, he realized there was someone who genuinely panicked over his safety—someone whose peace of mind depended on him. His life no longer belonged entirely to himself.
He had never been cared for or scolded like this by anyone before. Even within the rigid boundaries of a master-servant dynamic, this warmth was infinitely better than facing the cold alone.
Rome froze, his lips pressing into a tight line. Mhok watched as the young master’s ears flushed crimson once again before Rome violently whipped his head away to kill the conversation.
“Just get some damn rest,” Rome growled, standing up abruptly. “And keep yourself warm.”
Mhok nodded obediently without arguing. He stood up, washed his hands, and slid beneath the heavy duvet.
Once Rome confirmed that Mhok was wrapped up tight like a cocoon, he grabbed his keycard and stepped out of the room. The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind him, the forced restraint vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, terrifying malice as his fury boiled over once more.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed a number, his voice dropping into a lethal, icy rasp: “I need a favor.”
Without another word, he strode down the hallway, his shadow stretching long and menacing against the cold stone floor.
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