Mhok blinked, a look of quiet shock crossing his face. Usually, he was the one dragging himself out of bed early to haul breakfast back for his lazy young master. He never imagined a day would come where Rome would be the one marching straight into his classroom, carrying a bag of fresh food just to track him down.
“Well, aren’t you attentive?” Lucio sneered, a sharp edge of mockery lacing his voice. “A mafia heir personally playing room service.”
“Taking care of my own people is my job. Got a problem with that?”
Rome paused, letting his gaze slowly sweep across the room like a heavy weight. His sharp, steel-gray eyes pinned every student in place before settling deliberately on Beki’s group.
“While I’m here, let me make one thing crystal clear,” Rome declared, his voice ringing through the silent classroom. “Mhok belongs to the Arseni family. He’s under my personal protection. If any of you have an issue with that, don’t behind-the-back cowardly shit—come find me directly. I’ll make sure to settle it with you personally.”
The blonde girl flinched, quickly lowering her head to avoid his piercing glare. Around her, the rest of the class sat frozen, barely daring to breathe. They might not have been actively tormenting Asian students like the hardcore elitists on campus, but the gossiping and casual exclusion were second nature to them.
It was simple human tribalism—the natural, subconscious urge to draw lines between “us” and “them.” To these blue-blooded European kids, foreign faces simply didn’t look like “their own,” making it all too easy to keep their distance and look the other way when things got ugly.
Yet Rome stood right in front of them, utterly shattering that boundary without a second thought.
Mhok looked up at Rome, a strange sensation stirring in his chest. It was easy to forget that Rome was the son of a high-ranking syndicate boss, mostly because the guy usually acted like a loud, straightforward idiot who spent all his energy fussing over Mhok.
It had been a long time since Mhok had seen this lethal, authoritative side of him. It felt oddly unfamiliar.
Even as he admitted to himself that Rome looked downright terrifying right now, a tiny, involuntary curve touched Mhok’s lips before he quickly masked it.
“What are you, a guard dog?” Lucio scoffed, a breath of disdain slipping past his nose as he cast a glance toward Mhok. Though his expression remained smooth, a flash of malicious amusement glinted in his eyes. “You ought to keep your pet on a tighter leash before he goes around snapping at people.”
“Master Lucio, that’s enough,” Mhok cut in, stepping between them to nip the confrontation in the bud before the two mob heirs ended up at each other’s throats. “Drop it and return to your seat.”
He held Lucio’s gaze with a sharp, warning glare, but the Italian gangster was clearly enjoying the provocation far too much to back off now.
“What’s the matter? I barely said anything, and you’re already throwing me out?” Lucio smirked. Instead of backing away, he took a deliberate step forward, crowding into Mhok’s space.
Mhok didn’t retreat an inch. He simply raised a hand, planting his palm square against Lucio’s chest—a casual, immovable barrier.
Before Lucio could push past it, Rome moved.
Reaching around from behind, Rome clamped an iron grip onto Mhok’s wrist and yanked him back, pulling Mhok flush against his chest in a possessive, unyielding hold.
“I thought I warned you to stay the hell away from him,” Rome’s deep voice rumbled right beside Mhok’s ear, dark and heavy with threat.
Mhok didn’t flinch or fight the hold. He simply leaned back into Rome’s chest for a brief second, using his own weight to anchor the young master in place before Rome could spring forward.
Without breaking eye contact with Lucio, Mhok reached up, casually taking the heavy paper bag from Rome’s hand.
“Class is starting, Master Rome,” Mhok said, his tone entirely level—a quiet reminder that reined in Rome’s temper without making a scene.
Turning back to the Italian heir, Mhok held Lucio’s gaze with an unblinking, dark intensity that made the room’s air feel instantly thin.
“We’re done here, Master Lucio.”
“Of course. I always listen to a pretty request,” the Italian drawled, tossing in a deliberate, mocking wink. “Though, regarding that offer I made yesterday… my door is always open whenever you get tired of playing bodyguard.”
Having dropped that explosive remark, Lucio turned on his heel and praded back to his desk.
Mhok finally let out a long, quiet breath, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth to soothe the tension headache building behind his eyes. He could still feel the dangerous, volatile heat radiating off Rome right behind him.
Pursing his lips, Mhok took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and turned around to face his employer.
Rome’s face was an unreadable, stony mask, but the storm turbulent in his gray eyes gave away the sheer intensity of his temper. Yet, strangely enough, standing this close, Rome felt far more approachable than his usual loud, impatient self.
Reaching out, Mhok placed a slender hand gently against Rome’s solid arm, giving it a soft, tentative nudge.
“Master Rome, please head to class first,” Mhok murmured, keeping his voice low so only the two of them could hear. “I’ll message you as soon as I’m done.”
Rome’s brow furrowed, with his jaw tightening into a rigid line. He didn’t say a word, though the faintest, almost imperceptible twitch softened the corner of his mouth. Without offering any further explanation, he turned around and strode out of the classroom, leaving a heavy, stunned silence in his wake.
Lafu sat in the corner silently for a long time before letting out a soft chuckle. Turning his head, a teasing smirk touched his lips.
“Being this popular must be exhausting.”
Mhok glanced back at him. For a split second, something dark flickered across Mhok’s face, but he smoothed it away instantly, leaving only a subtle curve at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah. It’s really tough.”
When the class bell rang, Lafu quickly packed his bag. Noticing Mhok moving at an unhurried pace, he slowed down his own movements to match.
“Do you have plans this afternoon?”
“No, I’ll probably just head to the library.” Lafu shrugged, then raised an eyebrow with a sly grin. “What, no date with Young Master Rome?”
“It’s exhausting staying around him,” Mhok murmured, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. He then slung his bag over his shoulder and signaled for the scholarship student to go first. Reaching smoothly into his pocket, his fingers quickly typed a short text message on his phone and slipped it away in one seamless motion.
They walked side by side toward the library. Once inside, Lafu naturally picked a secluded corner table—a low bookshelf shielding his back, flanked by a tall decorative plant. Seated with his legs crossed and hands loosely clasped, Mhok leaned back in a relaxed pose on the side, his dark eyes fixing firmly onto Lafu. Lafu pulled out a textbook to read, but after a few seconds of Mhok’s unwavering gaze, he shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing under the quiet pressure.
Finally, Lafu let out a resigned sigh, closed the book, and set it on his lap with a look of absolute surrender. “What do you want?”
“Just a small question,” Mhok replied smoothly, raising a hand in a dismissive gesture. “I want to know who bought your information.”
Lafu’s forehead creased in total confusion, a dry, incredulous smile breaking across his face as if he’d just heard a absurd joke. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb, Lafu. We’re friends, so I’m asking you directly.” Mhok offered a pleasant smile, his tone light, yet the surrounding air instantly plunged into a suffocating, razor-thin stillness. Where Rome’s aura was loud, explosive, and dominating, Mhok’s was an icy, blood-curdling quiet—like an invisible blade pressed flat against the throat.
“I genuinely don’t know what you mean,” Lafu repeated, his voice dropping as his playful expression hardened, realizing the atmosphere had turned lethal.
Mhok’s smile widened, but it held no warmth—it was the hollow, deadly grin of a grim reaper, his eyes pitch-black and utterly lifeless. “Tell me, scholarship student… where did you get the extra cash to buy the latest iPhone?”
Lafu went dead silent. His lips pressed into a tight, pale line.
Mhok kept his eyes locked on him, his smile growing brighter before he spoke again, his tone as casual as discussing the weather. “You know way too much. From the day I arrived, even without wearing an Arseni pin, you instantly knew I belonged to their household. Even Lucio took nearly a week to figure that out.”
He gave a slight, dismissive shake of his head. “You always said you had your own ways of surviving. In a place like this, surrounded by racial hostility and elitist snobs, what else could a penniless scholarship student rely on to protect himself… if not information?”
The last trace of warmth drained from Lafu’s face hearing this. The easygoing, cheerful student vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness.
Looking at him, Mhok felt a sudden, strange hollow ache in his chest. But when he raised his eyes again, his gaze was completely serene.
“You’re the campus news peddler, aren’t you, Lafu?”
Lafu remained silent for a beat. Then, a cold, humorless smirk touched his lips, his eyes turning guarded and detached.
“In a jungle full of wild beasts, weak insects like us get crushed if we make one wrong step,” Lafu said, his tone stripped of any friendly warmth. “Someone like you—living under the wing of a powerful family—wouldn’t understand.”
“I do understand. This world pushes us down so hard we can barely breathe, acting like we’d snap if they pinched us.” Mhok lowered his gaze, an unreadable, bitter smile lingering on his lips. “It’s tragic, really… but I get it.”
His own past had never been kind to him either. It had never granted him a single moment of ease.
“So what now? Are you going to preach to me about betrayal?” Lafu sneered, crossing his arms with an unbothered posture. “I didn’t betray anyone. I hold information on the Arsenis, just like I hold information on everyone else. It’s strictly business.”
“No. You’re just doing what you need to survive, and I respect that,” Mhok said softly. He rested his chin in his hand and leaned forward across the table. “I didn’t come here to report you or hurt you, Lafu. I’m just here as a buyer.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I want to know who bought your information.”
Mhok brought the conversation right back to his original demand. His posture remained calm and unthreatening, leaving no heavy pressure on Lafu.
Lafu sighed, staring out the glass window as he weighed his options. Finally, he spoke. “I wasn’t the one who sold the intel on the Arseni family.”
Mhok raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently without interrupting. Lafu tapped his chin thoughtfully, organizing his thoughts before explaining.
“The information network isn’t run by just one person. It’s a massive network—plenty of kids from working-class backgrounds join in to trade intel, share news, and help each other out. How else do you think a single scholarship student could keep tabs on an entire academy?”
Lafu gave Mhok a subtle, exasperated look, as if saying, Use your head.
“The broker who handled the transaction for your files is a senior,” Lafu continued. “He’s in the same year as Young Master Rome.”
“I need his name,” Mhok insisted softly, leaning in a fraction closer.
“I can reach out to him and give you an answer within three days,” Lafu bargained. “But this network relies on anonymity for safety. I don’t give up source identities for free—we trade.”
“So it’s an exchange of information.”
“Equal value,” Lafu confirmed.
“Understood. I’ll prepare something worth your while. Thank you.”
Mhok stretched his arms lazily and stood up. In an instant, the heavy, bone-chilling air evaporated into thin air. He morphed back into the harmless, quiet Asian youth, leaving any onlooker to wonder if they had hallucinated the deadly tension from moments ago.
“Hey, Mhok.”
As Mhok turned to grab his bag, Lafu called out. The scholarship student was staring directly at him, his expression more intense than Mhok had ever seen it.
“This isn’t an excuse, and I’m not trying to save my own skin,” Lafu said, his voice firm and unwavering, his eyes completely sincere. “I want you to know… I have never sold out your personal files. Not once.”
Mhok blinked, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. He then slung his bag over his shoulder, offered a quiet “See you,” and stepped out of the library with light footsteps, the cold fog in his chest lifting just a bit.
Pushing open the heavy glass doors of the library, Mhok immediately spotted a tall, broad figure standing outside.
Rome was leaning against the stone pillar with his arms crossed, waiting for him. His sharp, angular face was twisted into a rare, deep scowl, his gray eyes fixed on the pavement, heavy with turbulent thoughts.
And beneath that stormy frustration, Mhok caught something entirely unexpected—a subtle, hidden flicker of guilt.
Mhok tilted his head slightly, genuinely surprised.
Rome was certainly the type to rely on raw strength and brute force to handle problems, but he always acted with a fiercely protective intent. Seeing the proud, arrogant young master actually looking guilty was a sight Mhok had never witnessed before.
Senseing Mhok’s presence, Rome snapped his head up. The young master cleared his throat, gave a stiff nod, and grumbled an invitation to get dinner together—adding gruffly that he would pay for the whole meal.
Without waiting for an answer, Rome turned and led the way down the steps, leaving Mhok to follow a few paces behind, his dark eyes filled with quiet curiosity.
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