Chapter Text
The stench of blood mingled tightly with the smell of cheap tobacco and the overpowering odor of sweat, creating an atmosphere so thick and stifling it would make an ordinary person nauseous the moment they stepped into this basement. But for Fourth Nattawat, this was the smell of life. Or more nakedly, the smell of money.
"Kill him! Smash that brat's face in!"
"Break his arm! I’m betting five hundred baht on you, you pig!"
The frantic screaming of the crowd surrounding the iron cage rang out like waves of piercing sound, crashing straight into Fourth's eardrums, which were already ringing with pain. This wasn't a professional boxing ring with safety ropes or fair referees. It was an iron cage erected makeshiftly in the basement of an abandoned market in West Bangkok, where the only law that existed was: whoever is left standing wins.
Fourth's opponent tonight was "The Bull" – a man twice his size, muscles rippling like boulders under dark skin completely covered in grotesque tattoos. He exhaled sharply, his breath reeking of alcohol, his eyes streaked with the crimson veins of bloodlust.
Fourth stood opposite him, small and pitifully out of place. The ash-gray tank top he wore was soaked in sweat, clinging to his thin chest which was heaving violently. A streak of fresh red blood ran down from the tail of his eyebrow to his cheekbone, seeping into the salty corner of his mouth.
"Die!"
The Bull roared, charging forward like a truck with no brakes. His uppercut tore through the air, carrying enough power to shatter the jaw of anyone unlucky enough to take the full hit.
Fourth didn't block. He knew his physique couldn't face this giant head-on. In the split second when the fist, as large as a vise, grazed his face, Fourth leaned his body – a dodging movement so neat it was almost instinctual, forged through hundreds of bloody fights in exchange for meals.
Whoosh.
The wind from the punch grazed his cheekbone, stinging like a knife cut. Fourth capitalized on his opponent's over-extended momentum, pivoted, and drove all his remaining strength into his elbow, thrusting it hard into the man's right ribs – a weakness he had observed every time the man raised his arm too high to gather momentum.
Crack.
The sound of cracking ribs rang out dryly, drowned out by the jarring rock music and the frantic roars of the gamblers. The giant stumbled, howling in pain. But he didn't fall. The pain only stimulated the beast within him. He swung his arm back, a backhand slap hitting Fourth's shoulder blade.
The force was so strong that Fourth felt like he had been whipped by a red-hot iron bar. He was flung away, his back slamming hard into the cold iron mesh. The sharp metal links cut into the bare skin of his back, burning.
The pain shot up to his brain, causing Fourth's vision to black out for a second. He coughed dryly, the taste of blood rising in his throat, metallic and pungent.
Stand up. You must stand up.
In Fourth's head right now, it wasn't tactics, nor was it the fear of death. It was the image of the overdue rent notice for the third month pasted on the door of his room this morning. It was the image of the old, empty refrigerator, containing only a bottle of water and a piece of dried ginger. It was the eyes of Front – his little sister waiting for him at home with a starving belly.
The prize money tonight was three thousand baht. Enough to pay one-tenth of the debt. Enough to buy rice and eggs for the whole week. If he lost, he would go home empty-handed, and the next day, the two siblings would be on the streets.
Fourth bit down hard on his lower lip until it bled to chase away the dizziness, his eyes, usually gentle and slightly sad under the sunlight of the day, were now sharp as razors in the darkness of the basement, glowing with a blue flame of stubborn survival.
When The Bull rushed in to finish off his prey, Fourth suddenly lowered his center of gravity and swept his leg hard against the man's standing ankle. The giant lost his balance due to the painful leg and collapsed to the floor like a crumbling tower.
Not giving him time to recover, Fourth lunged forward, using his whole body to pin him down, his legs locking the man's neck tight in a triangle choke.
The Bull struggled frantically, slamming his hand on the floor, trying to pry Fourth's legs, which were squeezing tight like pincers, open. But Fourth didn't let go. He gritted his teeth, veins popping on his neck, pouring all his remaining strength into his legs.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
The giant's eyes rolled back, his hand dropping limply to the floor, motionless.
The bell rang. The referee rushed in to pull Fourth off. He won.
[...]
In the VIP area on the second floor, completely separated from the chaos, the stench, and the stifling heat below by a layer of one-way soundproof tempered glass, the cool air of the air conditioner radiated pleasantly, wafting with the scent of sweet orange essential oil.
Gemini Norawit sat with his legs crossed on a chair upholstered in crimson velvet, his hand idly swirling a glass of vintage red wine. The black suit, exquisitely tailored by top craftsmen, hugged his tall frame, exuding an air of majesty and luxury, completely out of place with the sordid scene below.
He was bored.
Bored of fake social parties where smiles were measured by economic benefits. Bored of the hollow flattery of those who wanted to cling to the power of the Titicharoenrak family.
Today was his father's birthday, and the gift he wanted was Gemini's absolute obedience in taking over the family's pharmaceutical corporation, burying his dream of holding a scalpel forever.
To escape that suffocation, he had let his driver drive aimlessly and accidentally stopped at this underground "arena." Initially, he only intended to drop by as a cheap amusement, to see how people at the bottom of society struggled.
But then, his eyes stopped on the young man in the iron cage.
"Who is he?"
Gemini asked, his voice deep and steady, breaking the silence in the VIP room. His eyes still hadn't left the thin figure crawling up from the blood-stained floor.
The arena manager, a fat man with a trimmed mustache, hurriedly bowed, wiping sweat from his forehead despite the cold room.
"Sir Norawit, that is Fourth. He is a student, studying Law or something, but he often comes here to fight as a mercenary on weekends. He... takes a beating very well. If he loses, he loses, but if he wins, he wins recklessly."
Gemini took a sip of wine, the slight astringency spreading on the tip of his tongue.
He saw the moment Fourth was knocked into the iron cage. Anyone in that position would have lain still and admitted defeat, or at least shown fear, begging for mercy. But not him. That look in his eyes.
It wasn't the bloodthirsty look of a murderer. Nor was it the greedy look of someone doing it for money. It was the look of a wild animal cornered, yet still holding its head high with pride. A strangely clean gaze amidst this swamp of mud.
It shone brightly, attracting Gemini like a magnet attracting scrap iron.
Down on the floor, Fourth stood panting amidst the deafening cheers. He didn't raise his hand in celebration, nor did he smile arrogantly. He just quietly bent down to pick up his old hoodie from the floor, wiped the blood streak on his face, then walked to the corner of the ring to receive the crumpled stack of money from the referee.
His hands were trembling, not from fear, but from exhaustion. He counted every bill, carefully smoothed them out, and stuffed them deep into his pants pocket, as if it were his life.
"Investigate him,"
Gemini placed the wine glass on the table. The sound of the glass base hitting the ebony table rang out with a decisive, cold sound.
"Everything. From family background, debts, to what he eats for breakfast."
The bodyguard standing behind him nodded in obedience, quickly pulling out his phone.
Gemini watched Fourth's thin back disappearing into the dark wings of the stage. The corner of his mouth curled up in a faint smile, but his eyes were deep and unfathomable.
[...]
Bangkok's sudden downpour poured down torrentially, turning small alleys into rivers of black mud.
Fourth stepped out of the back door of the market, pulling his hoodie up to cover his head and hide the bruises that were gradually swelling on his face. The cold of the rainwater seeped into the open wounds, stinging like salt, but also helping him stay a bit more awake.
In his pocket, the stack of money bulged, but it brought no sense of security.
Three thousand baht.
In exchange for a potentially cracked rib and countless bruises. The price of life was ridiculously low.
He stopped at a cheap street-side rice shop, where yellow neon lights flickered dimly onto the patchy sidewalk.
"Auntie, please give me a box of fried rice with pickled mustard greens and beef. A little extra meat, please."
The woman selling the food looked at Fourth with concern; she was used to the wounds on this young man. She silently scooped an extra ladle full of rice and stuffed a few more pieces of beef into the box.
"Take it, son. Poor thing, fighting again? How can you go to school with a face like that?"
Fourth forced a smile, a smile distorted by pain.
"I just fell off my bike, Auntie. Thank you very much."
He paid, took the hot box of rice, and carefully wrapped it inside the flap of his jacket to keep it warm and dry from the rain. To him, this box of rice was more precious than himself. As for him, he stopped by a convenience store to buy a plain bread roll at the end-of-day discount.
Ten baht.
Just enough to fill the protesting stomach.
The siblings' boarding house was located deep in the Khlong Toei slums, where houses with rusty corrugated iron roofs lay close together like stacked matchboxes. The smell of sewers rose pungently after the rain, mixing with the characteristic moldy smell of poverty.
Fourth's room was on the fourth floor of a dilapidated apartment complex, where the staircase was pitch dark and full of garbage. When he pushed the door open, the rusty hinges screeched piercingly.
"P'Fourth is home!"
A tiny figure rushed out from the corner of the room, hugging his leg tight.
Front.
She was only five years old this year, thin as a stray kitten, but her eyes were big, round, and sparkling like stars. Front wore Fourth's old T-shirt, which was baggy on her, reaching down to her knees, her feet bare on the cold tile floor.
Fourth suppressed the pain, gently closing the door to stop the cold wind from blowing in. He knelt on the cold tiled floor to be at eye level with his sister, trying to hide his hand, which was trembling from pain, behind his back.
"I'm sorry, Front, I'm late. I bought fried rice with pickled mustard greens and beef for you. It's still hot."
He held out the box of rice like offering a treasure. The aroma of stir-fried beef with pickles wafted out, warming the damp room that had only a single old mattress and a wobbly study desk.
Front didn't look at the rice box.
Her clear eyes were glued to her brother's bruised face. Her tiny finger timidly touched the peeling band-aid on Fourth's forehead - where blood was still oozing through the gauze.
"You're hurting again..." Front mumbled, her voice choked up, on the verge of tears.
"Is it because I was hungry that you had to go fight?"
Fourth was startled, his heart tightening. He hurriedly shook his head, forcing a smile.
"No, I really fell off my bike. Come on, Front, eat before it gets cold. You have to eat to grow up and protect me, right?"
He opened the rice box and placed it on the small table. Front obediently sat down, spooned a mouthful of rice to her mouth, but then put it down. She looked at her brother sitting in the corner of the room, leaning back against the wall, silently gnawing on the dry bread roll with a bottle of water.
The atmosphere in the room sank, heavy. The sound of rain falling on the corrugated iron roof sounded like a heart shattering.
Fourth felt his throat choke with bitterness. The bread in his mouth seemed to turn into dust, dry and hard to swallow. His father, the man who used to be the pillar of the family, had sunk into drinking and gambling after their mother died.
Three months ago, he quietly left, taking all the meager savings Fourth had saved for Front's tuition, leaving the two siblings with a huge debt and despair.
"I'm sorry,"
Fourth suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse and broken. He dropped the piece of bread, lowered his head, his thin shoulders shaking violently.
"I'm sorry for not being able to give you a complete family. Sorry for making you suffer, having to eat boxed rice, having to live in this shabby place... I'm so useless."
A sense of helplessness weighed on Fourth's chest like a thousand-pound rock. He hated himself for being useless. He hated the poverty that stripped away his sister's right to be innocent. He had tried his best, sold his blood and honor, but still couldn't escape this swamp.
Front looked at her brother, her eyes welling up with tears. She slipped off the chair and ran to Fourth. Her tiny arms wrapped around the neck of her brother, who was slumped on the floor, hugging him tight.
"I don't need it,"
Front whispered, her voice childish but strangely firm. The warmth from her small body transferred to Fourth, soothing the bone-chilling cold in his heart.
"I don't need a big house, don't need beautiful toys. Because P'Fourth is already my family."
Fourth's heart constricted in pain. It was heartbreaking that a five-year-old girl could be so understanding.
Front's tiny hand clumsily wiped away the tear that had just rolled down her brother's cheek, her voice mixed with innocence:
"At school, the teacher said... the teacher said that good children will be given candy."
She sniffled, let go of him, and rummaged in the small pocket on the chest of her shirt - the pocket Fourth had sewn on for her. Front pulled out a yellow lemon candy, the wrapper slightly crumpled from being held in her hand for too long.
It was the only reward she received at the public kindergarten this morning, but she hadn't eaten it. She had saved it for him all day.
"P'Fourth is also good, P' is the best in the world... P'Fourth works hard to feed me... but why don't you have any candy?"
Front peeled the candy wrapper; the sweet scent of artificial lemon wafted up. She stood on tiptoe, clumsily feeding the candy into Fourth's mouth.
"So... let me find candy for you, okay? I will be the one to give you candy."
The sweet and sour taste dissolved on the tip of his tongue, mixing with the salty taste of tears that Fourth could no longer hold back. He burst into tears like a child, hugging his little sister tightly in his arms. He squeezed Front, as if afraid that if he let go, the cruel world out there would snatch away his only angel.
"Okay... thank you... thank you, Front."
That night, outside, the rain continued to drizzle. In the shabby room, the two siblings hugged each other to sleep. Fourth silently swore to himself, even if he had to sell his life, even if he had to do anything, he would protect this smile.
There would be a day he would buy her a whole candy store, not let her give up her only candy for him.
[...]
The next morning, the brief peace was brutally shattered.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of banging on the door rang out as if wanting to break down the flimsy wooden door. Fourth woke up with a start, reflexively shielding Front, who was still fast asleep.
"Open the door! Open it now! You bastard, I know you're hiding in there!"
The shrill voice of the landlady rang out, accompanied by the swearing of men.
Fourth hurriedly put on a shirt, signaled Front to hide in the wardrobe, and went to open the door.
As soon as the door was slightly ajar, it was kicked open hard, hitting Fourth's forehead and causing the old wound to bleed again. The landlady - a stout woman with a face plastered with gaudy makeup, stormed in like a storm. Following her were two burly men, looking fierce, holding baseball bats.
"Three months! I've been patient with you for three months!"
She hissed, spittle flying onto Fourth's face.
"Where's the money? If you don't pay fifteen thousand baht in full today, then get the hell out onto the street!"
Fourth tried to suppress his anger, lowering his voice to beg, his hands clenched tight to restrain the instinct to fight back.
"Landlady, please. I just earned a little last night, here is three thousand baht, I'll pay in advance..."
"Three thousand baht?"
She sneered, slapping his hand, causing the bills to fly and scatter onto the dirty floor.
"Are you kidding me? Three thousand baht is enough to buy a coffin for your drunkard father! I need it all! Right now!"
She turned to the two henchmen, her eyes malicious.
"Throw their stuff out! Keep whatever can be sold, throw the rest into the dump!"
"Don't! Please!"
Fourth rushed forward, grabbing the arm of the man who was about to overturn Front's desk.
"Don't touch my sister's things! I'll pay, I swear I'll pay!"
Whack!
The man swung the bat, hitting Fourth hard in the stomach. He bent over, pain from his stomach surging up, making him retch. His strength after last night's fight hadn't recovered, plus his starving stomach made him unable to resist.
"Brother Fourth!"
Front rushed out from the wardrobe, screaming and crying, running to hug her brother, who was writhing on the floor.
"Don't hit my brother! Please don't hit my brother!"
"Get away, brat!"
The other man was about to swing his hand to push Front away.
Fourth roared, his eyes bloodshot. He used his remaining strength to rush forward, using his back to shield his sister, preparing to take the next blow from the baseball bat. He closed his eyes, waiting for the bone-shattering pain.
But the blow never came.
"Stop."
A voice rang out from the door - cold and full of authority, sharp as an ice blade cutting through the chaos. A tone of someone used to giving orders and being obeyed.
Everyone froze, turning their heads to look at the door.
There, in the frame of the rotten wooden door, stood a young man. He wore a dark navy blue suit, smooth without a single wrinkle, polished leather shoes reflecting the shabbiness of the room. His hair was gelled neatly back, revealing a high forehead and deep, cold eyes.
His presence here was as if he had just wandered into the slums; the luxury and oppressive aura exuding from him made the air in the room seem to freeze.
Gemini Norawit walked in. Behind him were four bodyguards in black suits and sunglasses, far larger and more professional than the landlady's two thugs.
Gemini didn't look at the landlady, nor did he look at the two thugs who were trembling as they lowered their bats. His eyes swept over the shabby room, over the small bills scattered on the floor, and stopped at Fourth.
Fourth was kneeling on the ground, one hand holding his stomach, one hand hugging Front tight. Blood from his forehead flowed down, blurring one eye, but the other eye still looked at Gemini with extreme caution. Just like the wild animal last night.
"You are Fourth Nattawat?"
Gemini asked, his voice steady, carrying no superfluous emotion.
Fourth swallowed the taste of blood in his mouth, replying hoarsely,
"Who are you?"
Gemini didn't answer. He waved his hand slightly.
A bodyguard stepped up, placing a thick stack of money into the hand of the landlady, who was gaping in astonishment. The stack was still in the original bank wrapping.
"This is three months' rent, contract compensation, and mental damage fees for you having to breathe the same air as this poverty."
Gemini said, his tone sarcastic but so posh that the listener dared not retort.
"Now take the money and get out of my sight. Before I change my mind and buy this entire ragged apartment complex to kick you out onto the street."
The landlady held the stack of money, her hands shaking violently. She looked at Gemini, then at the burly bodyguards, swallowed hard, nodded hurriedly, and dragged her two henchmen away, not daring to look back.
The room became silent. Only Front's choked sobs remained.
Gemini walked closer, his expensive leather shoes stepping on the scattered bills without caring. He stopped in front of Fourth, looking down from above.
"I watched your fight last night."
Gemini said. He pulled out a white silk handkerchief and offered it to Fourth.
"You have skills, you have courage. But you are wasting your talent in exchange for a few pennies and these filthy wounds."
Fourth looked at the pristine white handkerchief, then at his own mud-stained hands. He didn't take it. He knew the price of help from these rich people.
"What do you want from me?"
Fourth asked, his voice hardening.
Gemini smirked, a half-smile full of arrogance but also full of allure. He withdrew his hand, put the handkerchief away, and squatted down - an action that surprised the bodyguards behind him - to face Fourth directly.
"I need a loyal dog... no,"
Gemini tilted his head, his eyes sharp as if wanting to see through Fourth's soul.
"I need a sword. A sword that knows no fear, knows no retreat, and obeys only one master."
He pulled out a jet-black business card from his suit pocket, on which only the name "Gemini Norawit Titicharoenrak" and a string of numbers were printed in gold ink.
"Work for me. I will pay off all your father's debts, including the underground gambling debts he is running from. I will let your sister study at the best international school in Bangkok, have a private doctor to take care of her health, and a luxury apartment so you two never have to worry about leaks or being kicked out onto the street again."
Fourth's pupils contracted.
The conditions Gemini offered... that was heaven.
It was a dream he didn't dare to dream of.
But he also knew that this heaven was built with his blood.
"In exchange?"
Fourth asked, his voice trembling, his hand tightening on Front's shoulder.
"In exchange, your life belongs to me."
Gemini stood up straight, his shadow casting long over Fourth, like a prophecy of impending imprisonment.
"You will become my closest bodyguard. From the moment you nod, you no longer live for yourself. You live for me, and die for me."
The space was dead silent. Fourth looked down at Front. She was nestling in his chest, her eyes scared, but her hand still clutching her brother's shirt hem. The lemon candy earlier... that sweet taste still lingered somewhere.
If selling his life could be exchanged for a lifetime of peace for Front, for Front to always "have candy", then what did it matter?
Fourth slowly let go of Front. He stood up, stumbling but trying to keep his back straight. He faced Gemini, his eyes burning with determination.
Fourth reached out, taking the business card from Gemini's hand. His fingers touched Gemini's fingers; an electric current ran through, cold but full of promise.
"I agree."
Gemini smiled; this time the smile reached his eyes, the satisfaction of a hunter who had caught his desired prey.
"Good decision. Pack your things. From today, your name will be tied to Titicharoenrak."
That was the day Fourth Nattawat sold his soul to Gemini Norawit.