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Chapter Text

Prologue: The Weight of Gravity

The air on the Rama VIII Bridge tasted of iron and exhaust. Rain, cold and relentless, blurred the world into a smear of grey and neon red. Pond stood on the outer ledge, the wind whipping his sodden clothes against his bruised skin. Behind him, the cacophony of sirens felt like a heartbeat he no longer wanted to hear.

"Pond! Please! Look at me!"

The voice pierced through the rain. It was Phuwin. He was standing behind the police barricade, his face pale, his eyes wide with a terror that Pond had never seen during their quiet nights in their small apartment.

Pond looked back, his vision swimming. He thought of his mother—her tired smile, her sacrifice, the way she had looked at him one last time before ending her life to give him this one, desperate chance to run. He thought of the fire, the smell of burning wood, and the cold eyes of Director Korn as the heavy blow fell upon his head.

I was just a man who loved you, Pond thought, his internal monologue a hollow echo. But in your world, love is a death sentence.

"Pond, don't do it! We can find the truth together!" Phuwin screamed, his voice cracking.

Pond didn't answer. He couldn't. The truth was a luxury for the powerful, and he was currently a ghost in the eyes of the law. He looked at Phuwin one last time—memorizing the curve of his jaw, the desperation in his reach—and then he let go.

Gravity claimed him. The wind roared in his ears, and for a fleeting second, he felt weightless. Then, the black water of the Chao Phraya rose up like a solid wall to swallow him whole.

Chapter Text

Six Months Earlier

The alarm clock buzzed at 6:30 AM, a mundane sound that anchored Pond to his reality. He groaned, reaching out to swat the snooze button, but a warm hand caught his wrist.

"Five more minutes," a muffled voice murmured against his shoulder.

Pond smiled, the hardness of the world melting away. He turned in the sheets to face Phuwin. In the soft morning light, Phuwin looked nothing like the son of a billionaire. He looked like a tired office worker, his hair messy, his skin smelling of the expensive sandalwood soap Pond had saved up to buy him for his birthday.

"You’re going to be late for the department meeting," Pond whispered, brushing a stray hair from Phuwin's forehead. "And I have a delivery run at 8:00."

"Let them wait," Phuwin grumbled, pulling the duvet higher. "SR Company doesn't own my soul."

Pond laughed softly. He worked in the logistics department of SR Company, a massive conglomerate, while Phuwin worked as a junior analyst in the finance wing—or so Pond thought. They had met in the company cafeteria when Pond accidentally spilled coffee on Phuwin’s shoes. Instead of getting angry, Phuwin had simply laughed and asked for Pond's number to "negotiate the dry cleaning bill."

Their life was simple. It was composed of cheap street food dates, shared laundry turns, and the comfort of knowing someone was waiting at home. Pond’s mother lived in the province, her health failing, and every baht Pond saved went toward her medication. He was a man of simple means and honest labor.

"Pond," Phuwin said suddenly, his eyes opening, looking unusually serious. "If... if things were different. If I wasn't who you thought I was, would you still hold me like this?"

Pond paused, his heart skipping a beat. "What do you mean? Are you secretly a spy?"

Phuwin forced a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Something like that."

"As long as you’re the man who complains about the neighbor’s loud music and eats my burnt toast," Pond said, leaning in to kiss his nose, "I don't care who you are."

He didn't know then that those words would haunt him. He didn't know that the man in his arms was the crown prince of the very empire that provided his meager paycheck. He didn't know that "Normal" was an illusion, and the glass was already beginning to crack.

Chapter Text

The SR Company 30th Anniversary Gala was not a place Pond belonged. He was only there because the logistics department had been drafted to help with the event setup, and his supervisor had told him to stay late to manage the delivery of the ice sculptures.

Pond smoothed out his cheap, borrowed blazer, feeling out of place amidst the sea of silk and diamonds. The ballroom of the Grand Hyatt was a shimmering cavern of excess. He scanned the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Phuwin. Phuwin had told him he was required to attend as a "background staffer" for the finance team, but they had agreed to meet by the service entrance at 10:00 PM to grab noodles on the way home.

"Pond! Stop daydreaming and help move these crates," his supervisor barked.

Pond nodded, moving toward the side of the stage. As he lifted a heavy container, the lights dimmed. A hush fell over the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a booming voice echoed through the speakers. "Please welcome the Chairman of SR Group, Sarawat, and his son and successor—Phuwin."

Pond froze. The crate in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand tons.

From the wings of the stage, a group of men emerged. In the center was an older man with a sharp, intimidating gaze. Beside him, dressed in a bespoke velvet suit that cost more than Pond’s annual salary, was the man who had slept in Pond’s arms only hours ago.

Phuwin walked with a grace Pond had never seen—a practiced, aristocratic poise. He wasn’t the clumsy junior analyst who forgot to buy milk. He was a prince.

"I'd like to thank you all for being part of our legacy," Phuwin said into the microphone, his voice steady and cold. "SR Company isn't just a business; it’s a family."

Pond’s heart hammered against his ribs so hard it was painful. He felt a sudden, violent surge of nausea. Every memory of the last year—their shared meals, their talks about their "struggles," the way Phuwin had let Pond pay for dinner when money was tight—flashed by like a mocking montage.

It was a lie. All of it was a lie.

As the applause erupted, Phuwin’s eyes scanned the crowd. For a split second, they landed on the service area. His gaze locked onto Pond’s.

Phuwin’s composure shattered. His hand gripped the podium so hard his knuckles turned white. The "prince" mask slipped, revealing the terrified boy underneath.

Pond didn't wait for the speech to end. He dropped the crate, the sound of breaking glass echoing unnoticed over the applause, and ran. He pushed through the heavy velvet curtains, ignored his supervisor’s shouts, and burst out into the humid night air.

He was halfway down the block when he heard the heavy thud of dress shoes hitting the pavement behind him.

"Pond! Wait! Pond, please!"

Pond spun around, his face contorted with a mix of grief and fury. Phuwin stood there, breathless, his expensive suit rumpled, looking completely out of place on the dark, grimy sidewalk.

"How long?" Pond’s voice was a low, dangerous whisper.

"Pond, I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you so many times—"

"How long, Phuwin? How long have you been watching me count my coins to see if we could afford meat for dinner while you sit on a billion-baht throne?"

"It wasn't like that! I hated that life. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be with you," Phuwin pleaded, reaching out.

Pond recoiled as if he’d been burned. "Normal? My mother is dying because we can't afford the best doctors. I work three jobs to keep a roof over our heads. You didn't want to be 'normal,' Phuwin. You wanted to play house with a poor man because you were bored."

"That’s not true!" Phuwin’s eyes filled with tears. "I love you. That’s the only thing that wasn't a lie."

"Love?" Pond let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "You don't even know what that word means. Love is built on trust. You built us on a graveyard of secrets."

Pond turned his back on the man he loved, walking into the shadows of the city. He didn't see the black car idling across the street, nor did he see the man in the passenger seat—Director Raizen—watching them with a cold, calculating smile.

The fire was coming, but the betrayal had already burned everything to the ground.

Chapter Text

The week following the gala was a blur of hollow silence. Pond moved through his shifts like a machine, his body performing the labor while his mind remained trapped on that sidewalk, watching his world shatter. He had ignored every text, every call, and even moved out of their shared apartment to a cramped, windowless room near the docks.

But Phuwin was persistent. He didn't come with a limousine or bodyguards. He came to Pond’s new doorstep at 3:00 AM, drenched in sweat after walking for hours.

"One chance," Phuwin had begged, his voice hoarse. "Not to be the Chairman's son. Just to explain why I was afraid to lose you."

Against his better judgment, the walls Pond had built began to crumble. He didn't forgive, but he listened. He allowed Phuwin back into the margins of his life, a fragile peace settling between them like thin ice over a deep lake.

That peace lasted exactly four days.

On a humid Thursday evening, Pond received a phone call from an unknown number.

"Pond? This is Chairman Sarawat’s personal assistant," a stiff voice said. "The Chairman is currently at his private vacation house in Bang Lamung. He wishes to speak with you. Privately. About his son."

Pond’s blood ran cold. "The Chairman? Why me?"

"He is aware of your relationship. He wants to discuss a... settlement. If you value Phuwin’s future, you will come alone. A car is waiting downstairs."

Pond looked at the black sedan idling outside his window. He knew this was a trap of some sort—a bribe, a threat, or perhaps a demand to disappear forever. But he also knew that as long as he was with Phuwin, he was a target for the SR family's disapproval. If he could face the father and prove his intentions were pure, maybe they had a chance. 

The drive was long. The vacation house was a brutalist masterpiece of concrete and glass, tucked away behind high walls and dense foliage. When the car dropped him off, the driver didn't wait. The gates clicked shut with a finality that made the hair on Pond’s neck stand up.

"Hello?" Pond called out, stepping into the foyer.

The house was eerily silent. No guards, no bustling staff. The lights were dimmed to a low, golden amber. As he walked deeper into the living room, he smelled it—the metallic tang of blood and the sharp, chemical scent of accelerant.

Pond rounded the corner and gasped.

Chairman Sarawat was slumped against a designer leather sofa, his head lolling to the side, eyes closed. On the floor beside him lay the elderly housekeeper, her eyes wide and glassy, a dark pool of blood spreading from beneath her head.

"Chairman!" Pond rushed forward, his heart hammering. He checked the Chairman’s pulse. It was faint, there. He was alive, but unconscious.

As Pond reached down to hoist the older man onto his shoulders, a soft click echoed from the doorway.

He turned his head just in time to see a shadow move. Then, something heavy and cold struck the side of his skull. The world exploded into white sparks.

Pond slumped to the floor, his vision blurring. Through the haze, he saw a man standing over him. The figure was wearing a medical mask, but his eyes—sharp, arrogant, and filled with a terrifying lack of remorse—were unmistakable. It was Director Korn.

Korn didn't say a word. He simply dropped a silver lighter into a puddle of clear liquid on the rug.

Whoosh.

The flames ignited instantly, roaring up the curtains like a hungry beast. The heat hit Pond’s face, stinging his skin. He tried to crawl, tried to reach for the unconscious Chairman, but his limbs felt like lead.

"Goodbye, Mr. Pond," a voice whispered from the shadows. "Thank you for being the perfect scapegoat."

As the smoke began to fill his lungs, Pond’s last thought wasn't of the pain or the fire. It was of Phuwin’s face at the gala—the look of a boy who had finally lost his only anchor.

I'm sorry, Phuwin, he thought as the darkness claimed him. I should have never come back.

Chapter Text

The transition from the heat of the fire to the clinical chill of an interrogation room was a blur of sirens and agonizing pain. When Pond finally opened his eyes, he wasn't in a hospital; he was bolted to a metal chair in a room that smelled of stale coffee and ozone.

His head throbbed with a rhythmic, stabbing pulse. Across from him sat two detectives, their faces set in grim masks of disgust.

"I didn't do it," Pond rasped, his throat raw from smoke inhalation. "I was trying to save him. There was someone else there... Director Korn..."

The lead detective, a man with grey stubble and a badge that caught the harsh fluorescent light, tossed a plastic evidence bag onto the table. Inside was Pond’s own pocketknife—the one he used for opening crates at the warehouse. It was stained dark brown.

"We found this under the housekeeper’s body," the detective said. "And we found your fingerprints on the gas can in the foyer."

"That’s impossible," Pond whispered. "I never touched a gas can."

"Then explain why the Chairman’s blood is all over your sleeves, but there’s not a single scratch on you from the 'attacker' you claim hit you?"

Pond looked down at his hands. They were shaking. He realized with a jolt of horror that the world was being rewritten around him. Every action he took that night—reaching for the Chairman, trying to lift him—was being twisted into the movements of a killer.

The Betrayal of Evidence

While Pond was being broken in the interrogation room, the "truth" was being manufactured at SR Headquarters.

In the high-rise office of the Director, Raizen sat behind a mahogany desk, swirling a glass of amber liquid. Beside him stood Director Korn, the man who had delivered the blow to Pond's head.

"Is the girl taken care of?" Raizen asked, his voice smooth as silk.

"Janhee is being monitored," Korn replied. "She saw Pond enter the house, but she didn't know I was there. She thinks she’s safe because she’s the Chairman's secretary, but I’ve made sure she stays silent."

"And the Chairman?"

"Still in a coma. The doctors—the ones on our payroll—are ensuring the 'induced' state remains stable. If he wakes up too soon, our story falls apart."

Raizen smiled. It was a cold, predatory expression. "Perfect. By the time the police are done, Pond will be the jealous lover who tried to kill the father to get to the inheritance. Phuwin will be devastated, and when he is at his weakest, I will be the one to 'guide' him—and the company—into my hands."

The Breaking Point

Late that night, the door to the interrogation room opened. Pond looked up, a spark of hope igniting in his chest. "Phuwin?"

But it wasn't Phuwin. It was a lawyer Pond didn't recognize, carrying a briefcase that looked like it cost more than Pond’s life.

"Mr. Pond," the lawyer said, sitting down. "I’ve been sent by the SR family. Not to defend you, but to offer a choice."

"Where is Phuwin?" Pond demanded, his voice cracking.

"Khun Phuwin is currently being sedated for shock. He has seen the evidence. He has seen the footage of you entering the vacation house alone. He... he doesn't want to see you."

The words were a physical blow. The spark in Pond’s chest died, leaving only cold, black ash.

"The choice is this," the lawyer continued, leaning in. "Plead guilty to the murder of the housekeeper and the attempted murder of the Chairman. If you do, we will ensure your mother’s medical bills are paid in full until the day she passes. If you fight this, she will be evicted from the clinic by morning. She will die on the street while you rot in a cell awaiting a trial you cannot win."

Pond closed his eyes. He saw his mother’s face. He saw Phuwin’s tears. He realized that Director Raizen hadn't just framed him for a crime; he had trapped him in a cage made of his own love.

"I'll sign," Pond whispered, the sound barely audible over the hum of the lights.

He didn't see the camera in the corner of the room, recording his "confession." He didn't know that miles away, Phuwin was screaming his name, held back by guards, refusing to believe the lies—until the "confession" was played for him.

The trap was shut. The fire had done its job.

Chapter Text

The courtroom was a tomb. It wasn't the grand, cinematic trial Pond had once imagined if he ever faced justice; it was a cold, procedural execution of his freedom. Because of his "confession," the proceedings were swift. The judge, a man who didn't look Pond in the eye even once, read the sentence with the rhythm of a man reciting a grocery list.

"Life imprisonment."

The words felt heavy, like stones being dropped into a deep well. Behind him, the gallery was filled with SR Company board members and press. In the very back row, Pond saw the flash of a white shirt—Phuwin. He looked skeletal, his eyes sunken and red-rimmed. When their eyes met for a fleeting second, Phuwin didn't look at him with hatred. He looked at him with a profound, soul-shattering confusion.

Why, Pond? his eyes seemed to ask. Why did you say you did it?

Pond looked away. He couldn't tell him. To tell the truth was to kill his mother.

The Last Visit

Two days before he was to be transferred to the high-security wing of Bang Kwang Prison, Pond was allowed one final visit with his mother, Mae Malai. She had been brought to the prison infirmary in a wheelchair, her oxygen tank hissing like a serpent in the quiet room.

"Pond," she whispered, her hand trembling as she reached through the glass partition.

"Mae," Pond choked out, pressing his palm against the cold surface. "I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

"You didn't do this," she said. It wasn't a question. It was the absolute certainty of a mother. "I know my son. You wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone a woman who worked her whole life just like you."

"The evidence..."

"The evidence is a lie bought with money we don't have," she interrupted, her voice gaining a sudden, fierce strength. "They used me to break you, didn't they? They told you that if you went to jail, I would live."

Pond lowered his head, a sob breaking from his throat.

Mae Malai looked at her son—her beautiful, kind-hearted boy who was being buried alive to save a dying woman. A look of devastating clarity washed over her face. She realized that as long as she was alive, Pond was a prisoner. Not just of the state, but of his own love for her.

"Pond, look at me," she commanded. "You are a phoenix. Do you understand? You were born in the dirt, but you were meant for the sky."

"Mae, what are you saying?"

"Live, Pond. Find the truth. And don't you dare let them keep you in that cage."

The Ultimate Sacrifice

That night, the news broke in the early morning hours. Mae Malai had managed to hide a sharp piece of metal from a food tray. She had severed her own carotid artery in the infirmary.

She left a note, written in a shaky hand on the back of a hospital form:

"My son is innocent. I take my life so he has nothing left for them to threaten. Now, he is free to fight."

When the guards threw the newspaper into Pond’s cell the next morning, the world didn't just end—it shattered. The one thing he had traded his life for was gone. The "settlement" with the SR lawyers was void. He had no mother to save, no lover to go home to, and no future.

He sat on the cold floor, the silence of the cell pressing in on him. He didn't cry. The tears had burned away, leaving only a cold, hard diamond of rage in his chest.

You wanted me to fight, Mae? he thought, staring at the grey stone walls. I’ll do more than fight. I’ll burn their world down to the ground.

The Transfer

The transfer to the main prison was scheduled for that evening. As Pond was led toward the transport van, he saw Director Korn standing by the gates, smoking a cigarette. Korn gave him a small, mocking nod—a victor acknowledging a fallen foe.

Pond didn't look away. For the first time, his gaze was lethal.

As the van pulled out of the station, Pond felt the weight of the hidden shiv he had managed to steal from a distracted guard during the chaos of being moved. He knew the route. He knew the bridge they had to cross.

He wasn't going to Bang Kwang. He was going to the river.

Chapter Text

The transport van smelled of stale sweat and wet asphalt. Pond sat shackled between two other inmates, his heart thundering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The rain from the previous days had turned into a torrential downpour, blurring the world outside the reinforced windows into a smear of grey.

He felt the weight of the metal shim he’d tucked into his waistband—the only inheritance his mother’s death had truly left him: a chance to be reckless.

"Hey," Pond whispered to the inmate on his left, a man with hollow eyes. "When we hit the curve at the bridge, brace yourself."

"What?" the man croaked.

Pond didn't answer. He used the shim, his fingers raw and trembling, to pick the lock on his hand restraints. He had watched the delivery drivers at the warehouse do it a thousand times as a joke. Now, it was his life.

Click.

The metal fell away. At that exact moment, Pond lunged forward, grabbing the heavy fire extinguisher from the wall and swinging it with every ounce of his grief-fueled strength into the plexiglass partition separating them from the driver.

The Chase

The van swerved violently. Tires shrieked against the wet pavement.

"Escape! We have an escape in progress!" the guard in the passenger seat yelled into his radio.

Pond kicked the side door open. The wind roared in, smelling of the river. Behind them, two police cruisers and a SWAT SUV—already on high alert due to the high-profile nature of the SR case—screamed into view, their sirens wailing a death knell.

The chase was a blur of near-misses and screeching metal. The van slammed through a construction barricade, fishtailing toward the edge of the Rama VIII Bridge. The driver, panicked, slammed on the brakes.

The van spun 360 degrees before crashing into the bridge railing with a bone-jarring thud.

The Edge of the World

Pond scrambled out of the wreckage, his forehead bleeding. He ran. His lungs burned, and his vision was hazy, but he kept his eyes on the railing.

"Freeze! Put your hands up!"

The police were everywhere now, a semi-circle of guns pointed at his chest. Among the black uniforms and tactical gear, a flash of white appeared.

Phuwin.

Phuwin had followed the police scanner. He looked like a ghost, his clothes soaked through, his eyes wide with a manic, desperate hope.

"Pond! Stop!" Phuwin screamed, trying to break past the officers. "Don't do this! I’m investigating! I found something—just..please.. Come back!"

Pond stood on the very edge of the bridge, the wind whipping his hair. He looked at Phuwin. For a second, he wanted to run to him. He wanted to believe that "Normal Life" still existed.

But then he saw Director Korn standing behind the police line, half-hidden by a cruiser, a small, satisfied smirk on his face. He saw the SWAT sniper adjusting his scope.

If he went back, he would be murdered in a cell. If he stayed, he would be a puppet.

"Phuwin!" Pond shouted over the thunder and the sirens. "I didn't kill her! I love you!"

"Then come back!" Phuwin sobbed, reaching out a hand. "Please, Pond, I can't breathe without you!"

Pond looked down at the black, churning waters of the Chao Phraya. It looked like a grave. But to Pond, it looked like the only path to a future where he could strike back.

I have to die so I can become someone who can win, Pond thought.

"Forgive me," Pond whispered.

He stepped backward.

"NO!" Phuwin’s scream was the last thing Pond heard before the air rushed past him.

He saw the bridge recede. He saw Phuwin collapse to his knees, his hands reaching for an empty sky. Then, the impact. The water hit him like concrete, shattering his ribs and dragging him down into the cold, silent dark.

Above the surface, the world believed Pond was dead. Below the surface, the man known as Pond ceased to exist.

Chapter Text

The water had been a cold, crushing weight, but the current was Pond’s only ally. He had surfaced nearly a mile downstream, lungs screaming, clutching a piece of floating debris until his fingers turned blue. Through the help of a sympathetic dockworker who owed his mother a debt of kindness from years ago, Pond was smuggled onto a cargo ship bound for the Port of Shanghai.

He arrived not as a man, but as a shadow.

The Concrete Purgatory

Shanghai was a neon-lit monster. To the wealthy, it was a playground of glass towers; to Pond, it was a labyrinth of damp alleys and the smell of rotting fish. He had no papers, no money, and his Mandarin was non-existent.

The first month was a lesson in the fragility of human dignity. Pond lived in the "cracks" of the city. He slept under the arches near the Bund, using discarded newspapers to insulate his thin shirt against the biting wind coming off the Huangpu River.

I am a dead man, he reminded himself every morning when he woke to the sound of street sweepers. Dead men don't feel hunger. Dead men don't feel cold.

But he did feel them. His stomach cramped so painfully he had to double over, and his ribs, cracked from the fall off the bridge, knit together poorly, leaving him with a permanent, dull ache.

The Scavenger’s Life

One evening, Pond found himself behind a high-end restaurant in the Jing'an District. The smell of braised pork leaked from the vents, making his head swim. He waited until the kitchen staff dumped the leftovers into the bins.

He reached in, his hands shaking, pulling out a half-eaten steamed bun. As he shoved it into his mouth, a group of local teenagers walked by, laughing. One of them kicked a puddle, splashing muddy water over Pond’s face. They called him a "dog" in a language he was only beginning to understand.

Pond didn't fight back. He wiped his face with a grimy sleeve and kept eating.

Let them look at me and see nothing, he thought, his internal monologue hardening. The less I am now, the more I can become later.

The Night of the Red Rain

Winter began to set in, and the rain turned into a freezing sleet. Pond had developed a fever that made the world tilt. He staggered toward an abandoned warehouse near the shipyards, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He collapsed against a stack of rusted shipping containers, his vision tunneling. He thought of Phuwin—not the prince in the velvet suit, but the boy who used to share a single umbrella with him in the Bangkok rain.

"I'm sorry, Mae," he whispered into the dark. "I don't think I can be a phoenix."

He closed his eyes, ready for the cold to take him. But instead of the silence of death, he heard the heavy thud of combat boots on gravel. A shadow fell over him—not the shadow of a predator, but something solid and immovable.

"You're far from home, kid," a voice said in accented Thai.

Pond looked up through blurred lashes. He saw a man with a jagged scar running through one eyebrow and eyes that looked like they had seen every war the world had to offer.

This was Sky.

Sky didn't offer a hand at first. He simply looked at Pond’s tattered clothes and the way his fingers clutched a discarded SR Company ID card—the only thing Pond had kept from his old life.

"You look like a man who's been framed by the devil himself," Sky remarked, lighting a cigarette. "Lucky for you, I’ve got a grudge against the devil, too."

Sky reached down then, his grip like iron, and hauled Pond out of the dirt. It wouldn't be soft, and it wouldn't be kind, but for the first time since the bridge, Pond wasn't alone.

Life Lesson: The Value of the Void

Pond realizes that to rebuild a life, one must first accept being "nobody." Strip away the ego, the name, and the past, and you find the raw will to survive.

Chapter Text

Sky’s apartment was a brutalist concrete box overlooking the industrial docks, filled with the smell of gun oil and old books. For the first three days, Pond did nothing but sleep and sweat through a fever that felt like a trial by fire.

Sky didn't ask questions. He changed Pond’s bandages with the clinical efficiency of a medic and fed him thin rice porridge seasoned with nothing but salt.

Sky’s: The Fallen Shield

On the fourth day, Pond sat up, his head finally clear. He watched Sky disassembling a handgun with blindfolded precision.

"Why?" Pond rasped. "You don't know me. I’m a ghost."

"I know a soldier when I see one," Sky said, pulling the blindfold off. His eyes were hard. "Even one who’s never worn a uniform. You have the look of a man who’s been sabotaged from the inside."

Sky leaned back, the neon light of a "Jade Dragon" sign outside flickering across his scarred brow. He had been a Captain in the Royal Thai Army’s elite task force, a man groomed for the highest levels of national security. But three years ago, during a high-stakes counter-terrorism operation, he had been fed false intel by a superior—a Director with ties to the SR Group.

The operation had been a bloodbath. Sky was the only survivor. To cover their tracks, the brass framed him for the failure, alleging he had taken a bribe to let the targets escape. Relieved of duty and hunted by the very men he’d sworn to protect, Sky fled to Shanghai, working as a high-end mercenary and "cleaner" for the city's underworld.

"I spent my life being a shield for people who didn't deserve it," Sky said, his voice a low growl. "When I saw you in that alley, clutching that SR badge like it was a curse... I saw myself."

The Awakening

Pond looked at his own scarred hands. "I can't go back. They think I'm dead. My mother is gone. I have nothing."

"Good," Sky said, standing up. He walked over to Pond and dropped a heavy training bag at his feet. "Nothing is a perfect foundation. If you want to go back to Bangkok as a victim, stay in that bed. But if you want to go back as the man who broke their empire, you start training now."

Sky’s training wasn't just physical; it was a psychological dismantling. He taught Pond how to move without being seen, how to read a room in three seconds, and how to use his opponent’s weight against them.

"In business, as in war," Sky told him during a grueling sparring session in the rain on the apartment roof, "your enemy's greatest weakness is their arrogance. They think they’ve already won. That’s when you slit their throat."

The Meeting in the Rain

Their meeting was more than just a chance. Sky had been tracking a shipment of illegal electronics linked to a subsidiary of SR Group. He had been lurking in the shipyard shadows for three nights when he saw Pond.

He had watched the "beggar" for hours. He saw Pond pass up a chance to steal a wallet from a drunk tourist, choosing instead to scavenge from a bin. He saw the way Pond’s eyes never lost their focus, even when his body was failing.

"I didn't pick you up because I felt sorry for you," Sky admitted as they shared a drink that night. "I picked you up because you have the one thing money can't buy: a reason to live that is bigger than yourself."

Pond looked out at the Shanghai skyline, the lights reflecting in the Huangpu River. For the first time, he didn't see a grave. He saw a forge.

"Teach me everything," Pond said, his voice no longer a rasp, but a blade. "I want to be the nightmare they never saw coming."

Life Lesson: Found Brotherhood

Healing doesn't happen in isolation. Sometimes, the universe sends you someone who has the same scars so you can learn how to turn them into armor.

Chapter Text

For the first year in Shanghai, Pond and Sky lived in the grey zones. They didn't stalk tycoons; they worked as low-level security and couriers for the shipping docks to stay under the radar. Their meeting with Lee Daren was not a planned heist of fate—it was a violent coincidence.

The Incident at the Port

It was a Tuesday, smelling of salt and wet iron. Pond and Sky were working a double shift at Pier 7, hauling crates of heavy machinery. Nearby, a black Mercedes-Maybach was parked for a quiet, private handover of legal documents between Lee Daren and a port official.

The ambush was sudden. A rival conglomerate didn't want the paperwork signed. Two delivery trucks swerved to block the Maybach, and a dozen armed men spilled out.

Pond and Sky were just twenty feet away. In the first three seconds, Daren’s primary bodyguard was killed. The old man was trapped in the backseat, the glass spider-webbing under a hail of bullets.

"Sky," Pond said, dropping his crate. His eyes weren't on the money; they were on the injustice. It looked too much like the night at the vacation house. "The old man. They're going to execute him."

Sky didn't need to be told twice. They didn't use fancy gadgets. They used the environment they had worked in for months. Sky used a flare gun to blind the attackers, while Pond utilized a heavy crane hook to swing a shipping container, crushing the attackers' escape vehicle and creating a wall of steel between the shooters and the car.

Amidst the smoke, Pond dragged Daren from the wreckage. He didn't ask for a reward; he just kept his body between the bullets and the old man until the police sirens finally wailed in the distance.

The Three-Year Test

Daren didn't reward Pond and Sky that night. He was too smart for that. Instead, he offered them a job: Personal Security.

For the next three years, Daren watched them. He saw that Pond didn't care about the luxury of the estate. He saw Pond spending his nights in the library, teaching himself Mandarin, Law, and International Finance. He saw a man who was hollowed out by grief but filled with a terrifying, quiet discipline.

The turning point came during the "Great Tech Merger" two years later. Daren’s own nephew had sold the company's internal keys to a competitor. Daren was prepared to retire in defeat.

It was Pond—the "bodyguard"—who walked into the boardroom with a file. He had used the skills he learned as a logistics worker at SR Group to track the physical trail of the digital theft. He had found the one mistake the nephew made.

"Why are you doing this?" Daren asked him later that night. "You’re a guard. You could have taken a bribe from my nephew to stay silent."

"I grew up in the shadow of a man like your nephew," Pond replied, his voice cold. "Men who think they can buy the truth because they have a name. I’m not doing this for your company, Mr. Lee. I’m doing this because the truth is the only thing I have left."

The Adoption of the Phoenix

Daren realized then that Pond wasn't just a survivor—he was a mirror of Daren's younger, hungrier self. He saw in Pond a man who couldn't be bought because he had already lost everything that mattered.

"I can't give you back your mother," Daren told him as they sat in the garden of the Lee estate. "And I can't give you back the five years you lost. But I can give you a weapon. I will train you, not as a guard, but as my successor. I will give you the 'Lee' name. But in exchange, you must promise to never let the 'Dragon' become the monster it fights."

It took two more years of grueling business school, corporate maneuvering, and "polishing" the rough edges of the dockworker into a diamond.

By the end of the fifth year, Lee Thee was born. He was no longer a victim of SR Group. He was their greatest threat.

Life Lesson: The Integrity of Time

Trust is built through consistency, not a single act of heroism. To be given a "multibillion-dollar" responsibility, one must prove they have the character to hold it without breaking.

Chapter Text

The final piece of the puzzle didn't come from a boardroom or a bank statement; it came from the rain-slicked neon alleys of the Zhabei District.

For months, Sky had been tracking a whisper. A Thai woman, living under a false name, was working as a bookkeeper for a mid-level triad-owned laundromat. She was a ghost, never staying in one apartment for more than a month, always looking over her shoulder.

"I found her," Sky said, dropping a grainy surveillance photo onto Thee’s mahogany desk. "She’s aged, but her eyes are the same. It’s Janhee, Sarawat’s former secretary."

Thee picked up the photo. His heart, which he had spent years turning into stone, gave a sharp, painful thud. Janhee had been there that night. She was the one who had seen him enter the vacation house. She was the ex-lover of Director Raizen—and the woman who knew exactly what had happened before the first flame was lit.

The Enclave of Fear

Thee and Sky found her in a cramped room above a noisy noodle shop. When they burst through the door, Janhee didn't scream. She simply dropped the bowl she was holding and slumped into a wooden chair, her face a mask of weary resignation.

"Did Raizen send you?" she asked in a hollow voice. "Tell him he can stop chasing me. I’ve lived in this hell long enough. Just make it quick."

"Raizen didn't send us," Thee said, stepping out of the shadows. He removed his sunglasses, letting the harsh overhead light hit his face.

Janhee squinted, then gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Pond? No... Pond is dead. He jumped from the bridge. I saw the news."

"The water was cold, Janhee, but the fire in my heart was hotter," Thee said, his voice a low, chilling vibration. "Why are you here? Why did you run?"

Janhee began to shake. The story poured out of her like a dam breaking. She had been Raizen’s secret lover for years, a pawn in his game to climb the SR ladder. She had overheard Raizen and Director Korn planning the "accident" at the vacation house. When she tried to warn the Chairman, she was too late.

"Raizen ordered them to kill me because I knew too much, even the medication they were giving the Chairman in the hospital was meant to keep him in a coma, not wake him up," she sobbed. "I barely escaped to Shanghai. I thought if I stayed hidden, I’d be safe."

The Alliance of the Damned

Thee looked at Sky, then back at the broken woman. This was the evidence he needed—the eyewitness who could tie Raizen to the attempted murder and the frame-up.

"Janhee, look at me," Thee said, leaning down so his eyes were level with hers. "I am no longer the boy you knew. I have the power to protect you now. But I need you to go back. I need you to stand in front of the world and tell them the truth."

"He'll kill me before I reach the airport," she whispered.

"He’ll have to go through me first," Sky stepped forward, his presence like a wall of iron. "And I don't break easily."

Thee reached into his pocket and pulled out a plane ticket to Bangkok and a black credit card. "We are returning to Thailand as Super Digital Enterprise. I am no longer a fugitive; I am an investor. And you, Janhee, are my new Chief of Staff. You will walk into SR Group through the front door, and Raizen will have to bow to you."

Preparation for the Return

The final weeks in Shanghai were a whirlwind of strategy. Thee studied every detail of SR Group’s current holdings. He learned that the company was struggling, kept afloat only by Raizen’s aggressive and borderline illegal cost-cutting measures.

He also saw the photos of Phuwin.

Phuwin had changed. The soft, smiling boy was gone, replaced by a man with cold, hollow eyes who sat at board meetings like a statue. He had never married. He had never moved on. He was a man living in a perpetual state of mourning, still trying to conduct his own private investigation into the night of the fire.

Wait for me, Phuwin, Thee thought, staring at a photo of the SR headquarters. I’m coming back to clear the name of the man you loved. But first, I have to destroy the empire that raised you.

Life Lesson: The Burden of Truth

Truth is a debt that eventually collects interest. You can run across oceans to escape it, but it will always find you—either to destroy you or to set you free.