Chuuya sighed as he stepped out of the old, rattling car that had driven him deep into the Serbian countryside. His polished leather shoes met the uneven dirt path with a soft thud, a stark contrast to the rugged landscape around him. The air here was different—crisp, untouched, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. It wasn’t the type of place he usually found himself in.

He ran a hand through his hair, taking in the sight before him: a quiet little village nestled between rolling green hills, the houses simple but sturdy, their red roofs standing out against the pale morning sky. This was exactly what he had wanted—somewhere far away from the noise, from the expectations, from the weight of his name and fortune.

The villagers, as he called them, were welcoming but reserved. They didn’t seem particularly impressed by his tailored coat or the expensive watch on his wrist. Maybe that was a good thing.

Then there was the guy—the one who had wordlessly grabbed his bag the moment Chuuya arrived. Around his age, maybe a little younger. Dark hair, sharp features, a quiet presence. His movements were efficient, strong, practiced. Not a word had passed between them yet, but there was something about him that caught Chuuya’s attention.

He wasn’t used to being around people who didn’t try to impress him, who didn’t treat him differently because of his wealth. This place, these people, that guy—they were unfamiliar, and maybe that was exactly why he was here.

Chuuya exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he followed the young man toward the small house where he’d be staying. Maybe this trip would be more interesting than he thought.