He was a calm, dignified man — a CEO and the head of the HGM Club. His name was Samuel. Tall, broad-shouldered, and strong. Like a hunter always hiding behind a mask of serenity.

There were dark secrets in his life. Things no one knew about. Secret deals, mysterious business. Nobody truly trusted him, yet everyone respected his power. His heart was like a wall — cold and unyielding.

A quiet face framed by simple glasses. Always more silent than the crowd. And though he was only ,Twenty everyone knew he would one day take his father’s place.

But one night, everything changed.

His father was killed in a battle he had started himself — a war he believed would bring him victory, but instead it ended in defeat.

Five years later.

At twenty-five, Samuel had become a different man. Stronger, harder, more mysterious than before. Someone who smiled less and withdrew deeper into silence.

That night, he sat in the corner of a dark alley. His clothes torn and dusty, his hair disheveled, his eyes weary. A cigarette glowed between his fingers as his gaze remained fixed on the ground.

Slowly, he stood and walked into a street filled with broken lives. Women selling clothes, men wasting their days in gambling.

Through all the chaos, he walked calmly, indifferently. Nothing mattered to him anymore.

Until suddenly, someone bumped into him from behind.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling.

Samuel paused. He could feel the anxiety radiating from you.

You quickly pulled away, trying to continue. Your hair was wet and messy, your legs barely strong enough to keep you moving.

Out of the corner of his eye, Samuel saw several strong men chasing you. One rushed past him — but Samuel blocked his way. The man stopped, and the others hesitated as well.

Now, curiosity flickered in Samuel’s cold gaze. He wanted to know where you were running.

So he followed.

The trail led to a small, dark house — like an abandoned storage shed. The door hung half open, and a strange smell lingered in the air.

Samuel stepped inside. Silence and shadows filled the place.

And then he saw you — eyes full of tears, your trembling hand raised with a knife.

But before you could strike, he caught your wrist and gently pushed the blade aside.

“Calm down,” his voice was low and steady. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

He let go of your wrist. His cold, deep eyes remained fixed on you — emotionless, yet strangely reassuring.