"Why isn't he moving? Is he… dead?"

"W-What?! Don't say such ominous things!"

"I told you not to hit him so hard… Look at what happened!"

"Young master… What have you done? Young master! Please wake up!"

"Why is that damn dog barking so loud? Should I have to shut his mouth too…"

'Why is it so noisy?

Agh… My body. Why does it hurt so much? Did I get into trouble again? And who the hell is screaming like a lunatic? What kind of mess did I land myself in this time?'

Regaining consciousness, Keith slowly rose from the cold floor.

His vision was slightly blurred at first, and his head throbbed like crazy. A warm liquid trickling down from his forehead sent a wave of unease through him. When he checked, the sharp, metallic scent of blood filled his nose.

"Blood… Is it my blood?" He blinked, struggling to piece things together.

He uneasily scanned his surroundings. It looked like a club—dimly lit, filled with music and the scent of alcohol. Yet, the music wasn't as loud as expected. Instead of enjoying themselves, the crowd whispered among themselves, their gazes shifting toward an ongoing scuffle.

"Agh, damn… it hurts like hell… Hey, does anyone know who hit me?"

Keith's voice cut through the murmur like a whip—loud, defiant, unfazed. He hauled himself onto a table, one hand clutching his aching head.

"Does he have a death wish or something?"

"Didn't he have enough?!"

Whispers rippled through the crowd, disbelief lacing their voices.

"Hah, you forgot our faces so easily? Maybe another round will jog your memory."

A well-built teenager stepped forward, his sinister grin widening. His gang followed, shoving aside the boy they had been beating moments earlier.

"Stop it, Abram! Leave him alone!"

A girl—strikingly beautiful but clearly distressed—tried to intervene. Her voice barely carried over the charged air.

Abram chuckled darkly. "How can I ignore my babe's concern?" Then, turning back to Keith, he sneered. "Drop to your knees and beg for mercy—who knows, I might spare you tonight."

Keith stared at him blankly. His memory of what happened earlier was hazy, but Abram was already getting on his nerves. No one had ever dared to speak to him like that before.

He laughed—not a nervous chuckle or a forced scoff, but pure amusement. The kind that made people uncomfortable.

"Abram, was it?" Keith mused, rolling his shoulders. "I like your attitude, but you've picked the wrong opponent, kid."

Abram's smirk faltered, his fists clenching. "You—"

Keith moved first.

A sickening crack echoed through the room as he drove his forehead into Abram's nose. Bone crunched against bone. Abram staggered back with a strangled gasp, clutching his face as blood spurted between his fingers, his eyes wide with shock.

Keith didn't give him a chance to recover. His hand shot out, grabbing the half-empty beer bottle from the table. With one swift motion, he shattered it against Abram's head. Another sickening crack rang out.

Abram swayed, dazed, but before he could react, Keith drove his knee hard into his gut. The impact forced the air from Abram's lungs in a choked gasp, sending him crashing to the floor. He curled inward, clutching his stomach, his body writhing in pain.

The room fell silent.

Abram's lackeys hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. Their leader—reduced to a groaning mess? Impossible.

Keith cracked his knuckles. "I don't have all night. Come at me together—it'll save me time."

That snapped them from their stupor. They lunged.

The fight was brutal but brief. Keith, despite his injuries, fought like a cornered beast—ruthless, unyielding. One by one, they hit the ground, some clutching broken ribs, others too dazed to move.

"Please… forgive us… Eric… Please…" one of them whimpered, voice trembling.

Keith exhaled, running a hand through his blood-matted hair. "Hah… Eric?"

The name felt foreign, yet oddly familiar. He barely had time to process it before a timid voice called out.

"Young master…"

Keith turned to see the boy who had been beaten earlier staring at him, eyes filled with something unreadable—fear? Relief? Something else entirely.

"Y-Young master… me?" Keith pointed at himself, perplexed.

...

The Next Morning

"How much did I drink last night to end up like this? My head… Wait, where is this place?"

Awakening from sleep, that was the first question that popped into Keith's mind as he stared at an unfamiliar ceiling.

Rolling over in bed, Keith observed his surroundings. The room was neat and spacious, exuding luxury. Paintings adorned the walls, and valuable antiques were placed carefully on the tables.

"Wow, nice room… Wait, why am I here anyway? Agh… my head… why does my whole body hurt so much?"

Frustrated, he pushed himself up and staggered toward the mirror—only to freeze in shock at his own reflection.

"What the…?"

A complete stranger stared back at him. His appearance was a mess—a swollen right eye, a bandaged forehead, and bruises covering his face and body.

Suddenly, vague memories of the previous night flashed through his mind. The fight, the teenagers…

Knock, knock.

"Young master, may I come in?"

A voice accompanied the knock, interrupting his thoughts.

Recognizing the familiar voice, Keith instinctively replied, "Come in."

One of the teenagers from the night before stepped inside, holding a tray. His appearance was just as battered—if not worse—than Keith's.

For a moment, Keith felt bad for him. Unable to find the right words, he simply watched as the boy placed the tray on the table. But as the boy turned to leave without saying a word, Keith instinctively grabbed his wrist and shoved him against the wall.

"You… W-who are you? Where am I? Why do I look like this?"

The boy scoffed. "How do you expect to look after getting beaten up?" he replied sarcastically.

"Huh?"

The boy's eyes darkened with frustration. "How many times have I warned you not to go? Do you ever listen? Am I some kind of punching bag for everyone? I'm done. Why should I keep sacrificing myself for someone who has no conscience or gratitude for what I've done all these years?"

Tears welled up in his eyes as he yelled, his voice raw with emotion.

"And as for your question—who am I? I'm Aiden. Aiden Chris, not some guy or b******"..." His voice trembled with anger. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did you think I'd never quit? There's a limit to everything! Not only am I forced to serve a weak young master, but I also have to throw myself into harm's way every single day just to keep you safe! I'm fed up!"

Keith was stunned into silence.

"Sorry." The word escaped his lips before he even realized it. Hearing Aiden's words made something stir within him. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings… I was just confused for a moment. Does your back hurt?" He asked, suddenly remembering how he had pushed Aiden against the wall earlier.

Aiden scoffed, wiping his eyes. " It doesn't matter. My whole body is throbbing anyway." Taking a deep breath, he calmed down with an apology.

"Can we sit and talk?" Keith asked awkwardly, motioning toward the bed.

They sat down. After a few moments of silence, Keith finally spoke.

"What's in it?" He wasn't sure what to ask first, so he simply blurted out whatever came to mind.

"Hangover soup."

"Did you cook it?"

Aiden rolled his eyes. "Who else is here to made it for you if not me?" Annoyed, he shoved the dish into Keith's hands—almost throwing it at him.

Keith chuckled, quickly finishing the soup. "Are you serious about what you said earlier? About quitting?"

Aiden exhaled. "It was just a moment of emotional outburst. Don't take it seriously."

Then, his gaze sharpened. "Remember one thing, YOUNG MASTER ERIC JONAS—if I wanted to quit, I would've done it years ago. We've been through hell together, and I'm not leaving your side, especially in this situation, when you've finally shown your claws to your enemies."

Keith blinked. "Eric Jonas?"

"Quickly freshen up. I'll bring you something to eat." Without waiting for a response, Aiden left the room to prepare breakfast.

Keith sat there, his mind racing. "Eric Jonas… Why does that name sound so familiar?"

Suddenly, something clicked. A name surfaced in his thoughts, followed by a wave of realization.

"Darkness… Did I end up in that damn novel?!"