Chapter 1 The Rematch
Inside the crowded ward of a public hospital, the stinging, acrid stench of disinfectant hung heavy in the air. Overhead, the flickering neon lights buzzed incessantly, a grim reminder of the fate awaiting the hot-blooded youths sprawled across the hospital beds.
They'd gone at it again another massive brawl.
But there was one man who had managed to walk away unscathed.
The towering figure, nearly 185 centimeters tall, stood dead still in the corner of the room. The grey shop shirt of Phranakhon Technical Institute clung to his frame, radiating a raw, defiant aura. His face was sharp and ruggedly handsome, with narrow eyes that held a steady, unreadable depth. Those firm, curved lips pressed together, easily becoming the center of attention—the only one left unscathed because he'd skipped class while his crew was out getting butchered by their rivals.
His sharp gaze fixed on his three best friends—Mo, Som, and Nhun—who looked like absolute shit in the crowded ward of the public hospital near campus. Some had white bandages wrapped around their heads; others had their arms in slings. The fierce reputation of the Phranakhon Technical gang had been spat on while they were shorthanded. It was the "Uthen kids" who had done this, and Kluay, the third-year kingpin, was the only one left to settle the score.
"You're going solo? How the fuck are you gonna bait 'em? You tryin' to get yourself killed, Kluay?" Mo croaked out with effort, hissing as the air hit his split lip.
"Yeah, man. Just wait 'til we're out of this hellhole. We were just too wasted that day, and those pricks caught us slipping," Som added, shifting uncomfortably and wincing as the pain flared in his braced arm.
Kluay remained motionless, his broad back leaning against the ice-cold concrete wall. The stoic-faced youth went deep into thought.
"If I don't lure them out now, they'll think we're pussies. Phranakhon Tech doesn't hide from anyone. Especially not after those Uthen bastards turned my brothers into human scrap metal. I'm gonna lure 'em out and wreck 'em."
"How? Those three leaders of theirs hit like fucking trucks. My mouth is shredded because of them... just thinking about it makes me see red. They're the same size as us, but they fucking laid me out," Nhun cursed through gritted teeth.
Kluay slowly pushed himself off the wall. He looked at his broken friends, then tilted his chin up, straightening his shop shirt collar. His eyes were flinty, devoid of even a flicker of hesitation.
"I'm gonna set up a meet and clear this shit. I'll challenge 'em man-to-man. If they've got any balls, they'll take the bait. If they decide to dog-pile me like cowards, then fuck it—if I end up in a hospital bed next to you lot, so be it. They always show up when I'm not around. I'm ending this now," Kluay declared, his low, resonant voice echoing through the recovery ward.
"Kluay, you beautiful bastard," Mo muttered, his eyes shimmering with gratitude as he flashed a shaky thumbs-up.
"That's my brother! That's how a real Phranakhon Tech man rides for his crew and his colors!" Som cheered, sticking his big toe up since his arms were useless.
Kluay gave them a final, solemn nod before spinning on his heel and walking out, leaving the lingering scent of a fighter in the stale hospital air.