TAMING THE DEVIL ~(Dewtee)+(Netjj)~

Chapter 2

The hum of the airport was ordinary to most travelers—luggage wheels squeaking, announcements crackling over the speakers, the faint murmur of strangers passing by. But to Jirawat Sutivanichsak (Dew), nothing was ordinary. He didn’t notice the chatter or the fluorescent lights; he noticed the child first.

A small boy, clutching a man’s hand, moved carefully through the crowd. Dew froze. His breath hitched—not from recognition of the boy as a stranger, but because the child’s face mirrored someone he had lost long ago: his elder brother, a carbon copy, as if time itself had cruelly thrown back a memory he had tried to bury.

The boy’s wide, curious eyes, the delicate curve of his cheeks, even the faint dimple when he smiled—all of it tore at Dew in a way he hadn’t felt since he was nine. And then, Dew’s gaze rose to the man holding him.

Teeradech Vitheepanich (Tee).

The first thing Dew noticed was how impossibly out of place Tee seemed. Skin so pale it nearly glowed under the harsh lights, lips tinted the color of fresh roses, eyes deep, piercing, capable of seeing straight through the walls Dew had built around his heart. Every muscle in Dew’s body tightened—not from fear, but from the sheer, unfamiliar awareness that someone could exist so different from the world he knew. One wrong move here, one scratch, and that perfect, ethereal skin could be marred forever.

Tee, for his part, froze immediately. His eyes met Dew’s, and he felt the chill of death brush his spine. The man before him had eyes that could kill—calm, sharp, lethal. His aura was suffocating, yet magnetic. Tee’s stomach knotted; he had never seen someone so intimidating, so impossibly dangerous, so… unreal.

Before either could react, chaos erupted.

A sudden flurry of movement, men in black suits emerging from the crowd, weapons drawn, and a hail of gunfire. The airport transformed into a battlefield in seconds. Tee’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What… what is happening?” he shouted, trying to shield Thanapon behind his body. He had never faced anything like this in Australia—men with guns, cold, merciless, professional. And yet, these attackers were not just criminals; they were hunting them.

Dew’s lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly. His instincts took over. Each movement was precise, predatory. His hands caught a gun mid-air, spinning it like an extension of his body, firing without a single misstep. Men lunged at him with knives, and he responded in kind—strikes, flips, throws, every motion lethal, every moment calculated. The air itself seemed to bend around him, every swing of his fists cutting through the chaos like a dark symphony.

Tee’s focus was entirely on Thanapon. He moved instinctively, trying to protect the boy, shielding him as bullets flew and men attacked from every direction. But in his fear and inexperience, he misjudged one swing—one attacker’s metal rod struck him across the side, and pain exploded in his skull. The world tilted, the lights blurred, and he felt himself falling, consciousness slipping away.

Thanapon’s cry was sharp, piercing, terrifying. “Uncle Tee! Wake up!” The boy clung to him, small fists gripping Tee’s shirt, shaking him in desperation.

Dew didn’t hesitate. With a predator’s grace, he crossed the room, scooping Tee up before he could hit the ground, pressing him close. One arm cradled Tee, the other shielded Thanapon. His eyes swept the battlefield—predatory, unflinching. One by one, the attackers fell under Dew’s hands. Fists slammed, guns fired, knives found their marks, and by the time the last man fell, the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood.

The silence afterward was almost deafening. Dew’s chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. Tee was unconscious in his arms, pale and bruised, but alive. Thanapon clung to Tee, tears streaking his face, trembling in relief.