Adisorn walked towards his private suite in the dead of night, but the unusual silence triggered his survival instincts. He stopped before the door, which stood slightly ajar a silent invitation from hell, beckoning the prey into a trap.

  He pushed the door open slowly, stepping inside with calculated caution. The sight before him was pure chaos; his once-orderly belongings had been ransacked and strewn across the floor, as if a violent storm had torn through the room. His sharp eyes scanned the footprints on the debris and the pattern of the search, analyzing the position of an enemy who might still be lurking in the shadows.

  Pale moonlight filtered through the gap in the window, catching the white curtains that swayed silently in the cold breeze. But as the fabric billowed out, a dark silhouette hidden behind it moved like a viper ready to strike.

  Whoosh!

  A shadow clad in pitch black lunged from the darkness with lethal speed. A thick nylon rope whipped through the air, coiling around Adisorn’s neck with terrifying precision. A massive force jerked the man’s body down to the floor in a heartbeat.

  "Urgh...!" Adisorn gasped as his throat was crushed shut. His handsome face flushed deep red before turning a bruised purple. The tightening rope sought to pulverize his windpipe, yet Adisorn’s eyes held not a shred of fear.

  Maintaining focus even as oxygen deprivation clouded his mind, he jammed his fingers between the rope and his neck, preventing his windpipe from being crushed. Gathering the remaining strength in his legs, he drove his knee into the assassin’s spine with everything he had.

  The impact sent the assassin sprawling forward, yet the man seemed impervious to pain. He spun back around instantly, wrapping the rope around his wrists and jerking Adisorn from behind once more. He pinned Adisorn flat against the floor, planting a heavy boot on his back to add leverage to the deadly pull.

  "Who... are you..." Adisorn managed to wheeze through his parched throat, staring defiantly at the man’s black mask as the rope bit deep into his flesh, drawing the first beads of blood.

  The crunch of glass beneath their boots echoed painfully as Ohm and Phueak arrived at the storefront. The air was thick with the smell of crude oil and drifting smoke. They stood frozen, staring at the ruins of Ros-Lom, now a shattered shell of its former self. The tables and chairs had been hacked to splinters. The shop sign was defaced with crimson Chinese characters a bloody warning.

  "Boss!..." Phueak’s voice trembled as he picked up a tattered apron. "We’re in deep trouble now."

  Ohm said nothing. He clenched his fists until the veins pulsed along his forearms. His eyes, usually filled with jokes and mischief, now burned with a cold, gasoline-soaked rage. He marched through the wooden wreckage toward the ruined kitchen, stopping only when he saw his favorite chef’s knife driven deep into the center of a wooden table... like a death threat aimed at his throat.

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  Ohm glanced toward the back of the shop, his instincts sharp. He let out a faint, chilling smirk. "I’m starting to get hungry... Hey, Phueak! Let’s get something to eat."

  "You’re hungry now? Boss, the place is a wreck, and you still want to eat?" Phueak whispered in confusion. Ohm strode over, grabbing an apron that was still usable and tying it around his waist. "Let’s make some Stir-fried basil with minced pork... go get the rice."

  Confused but compliant, Phueak obeyed. Ohm turned on the gas, placing a heavy iron wok on the burner as the oil began to shimmer. Faint footsteps echoed from the darkness outside the window. Ohm turned to the cutting board, dicing garlic and bird's eye chilies with a fierce, rhythmic aggression, throwing them into the scorching oil at the perfect moment.

  Sizzle!

  A pungent, suffocating aroma filled the air. The superheated chili and garlic acted like a chemical weapon, devastating the respiratory systems of those nearby. Sputtering coughs and sneezes began to erupt from the shadows surrounding the shop.

  Phueak spun around, eyes wide with alarm. "Boss! They’re sneezing everywhere! There’s definitely more than just a couple of them out there!"

  Ohm’s smirk turned into a challenge as he tossed the minced pork into the wok, flicking the ladle to send a burst of flames roaring into the air. The fire reflected in his orange-tinted eyes. "Welcome Sawad Dee Krub (Hello) ! Ros-Lom is open for business. Have you all eaten yet?" he roared over the thunderous sound of the stir-fry.

  Soon, heavy footsteps thudded from the front of the shop. A dozen menacing figures in leather jackets and dragon-patterned gear crowded the entrance, wielding clubs and iron bars. Phueak, clutching a handful of holy basil, turned pale.

  "Boss... Boss!" he gestured frantically, while Ohm offered a deathly calm smile.

  "Ah, have the customers arrived?" the chef greeted smoothly, as if welcoming honored guests.

  "Customers, my foot! These are straight-up thugs!" Phueak cried.

  "I thought coming to Shanghai meant I could just be a handsome chef..." Ohm added a dash of fish sauce to the wok. The scent of roasted chilies and fish sauce intensified, forcing the thugs to cough and retreat several steps. "But in the end... I guess I have to serve up a special menu to make sure you forget your way home." He glanced at his partner. "Just like back in Thailand... when those thugs tried to raid us."

  "Again, Boss?" Phueak sighed, but his legs shifted into a ready stance. "I thought we retired from this."

  Ohm threw a large handful of basil into the wok, giving it a final toss that sent a cloud of spice so intense the enemies had to cover their noses. He cut the gas and cracked his neck Snap! warming up his body as if the battlefield were his familiar kitchen.

  "Since such distinguished guests have graced Ros-Lom with their presence... we’d better make it a heavy serving, don’t you think?"

  Ohm stepped into the center of the wreckage, the moonlight highlighting his grim face like a god of war born in a kitchen. He thrust the steaming wok forward.

  "Thai Stir-fried basil with minced pork the best we’ve got. I’ll show you that when a Thai person gets angry, they’re hotter than any chili on earth!"

  The thugs closed in with menacing growls. Phueak clutched the plate of steaming jasmine rice tight. "Boss... are you for real? I count at least ten in front, not including the ones lurking outside!"