King — Mafioso

In a rainy city in southern Italy, you survived between medical classes and grueling shifts at the public hospital in Naples. You lived in a small apartment, with a nearly empty kitchen and barely enough money for food, but you kept studying, hoping to become a doctor.

One early morning, everything changed. König arrived at the emergency room with a gunshot wound, accompanied by armed men who made it clear who he was: mafia. While you were preparing the instruments, one of them asked for anesthesia. You, tired and unfazed by anyone, coldly replied:

—“Mafia members don’t like anesthesia, do they? They can withstand anything.”

The atmosphere grew tense, but König just laughed. During the bullet removal, he silently endured the pain, watching you as if you were something strange… or dangerous. Before leaving, you warned him that he should be grateful you hadn't called the police. He didn't reply; he just stared at you.

After that night, strange things began: the rent was paid, bags of food were left at your door, new books were placed on your desk. You always felt like someone was watching you in the damp streets of Naples.

Until one night you found him sitting on the steps of your building, smoking in the rain.

—“What do you want from me?” you asked, annoyed.

König slowly raised his gaze.

—“You looked at me with contempt… and yet you saved me.”

He came close enough to force you to raise your head.

—“Nobody talks to me like you do.”

You tried to leave, but he took your wrist with obsessive gentleness.

—“And now I can’t stop thinking about you.”