"Are you serious?" Niran asked, licking his dry lips. "It's thirty degrees outside. You were walking down the road with a bag."

"I didn't know you were gonna stop," Dao growled back. "Let me out."

At this request, Niran instead blocked the doors. They slammed shut with such a demonstrative click in absolute silence that Dao's eyebrows went up to his forehead and almost ran away in astonishment. Niran guessed from the way his jaw tensed he’s slightly annoyed.

Meanwhile, Niran was in a great mood. He had finally rested after a long search for the university where his Marked one was and the witches were planning to perform a detecting ritual soon. Everything was finally going according to the plan. Such a rare thing. That’s why Niran had even decided to stop when he saw a familiar skinny figure with a bag on the road. He had nearly driven off into a ditch from such surprise. And his experiment on this upstart Dao’s nerves was quite successful. Niran blinked slowly, remembering that when the living ones are looking at you, it's necessary. A few strands of hair fell forward, framing his face.

"You asshole, let me out," Dao said, almost syllable by syllable.

Niran didn’t react. His muscles tensed slightly, veins becoming visible as if he had been gripping a barbell instead of a steering wheel for the past hour. In an instant, the playful guy had turned into a lethal threat. He started leaning closer to Dao. Niran barely held back a smile when he sensed the fear. Of course, the mortal was afraid of him. He hadn’t felt that tantalizing scent of prey in over a century. No hunt, no fear—he understood that. But right now, he could drain Dao dry and bury his body. Not even the birds would tell what had happened. He kept leaning further and further over, already expecting the Bamboo stick to hit him in the face at least. Niran would’ve done the same. He was curious: how long could Dao endure this horror before it would escalate into full-blown panic? The vampire nearly hissed at his own stupidity—he had gotten too close to the mortal’s neck. His fangs extended involuntarily, and Niran hurried to put aside what he had planned.

"You…" Dao whispered.

"Seatbelt," Niran muttered, grabbing the seatbelt and pulling it toward himself as he leaned away from Dao.

It was unclear whose patience Niran was toying with—his own or the bamboo stick’s one. He clicked the seatbelt into place. Without it the car wouldn’t even move. Then he turned to Dao with a defiant look and flashed his most bloodthirsty smile.

"Scared?" Niran asked him in a whisper.

"The day I’m scared of you will be the day I die, asshole," Dao hissed back, crossing his arms and turning toward the window. "I thought you were some kind of maniac or something. And you’ve got a gun on the seat."

"It’s in the glove compartment with the Tic Tacs. Do you want it?" Niran's question caused him to turn around and shoot him an angry look. “ Hmm? Who taught you manners? Monkeys or varanas? There's a reason you ended up in the middle of the road”.

"The bus broke down, and I didn’t have a choice," Dao muttered, pausing for a second. "You, P’asshole."

"That one?"

Just as Dao was about to stab Niran with another insult , his bus drove past them. He stared at it first in shock, then with undisguised fury. Dao was enraged so much that he forgot whose car he was in or why he was acting cool. Shaking his fist at the departing bus, Dao started shouting curses after it.

"Let’s go," was all Niran said.

Niran rarely found himself in a decent mood, but Dao’s behavior kept it steady—maybe even nudging it toward good. He often noticed the difference in worldview between himself and modern people. They were still full of life, youth, and naivety, reacting to situations with the kind of emotional outbursts that sent them diving headfirst into chaos. Niran couldn’t even imagine a situation where he’d be walking across a scorching field to get to the city. The moment he got his car, he was practically fused to the driver’s seat. He glanced at Dao without embarrassment. Dao, on the other hand, had turned away from him. The vampire’s sharp sense of smell no longer sensed fear, sweat had taken its place. Not that Niran found it disgusting. He perceived scents differently. To him, they didn’t divide into pleasant or unpleasant. But Dao reeked of sweat so strongly that the car had better be dry-cleaned or he'd be stopped by the cleanliness inspection. He also noticed Dao’s T-shirt was on backwards.

"Tell me, bamboo stick, is it trendy now to wear shirts inside out?" Niran smirked, stretching his lips into a mocking grin. "’Cause I feel like my shirt doesn’t fit right."

"Your shirt, huh…" Dao didn’t even react to the jab, turning toward him with an expression of utter indifference. "It looks like it’s from a Thai thrift market. When old ladies can’t decide whether to rip a shirt into rags or sell it to idiots like you for extra cash. What do they call it… Vintage? Old junk?"

"This shirt costs forty thousand baht," Niran replied to him irritably. "And I bought it online."

"Old ladies are really getting into Amazon these days," Dao added. They’d just passed the first stop. "Hey, where are you going? That was my stop. Drop me off at the next one."

"I’ll take you to the university, I’m heading there myself" Niran didn’t take his eyes off the road. "You shouldn’t be standing outside anyway, or the country might declare an environmental disaster because of your stench." He glanced at the rearview mirror—first at Dao, then at himself.

Niran wasn't going to ruin his mood and pay attention to the boy's comments. He knew he looked fantastic. A deep crimson satin shirt, black tailored trousers, matching Chelsea boots, an expensive watch, a ruby pendant, aviator sunglasses, and perfectly styled hair. He could step out of the car right now and walk straight into a modeling agency. In this car they looked like a homeless man and a prince. Niran could smell that Dao was starting to get embarrassed by the vampire's remark. He pressed down on the gas, expecting a few speeding tickets. As long as there weren’t any patrol cars nearby, he didn’t care. A few minutes later, Niran squinted and started listening closely. He opened the window slightly, and his relaxed expression shifted to irritation.

"When is Pi’Niran gonna pick us up along with this pot? We searched for it, dragged it around, and don’t even get me started on how much work it took to collect all the ingredients," he heard San’s voice. The witches were somewhere ahead. "Five more minutes under this sun, and I’ll melt like the Wicked Witch of the West from my own sweat.”

"San, stop complaining. You know damn well this is our entire fault. If we had handled things properly just once, we wouldn’t have to drag the damn pot into the dorm. I’ve only done this tracking ritual once! And it’s not even necessary!" That was Naam’s voice. "Stay here. Or I’ll kill you myself."

"He won’t stop," Ji said, turning to her sisters. "Sorry. You know I can’t control it."

"Just fantastic," San protested and started waving her arms.

Niran drove close enough for them to notice his car. Refusing to succumb to fate, San stepped onto the road, waving both arms. In her pink jumpsuit, she looked like a failed Barbie cosplay. She was begging to pick them up, but there was no space left in Niran’s car. The only seat was already taken by Dao, who had once again switched from hating the vampire to just being bewildered by the situation. He watched questioningly the frantically yelling San as Niran sped past her, kicking up a cloud of dust. The bamboo stick turned to him.

"Why didn’t you stop? They’re stuck too, aren’t they?" Dao raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly.

"Would you suggest have them sit on our laps or on the roof? There’s no space in the car. I didn’t bother getting a five-seater" Niran answered him informatively and glanced at his phone, mounted on a special magnetic stand for navigation. "Kan, call 'useless witch number one.'"

"Good afternoon, P’Niran," the phone responded. "I’m calling ‘useless witch number one.’"

"P’Niran…" Naam said.

"I’m not alone in the car. You’re on speaker," Niran cut her off harshly. "I’m in a different car. Tell Ji she’s late again. Take a taxi and go straight to the dorms. I already made arrangements. You seriously couldn’t figure it out yourselves?"

"Sorry, P’Niran…"

"End of call."

He didn’t bother explaining further or continuing the conversation. His mood was already starting to dip again. What saved it—yet again—was the dumb expression on Dao’s face. He stared at him, bold and defiant. Niran was trying to become the vampire king, he wasn't going to be polite to witches. Especially to the ones who had dragged him into this madness. He took off his sunglasses and turned to Dao for a moment.

"If you have something to say, say it," the vampire snapped.

"You demand respect, yet you don’t show it to your own friends," Dao pointed out. "That’s the girl who stood up for you in that fight, wasn’t she?" Dao told him, and Niran realized he remembered San. She made a mess that time. “That's weird”.

"You don’t know anything. So don’t jump to conclusions."

Niran didn't make excuses for him, noticing the turn sign ahead. If he remembered the route correctly, the university would appear in five minutes. The last thing he needed was some kid lecturing him. The only thing on his mind was finding his Marked one, draining him dry, reviving the vampire bloodline. And revenge.

They passed the university and took the first right toward the dorms. Niran checked the time—noon, exactly on the dot. Students in the parking lot opened their mouths when Niran stopped the car. Among the bikes, scooters, and a few rusted-out cars, his Targo gleamed under the sunlight like a beacon of wealth. He glanced at Dao, who wasn’t even hiding his relief. The guy was clearly happy to be getting out of Niran’s car. But Niran didn’t hurry to unlock the doors. The bamboo stick turned toward him, puffing his cheeks in frustration, his face turning red with anger.

"Let me out," Dao said angrily.

"And where’s my thank you, Nong’Bamboo Stick?" Niran asked with a chuckle and glared at him. "While we’re still sitting here, you might as well wear your damn shirt in the right way. You look like an anxious parrot."

"Stop giving me nicknames. You know my name is Dao," he growled back at him and still started to change his shirt. "Happy now? P’Asshole, will you finally let me out of your tin can?"

"If you insult my car again, it will be your tin can for ashes. Got it?" Niran’s mood shifted in an instant, making Dao tense up. "Ungrateful little Dao. How do you plan to heal people with a tongue that sharp?"

"How do you kno—"

"Birds told me," Niran cut him off, recalling San’s voice message rambling about some ‘hotshot” and finally unlocked the doors. "Get out already. I’ve got things to do."

"Hope we never cross paths again," Dao said as he climbed out, irritated.

"If you stop wandering the roads and fields, we might not see each other again, little Dao," Niran said as he stepped out of the car.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and glanced around, searching for a smoking spot. The last thing he needed was to end up at the police station. Holding the cigarette lazily between his fingers, he let his gaze drift over the students, trees, and cars. He had to wait for the witches to get further instructions.

Niran took a few steps to leave the small parking lot. His hair swayed in the wind, and his shirt, unbuttoned at the top three buttons, revealed his sculpted chest and pale skin. Everyone was staring at him. Someone even peeked out from a window. He didn't care. It’s all because he saw Dao, who was also just starting to walk out of the parking lot. His bag was unzipped, and a pair of duck-patterned underwear was sticking out from there. Niran took a deep, dramatic breath. He was starting to think that Dao’s messiness was his personal thing.

"Are you serious?" Niran tucked the cigarette pack away. "Hey, bamboo stick." Dao stopped at his call and turned around again with a disgruntled expression on his face. "Don't frown so much, or you'll have wrinkles by the time you're fifteen."

"I'm eighteen," Dao growled.

"Ah, my bad. Your ducky underwear threw me off."

Niran stepped up to him, meeting his gaze with a challenging stare. He had to control himself so his eyes wouldn’t glow red. His arguments with Dao always stirred up his predatory instincts, and the last thing he needed was to reveal his true nature. They locked eyes for a good thirty seconds before Niran, with the most mocking smirk in his arsenal, shoved the duck-patterned underwear back into Dao’s bag and zipped it up. The Bamboo stick's cheeks flared with embarrassment. A wave of giggles erupted from the girls nearby, followed by the clicking of phone cameras. Niran savored his slight humiliation. He felt an awful urge to flick Dao, but even for him it was too much.

"I hope they were clean," Niran said smoothly, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Keep hoping."

With that, Dao marched off toward the dorms, shielding his face from the cameras.

"Gotta love the Thai way… never turning off the cameras," Niran said, finally spotting a place to smoke. Someone kept squealing and pointing at him. "Whatever.