"Thank you for the tip, sir. Have a great day."
Berkan said politely, giving a slight nod to the man who had just finished his meal at the restaurant.
The restaurant was busy that evening. Plates clinked, people talked loudly, and waiters moved quickly between tables.
Just as Berkan turned to leave—
Crash!
The sharp sound of a plate shattering echoed across the room.
Berkan instinctively turned around.
Behind him, a young waitress was kneeling on the floor, clearly shaken. Her hands trembled as she hurriedly tried to collect the broken pieces of the plate scattered across the tiles.
It was Irha, another employee who worked at the restaurant.
But something else caught Berkan's attention.
At the nearby table sat four men. One of them had grabbed Irha's wrist tightly while laughing with his friends.
She tried to pull her hand away.
"Let go of me… please…"
The men only laughed louder.
Berkan's expression hardened. He immediately walked toward them.
"Sir, please let go of her hand."
The man looked up slowly, annoyance flashing in his eyes.
"Who the hell are you now?" he scoffed.
"Can't you see we're having fun here?"
"Just move along."
Irha struggled again. "Let go of me–"
Before she could finish, Berkan stepped forward.
"Let her go."
The man smirked and tightened his grip.
That was enough.
Berkan's eyes flashed with anger.
In one swift motion, he kicked the man's chair.
BANG!
The chair tipped over and the man crashed onto the floor.
"Augh! You bas—"
The other three men instantly stood up.
One of them cracked his knuckles.
"Jade," the fallen man growled angrily, "teach this guy who he's messing with. He's getting himself killed."
The man called Jade stepped forward slowly.
The atmosphere in the restaurant instantly turned tense.
People stopped eating. Some backed away from the scene.
Just as the situation was about to explode—
"Stop! Stop this right now!"
The restaurant manager rushed in and forced himself between them.
"Everyone calm down!"
...
A While Later
In the staff room, the tension had faded, but the consequences remained.
Irha sat beside Berkan, carefully cleaning the blood from a small cut on his forehead with a cloth
"I'm really sorry…" she whispered, her eyes teary.
"None of this would've happened if it wasn't for me."
"Shut up," Berkan muttered quietly.
"It's not even your fault."
Before she could reply, the door opened.
The manager walked in.
His face was serious
"Berkan," he said coldly, "you don't need to come to work starting tomorrow."
The words hit like a hammer.
Berkan stood up immediately.
"What? Why? What are you saying?"
But the manager didn't answer.
He simply turned and walked away.
Silence filled the room.
Irha looked down, guilt covering her face.
"It's because that guy… he's probably some rich man's son," she said softly from behind him.
"And we're just poor workers."
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Everything happened because of me…"
Berkan grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"I told you already," he said without looking back.
"It's not your fault."
With that, he walked out
Berkan rode his bike toward home, the night air cool on his face.
Suddenly, a long black car screeched to a stop in front of him.
The same four men from the restaurant stepped out, advancing toward his bike. In an instant, they knocked it over, metal clanging as parts shattered.
...
"My bike… where is it?!" Berkan yelled, panic rising. Then the memory hit—these were the same men who had beaten him and left him by the jungle.
He stumbled forward and saw his bag—everything ripped, belongings ruined. Then he saw his bike… completely destroyed.
Tears stung his eyes. He sank to the ground, staring at the wreckage, rage and grief mixing in his chest.
From behind, a scorpion crawled toward him and stung his shoulder. Pain flashed through him, and darkness claimed him.
...
When he woke, sunlight had broken the horizon. People had gathered, and policemen asked what had happened.
Berkan told them everything, but he didn't believe they'd catch those men.
With heavy steps and no hope left, he walked away from the wreckage.
...
"Then why did you even bother helping that girl?" Madam Aelin snapped, glaring at Berkan. "Look where it got you! Now, you won't even give me my rent. I don't ..
Berkan swallowed hard. "You said you'd give it to me by the end of the month…"
Madam Aelin's eyes narrowed. "And now? My money… all of it… destroyed!"
Berkan's frustration boiled over. "I'll get it for you! Give me four days—I'll figure something out!"
Madam Aelin stared at him for a moment, her anger still burning, then turned sharply and walked away.
Berkan watched her go, his chest tight,
...
"Uhh… for dinner, there's nothing else. Just this bread. I guess we'll have to make do," Berkan muttered, staring at the loaf.
He grabbed a knife and started slicing.
"Ssshhk… ssshhk…" The blade cut through the crust with a crisp, uneven sound.
Suddenly, he flinched. The knife had slipped, grazing his finger. A sharp sting shot through his hand. He looked down—just a small cut, but enough to make him wince.
"Damn it," he whispered, pressing his finger with a napkin, the bread forgotten for a moment.
Berkan removed the napkin and froze.
The blood on his finger wasn't red—it was black.
"What… what the hell?" he muttered, panic rising. He blinked, thinking maybe there was something on the napkin. But no—the blood itself was dark, flowing thick and unnatural.
Heart pounding, he stumbled back and looked into the mirror across the room.
His reflection stared back… but something was wrong. His eyes were glowing red, and an unbearable pressure throbbed in his head, like it was about to split in two.
A sharp pain shot through his skull, making him bend over in agony.
And then-
Ding dong!
The doorbell rang.