Kiran (POV)
I get bullied at school.
Because I don't have parents.
It's not like I care… or at least, that's what I tell myself.
Girls still follow me around like nothing's wrong.
But some guys… they don't like that.
So they play dirty.
Whispers. Rumors. Cheap shots when no one's looking.
Most of it, I ignore.
But today—
They went too far.
"Unlucky bastard… he killed his own mother."
That's what one of them said.
Something in me snapped.
Before I even realized it, my fist had already connected.
After that… it didn't matter who started it.
It turned into a fight.
When I got to school today, I already bruised on my body.
From yesterday.
I adjusted my collar, trying to hide it.
Didn't work.
Jay saw.
When I entered the class, one of my classmates looked at me and said,
"Hey… you're called to the guidance room."
Now I'm standing in the guidance room.
Teachers.
Parents.
Them.
All talking.
All loud.
All on their side.
"They're lying," one of the boys said. "He attacked first."
"He's always aggressive," another added.
"He needs discipline," a parent muttered.
I clenched my fists.
"It's not my fault," I said.
Too quiet.
No one listened.
Or maybe they just didn't care.
Then it came.
The line that always comes.
"…Doesn't this school have standards?" one of the mothers said sharply.
"If you don't even have a mother to teach you manners, no wonder you're like this."
Silence.
Heavy.
Pressing.
My throat tightened.
I didn't look up.
Didn't react.
Didn't move.
Because if I did—
I'd lose control again.
I thought about calling Kuya.
Just hearing his voice…
Just once…
But I stopped myself.
He already has enough to deal with.
I didn't want to be another problem.
So I bowed my head slightly.
"…It's not my fault," I repeated.
Barely audible.
And then—
The door burst open.
A loud crack that echoed through the room.
Everyone turned.
I didn't.
Not immediately.
But I felt it.
That shift.
That presence.
"Who the hell are you talking to like that—about my son?"
My head snapped up.
My chest tightened.
Jay.
For a second—
I forgot how to breathe.
She was standing there, eyes blazing, chest rising and falling like she'd run through fire to get here.
Angry.
Protective.
Terrifying.
For me.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
And for the first time since I walked into that room—
I wasn't alone anymore.
She stood in front of me—
and called me her son.
Just like that.
Like it was obvious.
Like it had always been true.
A minute ago…
I was alone in that room.
Now—
Someone was asking what happened.
For me.
"J—"
I tried to speak.
She didn't let me.
Jay stepped forward.
Slow.
Controlled.
But every step felt heavy… like the room itself was shifting around her.
"You don't get to stand here," she said, her voice low and sharp enough to cut.
"And talk about my son like he doesn't have anyone."
My chest tightened.
My son.
The woman in front of her stiffened. "I was just—"
"No."
Jay cut her off instantly.
"You weren't."
She didn't blink.
Didn't look away.
And for some reason—
Neither did I.
"If your child has a problem," she continued, "teach your child first… before questioning someone else's upbringing."
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The room just stopped.
Then—
I felt it.
Her hand.
On my shoulder.
Firm.
Warm.
Protective.
"He's not alone," she said.
And something in my chest—
cracked.
Not loud.
Not painful.
Just… something breaking open.
"Who are you to talk to us like that? " another woman snapped.
Jay didn't react.
Not immediately.
She just breathed.
Slow.
Measured.
Then—
"Me?" she asked softly.
A pause.
"Are you that dense?"
The air shifted.
I could feel it.
Everyone could.
Her hand tightened slightly on my shoulder—like she was grounding herself.
Or maybe grounding me.
Then she said it.
"I'm his mother."
Silence.
Not normal silence.
The kind that makes your ears ring.
The kind that makes people forget how to breathe.
I stared at her.
My mother.
The word didn't feel strange.
It didn't feel wrong.
It just… landed.
Like it had always been there.
"You look young," someone muttered. "Maybe he was born out of—"
"Careful."
Jay didn't raise her voice.
But the word hit harder than a shout.
Even I flinched.
She stepped forward.
"Now tell me," she said, "why are all of you surrounding my son like this?"
"He bullied my child," one parent said quickly. "He punched him."
They pulled the boy forward.
Jay looked.
Then she turned to me.
"What happened?"
"They hit me first," I said.
My throat felt tight.
"They said I don't have parents."
The moment the words left my mouth—
Something in her changed.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't visible to everyone.
But I saw it.
Felt it.
Everything in her… went still.
Dangerously still.
"…Who said that?" she asked.
I pointed.
Before I could react—
She moved.
Her fist slammed into the wall beside her.
The sound cracked through the room.
People gasped.
I flinched.
But she didn't.
She didn't even look at her hand.
"How dare you say that to him?" she said.
Calm.
Too calm.
"What are you doing?" someone snapped. "You teach your kid to fight?"
"I hit a wall," she replied.
Like it meant nothing.
"Control."
Then she looked up.
"And if my husband were here…" Her voice dropped colder.
"You wouldn't be speaking like this."
Murmurs spread.
Then—
"Both parents are crazy," someone muttered. "No wonder your kid is—"
She moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
I didn't even think.
I grabbed her wrist.
"No," I said under my breath.
A warning.
A plea.
For a second—
She stopped.
Then her gaze shifted.
I followed it.
The vase.
She picked it up.
Calmly.
That scared me more than anything.
And then—
She threw it.
Not at them.
Beside them.
The crash exploded through the room.
Glass shattered across the floor.
Everyone flinched.
Even me.
Silence slammed down right after.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
She stepped forward.
Slow.
Quiet.
"Finish that sentence," she said.
Not loud.
Worse.
"I dare you."
No one spoke.
No one even looked at her directly anymore.
"So your child thought it was acceptable to question someone's family," she continued.
Nothing.
No answer.
"He defended himself. That is not bullying."
"You're just taking his side," someone said.
"Of course I am," she replied instantly. "I'm his mother."
My grip on her wrist tightened.
Not to stop her.
Just…
to feel something real.
She looked around the room.
At every adult.
"And all of you stood here and let this happen?"
That one—
hit.
I could see it in their faces.
"Instead of correcting your children," she continued, "you chose to blame mine."
"Watch your tone," someone said.
She smiled.
But it wasn't a real smile.
"No," she said quietly. "You should watch yours."
Then she turned to the staff.
Calm again.
Cold again.
"I was told this school values discipline," she said.
"So tell me—does that apply only to students… or to parents as well?"
No one answered.
"This will be addressed properly," she continued.
"Because if my son is being targeted—"
She paused.
"I will not let it go."
And I believed her.
Completely.
"Let's file a case," one of the women snapped.
Jay tilted her head.
Then smiled.
"Oh?" she said softly. "Finally… a brain cell showed up."
I tightened my grip on her wrist.
She didn't even look at me.
"Go ahead," she said. "File it."
She stepped forward again.
"I'll file one too."
My chest tightened.
"For harassment… defamation…"
Her eyes moved across all of them.
Slow.
Like she was memorizing every face.
"And I won't stop there."
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Then her gaze dropped.
To the kids.
Then back to the parents.
"If anyone touches my child again…" she said softly.
"I won't be this nice."
A chill ran down my spine.
"Pray," she added almost gently.
"that his father never gets involved."
A faint smile.
"Because then…"
She paused.
"Our next meeting won't be in court."
Silence.
"Maybe in a hospital."
"I'm taking my son home," she said.
And that was it.
No permission.
No hesitation.
Her hand returned to my shoulder.
Firm.
Steady.
"Come," she said quietly.
"Are you threatening us?" someone snapped.
She stopped.
Turned.
Smiled.
"Threatening?" she repeated.
A small shake of her head.
"No."
She stepped closer.
"I'm informing you."
The room felt smaller.
Tighter.
"To know who you're dealing with."
Then—
that smile again.
"Or…"
Her head tilted slightly.
"Do you want me to show you what I'm really like?"
No one answered.
No one dared.
We started walking.
No one stopped us.
No one spoke.
But I could feel it—
their eyes.
Their fear.
"Jay."
My voice.
Low.
Just for her.
My hand tightened around her wrist.
"That's enough."
She didn't move at first.
Didn't look away.
For a second—
I thought she wouldn't stop.
Then she exhaled.
Soft.
"Fine," she murmured.
Like they didn't matter anymore.
I pulled her back gently.
She let me.
Just like that—
It ended.
But the silence followed us.
Clung to us.
And as we walked out—
I realized something.
For the first time in my life…
When they said I didn't have anyone—
They were wrong.
I have her.
I never saw this side of her.
I used to think she was… careless.
A little clueless.
I didn't get why Kuya loved her so much.
I just accepted it—
because he looked happy.
But now—
I get it.
She doesn't just love.
She protects.
Fiercely.
Without thinking twice.
Just like…
mother.
The walk to the car felt longer than it should have.
No one followed us.
No one tried to stop us.
But I could still feel it—
their eyes.
Burning into my back.
Jay didn't say anything.
Not to them.
Not to me.
Her hand stayed on my shoulder the entire way.
Firm.
Steady.
Like she was making sure I didn't disappear.
When we reached the car, she opened the door for me.
I got in without a word.
She closed it gently.
Walked around.
Got into the driver's seat.
And for a moment—
Neither of us moved.
The engine started.
The car pulled away.
Silence filled everything.
I stared out the window.
Watching the buildings blur.
People walking.
Talking.
Living.
Like nothing had happened.
My jaw tightened.
My hands curled into fists.
Relaxed.
Then curled again.
I told myself I didn't care.
I've heard worse.
I've handled worse.
This was nothing.
Just another day.
"…You okay?" Jay's voice came quietly.
I nodded.
Didn't look at her.
"Yeah."
Lie.
"You said you're my mother?" I asked.
"Of course," she said without hesitation. "Isn't it obvious? If your father is Kiefer… then I'm your mother."
She said it so casually.
Like it didn't mean anything.
I stared at her.
She was only twelve years older than me.
Was that even… normal?
Silence again.
But this one felt different.
Heavier.
Closer.
She stopped the car in front of a medical shop without saying a word.
Got out.
Came back with ointment.
"Remove your shirt."
I blinked. "What?"
"Remove it," she said again.
Cold.
For a second… I thought I saw Kuya.
I didn't argue.
I unbuttoned it slowly.
Her eyes scanned my body—
the bruises.
Every single one.
Her jaw tightened.
"I should have punched them," she muttered.
Her touch was careful.
Too careful.
As she applied ointment, her fingers paused over the worst ones… like she was memorizing them.
Or blaming herself for them.
Then—
just like that—
"Do you want ice cream?" she asked.
Soft.
Like nothing happened.
I looked at her.
Really looked.
She almost got into a fight back there.
For me.
And now…
She wasn't asking anything.
Not pushing.
Not forcing.
I just nodded.
"Okay," she said, exhaling. "I feel fucking irritated."
And she started the car.
We didn't talk.
Not on the way.
Not when we reached the mall.
We just… existed.
We bought ice cream.
Went to the arcade.
Played everything.
Every stupid game.
And I won.
A lot.
It was fun.
And for the first time that day—
I forgot about them.
We were back in the car.
The mood had shifted again.
She was still frustrated… quiet in that way that meant her mind was running fast.
"Are you not going to ask me anything?" I said.
Because I knew.
She was waiting.
Waiting for me to open up.
For a second, she didn't respond.
And then—
I felt it.
My throat tightened.
Tears slipping out before I could stop them.
I wiped my face quickly, annoyed at myself.
"It's really not my fault," I said anyway.
"They said I was the reason my mom died… so I hit him."
Silence.
"Did you win?" she asked.
I froze.
"…What?"
"I'm asking," she said calmly, "who wins in a fight?"
I stared at her.
Confused.
Like I heard wrong.
"…Me," I said.
Of course.
She nodded once.
Patted my head lightly.
"Good."
I blinked.
"What?"
She didn't even look surprised at my reaction.
"If you care about your Kuya's reputation… it's useless," she said. "Do you think he even cares about that?"
She glanced at me briefly before continuing,
"Your Kuya cares about his brother and family more than anything."
A pause.
"Isn't that why he fought for the inheritance… so both of you could live happily?"
I didn't answer.
"Fighting is not wrong, Kiran," she continued.
"You're still young. Don't think about your kuya."
Her grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
"Fight if someone looks down on you. Fight for your own identity."
"…Then what if they say fighting is bad?" I asked quietly.
"What if they say I'm spoiled,troublemaker?"
She scoffed.
"Who said that?" she asked.
Then, casually—
"I was in the guidance office four times a week in school."
I blinked.
"…What?"
She shrugged.
"Let's not talk about your kuya," she said. "Do you even know why he was called 'King' in school?"
I shook my head.
"He beat the shit out of people," she said simply.
Then added, like it was normal:
"Fighting is not good. But fighting for yourself is something no one can take from you. Not me. Not your Kuya."
Her voice softened.
"I don't care if I have to come to the guidance office for you every week," she said.
"But promise me this—"
A pause.
"Win only when you're right. And never let anyone walk over your pride."
I didn't speak.
"Even if it becomes a case," she added, calmer now, "I'll handle it."
Then she glanced at me briefly.
"But don't lose control. Don't compare yourself to your brothers."
Her tone softened.
"You're not their shadow. You're Mike Kiran Watson. That's your identity."
I stared at her.
She didn't say "Kiefer."
She didn't say "my husband."
Just…your Kuya.
Like she didn't give herself the right to be anything more.
Like she would never come between us—
Never take him away from us.
"If you ever feel like you can't ask him," she said, "come to me."
A pause.
Then, almost proudly—
"I'm really good at fighting."
That made me smile.
"You can fight??" I asked.
"What...stupid question?? "Now I really miss my golden era...I even beat your kuya. Ask him how I fight; he will tell," she said so proudly, like she won a medal.
"I never thought someone could beat Kuya," I said.
"Tss…" she scoffed, crossing her arms. "Next time you pick a fight, call me. I'll show you how it's done."
I raised an eyebrow.
"So I need to start a fight just to watch you fight?"
She smirked.
"Tss… no need," she said, tilting her head slightly."Next time Section E shows up…"
Her eyes gleamed with challenge.
"I'll show you."
Small.
Real.
"So…" she said suddenly, lighter now, "fried chicken?"
I frowned. "Didn't we just have ice cream and snacks?"
She shrugged.
"I'm not craving it," she said.
Then tapped her stomach.
"It is."
I blinked. "…Is it even okay to eat outside food when you're pregnant?"
She nodded without hesitation.
"It's fine. I can digest anything."
Then she added casually—
"And don't worry about the baby. It'll be fine."
A pause.
"After all… it's Kiefer's."
We both laughed.
And for the first time that day—
it didn't feel heavy.
We picked up Kigen Kuya on the way, grabbed fried chicken, and went home.
When we walked in—
Kuya was already there.
We both hugged him.
Then Jay did too.
"So… you left me alone and went on a date?" Kuya asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Here," Jay said, handing him the fried chicken. "Let's eat. I'm hungry."
She didn't wait for a reply—just walked toward the dining table to get plates.
I looked at Kuya.
"…I like her more now," I said.
He glanced at me, then smiled, tapping my head lightly.
"It's hard not to like her."
"She called herself my mom," I said.
He didn't look surprised.
Not even a little.
Instead—
his eyes softened as he watched her.
"If you want… you can call her that," he said quietly. "She'd like it."
"Don't leave her, Kuya," I said quietly.
"Never," he replied without hesitation. "She's mine, after all."
"Are you two going to keep talking, or do you plan to eat?" Jay shouted from the dining table.
"Coming!" we both answered at the same time.
And just like that—
the house felt different.
Not just filled with happiness anymore…
but with something warmer.
Something that finally felt like home.
"Jay…" Kiefer Kuya hesitated."Kiran said… you called yourself his mom."
A brief pause.
"Would you be willing to adopt him?if needed"
The air shifted.
Just like that.
I looked at him—then at Jay.
How could kuya ask her that… just like that?
"Don't—" I started quickly, my voice tightening."No…"
I didn't want her to feel forced.Didn't want to hear her reject him either.
But she spoke before I could say anything more.
"It's okay," she said gently.
We both looked at her.
"You don't need papers to recognize him as my son," she continued, her voice calm… certain.
"I've already seen Kiran—and kiegen—as my sons."
Silence.
Soft this time.
Warm.
"They can call me whatever they feel," she added with a small smile."Jay… Ate… or Mom…"
Her eyes softened as she looked at me.
"Because I'll be the same… every time they call me."
Kuya smiled.
Not wide.
Not teasing.
Just… quiet.
The kind of smile that said everything without words.
That she belonged here.
With us.
Not outside.
Not in between.
With us.
Like she was always meant to be.