Waking up that day, I was immediately engulfed by the chaotic sounds resonating throughout the house. The familiar hum of morning routines was louder than usual as I hesitantly pushed my bedroom door open, the creaky hinges creaking like they were trying to whisper secrets. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and made my way down the hallway, following the cacophony to its source: the kitchen.

Entering the kitchen felt like stepping into the eye of a storm. My mum was bustling about, a whirlwind of energy as she organised the chaos that engulfed our home. Each family member received specific instructions like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, navigating every note with purpose.

 I wandered over to her, a broad grin spreading across my face, and wrapped my arms around her waist in a warm leg hug. She looked down at me, her expression transforming from focus to joy, her eyes lighting up.

“Junior, why are you up so early, sweetie?” she asked, her voice a soothing melody amid the frenetic atmosphere. In her arms, cradled carefully and snugly, was my little sister Claris, sound asleep in her baby carrier. The sight of them together filled my heart with warmth. At seven years old, that was the best feeling in the entire world—being surrounded by my family, loved and safe.

“I couldn't sleep, Mummy. The noise is so distracting,” I admitted, feeling small but content as she took my hands in hers and gently brushed my tousled hair away from my forehead, her fingers like a soft breeze.

“I understand, sweetheart, but today is special. Your dad’s best friend is coming, remember?” she replied, excitement bubbling in her voice.

“You mean Uncle Ramos!” I exclaimed, the name alone sparking memories of grand tales and laughter.

“Yes, sweetheart! He’s coming with his family, so I need you to be on your best behaviour, young Junior.” She smiled, standing up to guide me back toward the stairs.

“But I’m always on my best behaviour!” I protested lightly, but when I met her knowing gaze, I couldn’t help but nod in acceptance. She stroked my cheek tenderly and planted a soft kiss on my forehead, a silent assurance that everything would be alright.

Climbing up the stairs, I felt a burst of excitement. Dad often spoke highly of Uncle Ramos, describing him as a brother by oath. Being seven was a glorious time—one where I didn’t dwell on adult worries or complications. After a refreshing shower and slipping into my favorite outfit, I dashed downstairs to grab my morning fruits before returning to my room to spend some time on my PlayStation, the world of games stretching before me like an endless horizon.

As the clock struck midday, a gentle knock echoed on my door, pulling me from my virtual adventures. I jumped up, powered down my gadgets, and trotted out to meet my mum, who peeked through the door with a bright smile that could light up even the cloudiest of days.

As I descended the stairs, my gaze fell upon Max, our playful dog, lounging outside. He looked content, as dogs often do, and my heart warmed at the sight. I stepped out onto the balcony to greet him, but my eye caught another figure—an unfamiliar man seated next to my dog, happily feeding him treats.

The stranger seemed to be in his twenties with dark skin and a head of thick, kinky dreads cascading down his shoulders. His well-built frame radiated a vibe that suggested mischief, akin to a campus troublemaker brewing in the shadows of a college campus.

When he turned to face me, a smirk danced on his lips, and my stomach twisted uncomfortably. Max, who typically stood guard against so many, was sprawled out next to him, enjoying the affection and snacks with an utter lack of loyalty.

“Give me back my dog!” I exclaimed, anger bubbling within me as I advanced cautiously.

He neither flinched nor responded immediately but leaned closer to whisper something in Max's ear. To my shock, Max sprang up and bounded to me, only to nuzzle against the man again, completely ignoring my presence. The man released my hand, and I stumbled back, landing with a thump on the ground. My backside stung from the impact.

“Oops, I bet that hurt,” he said, his smirk widening as he leaned casually against the edge of the balcony, his demeanour utterly unfazed by the scene unfolding.

I remained seated on the ground, feeling a mix of frustration and indignation. “Max, that is so bad of you!” I shouted, bewildered that my loyal companion would betray me like that.

“You know,” he began, amusement lacing his voice, “it’s quite impolite to speak that way to a guest.” The way he emphasised each word made it clear he was enjoying my discomfort.

“Who cares? You’re not my guest. You’re my dad’s!” I retorted, trying to wrench myself free of the awkward situation.

With a swift movement, he pulled me away from the balcony, and I stumbled again, warmth flooding my cheeks in embarrassment.

I stood up, my mind racing with thoughts of how to regain control of the situation. I surged forward, attempting to kick him, but he sidestepped effortlessly, and I teetered dangerously close to the edge of the balcony. He caught the back of my sweater, saving me from a less-than-dignified fall while wearing that insufferable smirk.

“I now see why I’m here; it’s because of you,” he declared, his playful demeanour only irritating me further as I felt a mix of anger and challenge brewing inside.

As I locked eyes with him, I realised that this would be the beginning of an unexpected rivalry, one that would leave an imprint on my memory long after this chaotic day came to an end.

"I see you two are getting acquainted," a voice cut through the tension. It belonged to a man who looked slightly older than the infuriating guy, David. He waved at me, but my anger flared, and I shot him a glare that could pierce steel. The two of them erupted in laughter, clearly amused at my expense.

"Good luck, David! This one seems impossible," the older guy remarked as he ambled back toward the house.

"Thanks, Anton. I could use all the luck I can get," David replied, his voice dripping with smugness. I chose silence, storming into the house, my eyes scanning the room in a frenzy. Amidst the clutter, I spotted my Jade blade, the very weapon my father had forbidden me to touch. Memories of the last time I played with it flooded my mind: I had smashed several priceless items in the study. But in that moment, my anger bubbled over, urging me to reclaim it.

Clutching the blade tightly, I stepped outside, where David stood, arms crossed and a cocky smirk on his face, waiting for me. A small table was set between us, its surface a barrier I was determined to overcome. He regarded me with an expression of mischief, as if he could predict my next move.

Fueled by an adrenaline surge, I sprinted toward the table, using it as a springboard to launch myself up to his level. But my calculations went awry; I overshot my jump, careening past him toward the edge of the balcony.

Panic clawed at my throat as I screamed, the ground rising to meet me from the second floor. I shut my eyes tightly, bracing for impact, but instead of a harsh landing, I felt a surprising grip around my waist.

"I've got you, Ray!" David's voice echoed with an unsettling calm. I instinctively twisted to grasp him, but his hold was firm.

"Stay still, will you?" he commanded, and to my astonishment, I complied. He lifted me gently, ensuring I wouldn’t slip from his grasp. His fingers caught the silk design of my sweater, the fabric delicate against his hold.

I clung to my breath, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, eyes wide open. Once he had me safely back on solid ground, I was overwhelmed—a mix of fear and the lingering thrill of having narrowly escaped disaster.

David knelt beside me, a soft smile playing on his lips, his demeanour shifting from amusement to something gentler as he took in my still-trembling form. He raised a hand and, with a surprisingly tender gesture, pinched my nose gently between his fingers.

"Hold your breath," he instructed, and to my surprise, I found myself obeying without question. He then let go, and I exhaled, a wave of relaxation washing over me as I followed his guidance to breathe in and out three more times while keeping my eyes locked on his reassuring smile.

As my heart rate slowed, he lifted my chin and smiled down at me with warmth that pushed away the shadows of earlier fear. "His name is Jess, not Max," he said, glancing over at my dog, who was wagging his tail and watching us with eager eyes.

The sudden shift in conversation soothed my frayed nerves, and I felt a smile tugging at my lips. He held my hand and gently guided me closer to Jess, who immediately bounded over, showering my face with enthusiastic kisses. Laughter erupted from me, breaking the tension as the dog’s joyful presence worked its magic.

"I named him and trained him for you. But remember, he only becomes your friend when you call him by his name—Ray," he added, the sincerity in his voice striking a chord within me. For the first time, someone called me by my true name instead of 'Junior.’

"People always use Junior," I admitted, feeling a warmth spread in my chest at his acknowledgement.

"Because it's your name, and I can see you in it," David responded, his gaze steady and sincere as he turned to stroll back into the house.

I felt an urge to follow him, but when I stepped inside, I couldn’t find him. My gaze landed instead on my dad’s study, and I walked straight to the door, knocking gently before entering.

Inside, my dad was beaming, his smile radiant, a rare expression reserved for those he loved most—Mum, Claris, and me. The atmosphere was charged with a sense of warmth and familiarity that calmed me instantly.

"Junior!" My dad called, standing up to sweep me into his arms, lifting me high as he spun me around, laughter spilling out of both of us. When he set me down, I turned to see an unfamiliar gentleman, likely in his mid-forties, sharing a smile with my dad that radiated kindness.

"Young Dion, you look just like your mother, but with brown eyes," he remarked, and their laughter filled the room, a sound that seemed to deepen our connection.

“If Mr. Craxilver had heard you call him that, we’d probably end up in training camp again, Ramos,” my dad joked, and their laughter echoed again, creating an ambiance of camaraderie.

“Hello, Uncle Ramos!” I greeted him, flashing my best smile, taking his outstretched hand to shake.

“Quinn, I'm glad he doesn't take after you," Uncle Ramos responded with a twinkle in his eye.