I should’ve known.

“Kai, dinner!” His mother’s voice slices through the house like a whip. Sharp, precise, impossible to ignore.

Kai groans theatrically. “Already? Ugh.” Then, like a man possessed, he spins around and winks at me. “You’re coming.”

“No.” I clutch my hoodie tighter. “I’ll—”

“Not happening.” His grip on my wrist is firm but not painful. “If I don’t bring you down, my mom will come up herself. Trust me. You don’t want that.”

So I follow. Every step down the marble staircase feels heavier than the last. The smell hits me first: polished wood, citrus cleaner, and… something sharp, almost metallic. His house smells like rules you can’t break.

The dining room is horrifyingly perfect. Long, glossy table, silverware arranged like a museum exhibit, crystal glasses that gleam under the chandelier light. At the head sits his father, sharp suit jacket still on, shoulders rigid. His mother sits beside him, spine straight enough to pierce steel.

Their eyes snap to me the moment I step in. I freeze like prey in headlights. The chandelier looms above, judging.

“This is…?” his mother asks, voice clipped, every word polished.

“My friend,” Kai says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Neru Kieta.”

I sink into the chair he pulls out for me, knees close to my chest. “…Hi.” My voice is barely audible.

His father’s eyes scan me like he’s appraising property. “Friend from school?”

“Yes, sir,” I answer automatically.

Kai grins, leaning back casually. “Yep. We hang out.”

Silence. His mother tilts her head, expression neutral but dangerous.

Dinner is served, presented on plates that look expensive enough to bribe someone into silence. I poke at my food, careful not to touch anything fancy.

“So, Neru,” his mother begins, tone polite but sharp. “Where are your parents?”

I freeze. Of course she asks. My chest tightens. “…They… aren’t around.”

Kai’s smile falters slightly—he can tell, even across the table. “He’s fine, trust me,” he says quickly.

His mother raises an eyebrow. “Fine? At your age, how are you supporting yourself? Surely you’re in some sort of guardianship?”

“I… live in a foster home,” I mutter. The words sound wrong in my mouth, like they don’t belong to me.

His father’s fork clinks against the plate. “Foster home. Hm. And your schooling? You’re not on scholarship?”

“…Yes, I am.”

“And your prospects?” His mother leans forward slightly. “Do you have any plans for university? Careers? Surely you must think about your future.”

I swallow hard, staring at my plate. “…I’m surviving.”

Silence. The chandelier seems brighter. The polished wood closer. Kai bursts out laughing, loud and unrestrained, while I want to melt into the floor.

“‘Surviving,’” Kai repeats, still chuckling. “Best answer ever.”

His mother’s lips tighten. “Kai, control yourself.”

“Mom,” Kai replies, voice calm but sharp, “maybe you should let him answer.”

His father lifts an eyebrow, gaze like a laser. “Kai, do not challenge me at the table.”

Kai doesn’t flinch. “I’m not challenging, I’m… pointing out the truth. Sometimes people appreciate honesty.”

I glance at him, unsure whether to be impressed or terrified. The tension in the room is so thick it could be sliced with a knife.

His mother sighs, eyes narrowing slightly at Kai. Then she turns to me again. “You’ve never been disciplined by a family? Never had guidance in managing money, responsibilities, or behavior?”

I bite my lip. “…No.”

Kai jumps in. “He’s learning now. And he’s sharp. Smarter than he looks.”

His father fixes Kai with a stare. “Kai, we’ve discussed your friends. You must choose carefully whom you associate with. You know our rules.”

“Yes, Dad.” He nods like it’s a lecture he’s heard a thousand times. Then, softer, to me: “Ignore them. It’s fine.”

But it isn’t fine. I barely touch the food. The air is heavy with expectations I’ve never had to meet. Every glance, every word feels like a test.

Dinner continues in this rhythm: probing questions from his mother, occasional commentary from his father, and Kai’s bright deflections in between.

“Do you have hobbies? Friends outside school?” his mother asks.

I mumble something about gaming.

His father clicks his tongue. “Gaming will not sustain you. You must develop real skills. Vocational skills. Social skills. Responsibility.”

“…I have social skills,” I mutter, voice low.

“Is that so?” His father leans back, folding arms. “You are here for dinner. You are being observed. It is our responsibility to ensure your associations reflect positively on our son.”

I shrink lower. Positive reflection is… not my thing.

Kai reaches across the table, resting a hand over mine. Not squeezing. Just there. And somehow, that makes the sharp edges of the room less terrifying.

“You’re doing fine,” he whispers. “Breathe.”

I nod, tiny, grateful for the anchor.

The meal drags on. Questions, polite corrections, suggestions for Neru’s future, warnings about Kai’s reputation. I answer in clipped sentences, mumble when pushed too far, and try not to flinch at every glance.

Finally, when the plates are cleared, his mother gives a precise nod. “You may leave now.”

I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for an hour. Kai grins at me, victorious. “See? Survived the trial.”

“…Barely.”

He laughs, tugging me out of the chair. “Next time, I’ll make sure it’s easier. Maybe.”

As we escape upstairs, I realize two things:

1. Kai’s parents are terrifying.

2. Kai might have too much pressure on his shoulders.