A thunderous voice tore through the house.

Both Sorawit and Wichian froze. Their hearts dropped. They turned slowly, dread rising like a tide, only to find Mr. and Mrs. Pong standing at the entrance—shocked, hurt, and completely stunned by what they had just walked into.

"Sorawit! What were you saying to Wichian?!" Mr. Pong's voice was laced with fury. "How can you talk to your brother like that?"

Sorawit’s lips quivered. His father’s words hit harder than any slap. His eyes, already brimming with unshed tears, stung as the realization sank in—his father had taken Wichian’s side. Again.

Wichian opened his mouth, trying to soften the blow. “We were just talking—”

But Mr. Pong cut him off. “Don’t defend him, Wichian. Not this time. He needs to understand. He has to learn his place!”

He turned his full attention back to Sorawit, his voice stern.

“I know you don’t like Vamika. I know you don’t like Wichian either. But they are our family now. Whether you like it or not—Wichian is your brother. And Vamika is your mother now.”

That was the final crack.

"Enough!" Sorawit's voice shattered, trembling with rage and heartbreak. “Enough, Dad! I get it. You love them. But I never thought... never imagined you'd love them more than me.”

Mr. Pong’s voice softened, almost pleading.

"Wit, you’re wrong. You’re misunderstanding everything. Neither Wichian nor Vamika has ever tried to push you away. In fact, they care for you deeply. Vamika—she memorized your favorite dishes. She learned everything about your childhood just to make you feel at home. She loves you like her own.”

“I’m not angry with her,” Sorawit snapped. “She’s your happiness, and I’ve accepted that. But him? Why do I have to accept him?”

Mr. Pong took a long breath, his voice trembling for the first time.

“Because he’s Vamika’s son. The reason she survived. The one she worked her whole life for. Her only child. How can she leave him behind to be happy with me?”

Sorawit shook his head, voice breaking.

“But I don’t want him here. I don’t want to share you. I want to be your only son. I want to be the only one you care about.”

His voice fell to a whisper, but the pain in his eyes screamed louder than ever.

Mr. Pong stepped closer, desperate.

“Wit, listen to me. You are my son. I’ve never loved you any less. I just didn’t want Wichian to feel like an outsider. That’s all. For me, you both are—”

“NO!” Sorawit screamed. “I’m your only son! Not him! I don’t want him here! I don’t care what he means to her. I don’t want to share you with anyone!”

"SORAWIT!!!"

Mr. Pong roared, his voice echoing through the house like a final blow.

---

Silence fell like a storm settling.

Sorawit and Mr. Pong locked eyes, the air between them thick with years of unspoken pain.

Mrs. Vamika stepped forward gently, placing her hand on Mr. Pong’s shoulder. Her touch calmed him. She shook her head slightly, silently urging him to stop.

Sorawit took one sweeping glance at the people in the room. His vision blurred with tears as he turned and stormed upstairs, his sobs silent but devastating.

Mr. Pong walked away in anger, disappearing into his room. Vamika quietly followed him.

And Wichian...

He just stood there—motionless, speechless—watching Sorawit's retreating figure and his father’s broken expression, crushed by the guilt of being the reason they were tearing apart.

----------

Next Morning – Weekend

The air in the house was thick with unspoken tension.

Mr. and Mrs. Pong sat quietly at the dining table, the breakfast spread laid out—rich with effort, but untouched. It was the weekend, meant for a family meal. Instead, the silence felt like a ghost lingering in every corner.

Wichian was the first to come downstairs. He moved quietly, almost cautiously, and took his seat with an awkward nod. He didn’t say a word, simply placed his hands on his lap and waited for his mother to serve him, the silence weighing heavier than any words.

A few minutes later, footsteps echoed from the stairs.

Sorawit.

He walked down, stiff, eyes guarded.

"Wit! Son," Mrs. Vamika’s voice was soft, filled with nervous hope. "I made all your favorite dishes today… Please, come have some breakfast."

But Sorawit didn’t even flinch.

He shot a cold glance toward the table—at his father, then at Wichian—and without saying a single word, turned and walked straight past the table, out the front door.

At the same time, a bike pulled into the driveway. Tor had arrived. Sorawit hopped onto the back without looking back, and they drove off.

Mrs. Vamika stood at the entrance, watching her stepson leave, her hands clutched tightly in front of her, heart heavy with worry. She stayed there a moment longer, then slowly turned around and returned to the table.

Her eyes met Wichian’s—his were lowered, guilt-ridden. Then they both looked toward Mr. Pong, who was silently eating his breakfast, unfazed, or at least pretending to be.

“Honey…” Mrs. Vamika finally said, her voice low but firm.

Mr. Pong glanced up, blinking out of his thoughts. “Yes?”

She hesitated before continuing, her tone pleading.

“I think you should talk to Wit. We can’t just leave him like this. He’s hurting. He’s still a child in so many ways. And right now… he needs love, not silence.”

Mr. Pong stayed quiet for a moment, reflecting. Then he gave a slow, reluctant nod.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him.”

The table fell into silence once more.

The clinking of cutlery was the only sound as Wichian quietly finished his breakfast. He got up, bowed his head slightly to his mother, and walked away—his steps slow, his heart heavier than before.

Upstairs, his door closed with a soft click.

Downstairs, the family breakfast sat uneaten… cold.

-----------

At the Game Centre:

The neon lights of the game centre flickered across Sorawit’s face, casting sharp shadows beneath his eyes. The rhythmic beats of arcade music pounded in the background, but he was only half aware of it—his mind, a storm.

Sorawit gripped the steering wheel of the racing game, his fingers tight and knuckles pale. Next to him, Tor leaned forward, tapping buttons with ease, his eyes flicking between the screen and his friend.

"Wait—what did you just say?" Tor asked, genuinely stunned. "Your dad raised his voice at you? Seriously?"

Sorawit didn’t respond immediately. His jaw was clenched tight, lips pressed in a straight line. He hit the accelerator with a burst of frustration, crashing his car into a pixelated wall.

"Yeah," he spat bitterly, not even caring about the game anymore. "Because of him. That bastard made my dad yell at me… like I’m the stranger. Like I’m the one who doesn’t belong in my own house."

Tor whistled softly and shook his head. "Wow… harsh. He really turned the tables, huh?"

"He’s got this act, this innocent face." Sorawit's voice was shaking now, somewhere between heartbreak and fury. "Always quiet, always the victim. He doesn’t say a word, but everyone ends up on his side."

He gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles straining.

“I’m done watching him turn my dad against me. This time, he’ll learn. I’ll make him.”

Tor let out a small, amused chuckle, pulling off a perfect drift in the game while side-eyeing Sorawit.

"I mean, you’ve already tried messing with him so many times, and somehow he always gets out clean. You humiliated him in front of the class—he stayed quiet. You messed up his match—he didn’t even tell on you. Like… he’s slippery, dude.”

Sorawit banged the steering wheel. "That’s what pisses me off! He’s too good at being good. Always calm, always gentle… it makes me look like the villain every time. And now Dad actually yelled at me. For him."

He sat back, breathing hard.

Tor let the silence linger for a second. Then, a slow, wicked grin crept onto his face. He leaned closer, dropping his voice just enough to make it feel like a secret.

"What if I told you… I’ve got a plan?"

Sorawit looked over, eyes narrowing. "What kind of plan?"

"A real one. One that’ll wipe that sweet little smile off his face. One that'll finally break that perfect-boy image he hides behind."

Tor’s smile widened. "You want him gone, right? Out of your way? Then listen carefully…"

The screen flashed Game Over, but neither of them noticed.

The real game had just begun.