The red Bentley glided through the old wooden gate. Arka just wanted to collapse onto his bed as quickly as possible.
The humid, post-rain air clung to the glass, and the sound of expensive tires crunching on gravel felt far too loud for his exhausted head.
However, as the car turned into the main parking area in front of the porch, its bright headlights illuminated something enormous, brand new, and utterly... out of place next to the ancient temple.
The yellowish-white light from the Bentley's beams bounced off an alien silhouette, splitting the darkness of the yard into strange contrasts.
It was a brand new 2025 Ford Bronco Raptor. Painted a striking Cyber Orange, jacked up with ridiculous off-road suspension, and sporting giant knobby tires still marked with the blue stripes of factory-fresh rubber.
Even from inside the soundproofed Bentley, Arka could smell the "factory scent"—the pungent aroma of new rubber, plastic, and paint.
The orange monster looked like an alien creature lost in the yard of their old house; too big, too confident, too new.
The satisfied smile on Arlene's face vanished instantly. She killed the engine. Her face hardened.
Her jaw tightened, her gaze turned sharp, as if every line of her face was pulled taut in a single cold breath.
"Mom..." Arka muttered, sensing bad news.
His mother didn't answer. She exited the Bentley with a stiff movement, her stilettos stomping on the stone floor. Arka followed her sluggishly.
The wet night air immediately assaulted them as the doors opened; the scent of damp earth mixed with the smell of the Bronco's new paint made the air feel heavy.
They both walked into the house.
And there he was. In the living room, in front of the new 85-inch TV, Arka's father was lounging on the sofa. He wasn't training. He was holding a PS controller, engrossed in a war game.
The flickering light of the screen reflected on his face, creating a childish impression that contrasted sharply with his uniform and reputation as an officer.
Arlene crossed her arms, staring at her husband coldly.
"Husband," she hissed.
"Explain the meaning of this."
His Father, without taking his eyes off the game, replied,
"What? I'm busy—"
"The car outside," Arlene cut in.
"You have secret savings, huh???"
Arka sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead. Oh god, what drama is this now...
The atmosphere of the living room, bright with crystal lights, felt increasingly oppressive, as if the walls themselves were watching the family drama.
His Father finally pressed the pause button. He turned to face his wife, his expression annoyed, but with a hint of a hidden smirk.
His shoulders lifted slightly, like someone enjoying a petty victory a little too much.
"Wife! Don't make random accusations!"
"Then?" Arlene demanded.
"Father bought it for me," his Father said proudly.
Arlene froze.
Her gaze went blank for a moment, before shifting into a flash of anger that nearly vibrated.
"Don't feel like you're the only one loved and favored by Father," his Father continued, his tone full of petty triumph.
"I am his only son. It's only natural he buys one or two 'toys' for this only son of his!"
"HUH!!!"
Mother and son exclaimed in unison. Arka stared at his Father in horror. Arlene stared at her husband with fresh rage.
"So," Arlene said, her voice trembling.
"He bought you... that monster truck?"
"Of course!" his Father said proudly.
Arlene looked at her childish husband, then remembered her insane father-in-law. She threw her hands up in despair.
Her shoulders slumped, her breath long, as if the logic of the world had collapsed before her.
"Father is... just the same!"
Arka couldn't take it anymore.
His eyes darted around, seeing his furious Mother, his narcissistic Father, and the two absurd cars outside the window. There was a tightness in his chest, not just fatigue—but the feeling of losing a race he hadn't even entered.
He took a deep breath, looked toward the corridor leading to Grandfather's room, and screamed with all his might, his frustrated voice echoing throughout the house.
"GRAMPS!"
His Mother and Father stopped arguing, staring at him in shock.
"GRAMPS, BUY ME A PORSCHE 718 CAYMAN GT4 RS! YELLOW!"
He screamed randomly, naming the sportiest and most expensive car for young people he could think of.
"I AM YOUR ONLY GRANDSON! YOU MUST LOVE ME MORE THAN DAD AND MOM, RIGHT?!"
Arka's scream of frustration echoed through the house, then vanished into thin air.
The sound bounced off the high ceilings, like an echo emphasizing his own stupidity.
His Father and Mother, who were tense in their "new car" cold war, both turned to Arka. They looked at each other. Their expressions weren't angry, but totally confused. They didn't get it.
Eyebrows raised, mouths open, but no words came out. Even their breathing sounded hesitant.
Porsche? Cayman? Yellow?
To them, it was just the random scream of a teenager throwing a tantrum because he didn't get a "toy." His Father snorted. His Mother rolled her eyes.
"Don't join in the madness," she said, and they went back to arguing quietly about who would park where.
A shallow, absurd topic after the massive car war just now.
✧ ✧ ✧
Dinner proceeded in a deeply tense silence.
The four family members sat at the large wooden dining table. Grandfather at the head, eating calmly as if nothing had happened. Arka's Father and Mother sat stiffly, shooting fierce glares at each other. Arka just kept his head down, eating quickly, wanting to escape this family hell immediately.
Spoons clinked against porcelain plates in a rigid rhythm, the aroma of warm porridge mixing with the cold AC air, making the atmosphere even colder emotionally.
Suddenly, amidst the sound of the drizzle, a new sound was heard.
Not the growl of a luxury Bentley V12. Not the heavy off-road roar of the Bronco.
It was a high, sharp, and very aggressive sound. Like an angry race car.
BROOOOMMM... VRMMMM...
The engine sound stopped right in front of their yard.
The subtle vibration of the high-performance engine could be felt through the marble floor, making the hair on Arka's neck stand up.
Clang!
The spoon in Arlene's hand fell onto her plate.
The reflection of the metallic sound rang louder than it should have, piercing the dinner silence.
"What is that now?!" hissed his Father, standing up immediately.
The three of them—Father, Mother, and Arka—were startled. With the same instinct, they jumped from their chairs and ran to the front porch.
Their steps were hurried, chairs screeching as they were abandoned too quickly.
Only Grandfather didn't move. He was still at the dining table, calmly pouring soy sauce onto his porridge.
His indifference created an aura of power colder than any engine sound.
The three burst through the front door and froze on the wet porch.
There, under the dim porch light, parked a car.
The car was low, wide, with a ridiculous giant rear wing. Its color was Racing Yellow, so striking it looked as if a piece of the sun had fallen into their dark yard. It was a Porsche 718 Cayman GT4 RS.
Exactly what Arka had screamed for.
The three were shocked.
Arka's Father: Competitive Shock
His eyes widened. His pride in the "manly" orange Bronco Raptor evaporated instantly. His monster truck looked like a stupid tractor next to this yellow missile.
Arka's Father's shoulders dropped slowly, as if his entire masculinity had been crushed by a single gleam of yellow paint.
He looked at the car, then looked at Arka, then back at the car. He had just been... beaten. By his own son. In a race he didn't even know was happening.
Arlene: Hysterical Shock
Her mouth hung open. Her beautiful face paled. She had just fought with tears to get her Bentley. And now... this brat... this ungrateful child... just by screaming... got a race car that probably cost just as much?!
"NO..." she whispered. "This... this is unfair! Father!!! This is ridiculous!"
Arlene's hand clutched her chest, as if the annoyance pierced right into her own body.
Arka: Pure Shock
And Arka... Arka was the most shocked of all. He stared at the car, and his stomach felt twisted. He had just screamed randomly. He was frustrated. He wasn't serious!
His throat was dry, his knees slightly wobbly; the engine sound still echoed in his head.
But the car was real. It was yellow. It was there.
He swallowed hard. His hands started to tremble. This was no longer about money. This was no longer about crazy parents.
This was... terrifying.
He slowly turned back, looking into the house, toward the dim dining room.
Gramps... he thought in horror. Gramps really did it.
A faint chill crept up his spine, not from the rain, but from Grandfather's immeasurable power.
✧ ✧ ✧
The fierce scene finally happened.
Still dazed by the yellow Porsche in the yard, Arka walked back into the house. He had to talk to his Grandfather. He had to stop this madness.
He entered the family room, where his Grandfather usually relaxed.
And he stopped. Frozen in the doorway.
There, on the finest velvet sofa in the room, his Grandfather was sitting comfortably. His legs were stretched out on the coffee table, his eyes engrossed in watching the news on the new 85-inch TV (which his Mother had used to play PS this morning).
Grandfather's gaze seemed lazy but sharp, like someone accustomed to being attended to and served.
He wasn't alone.
On the floor, near Grandfather's feet, sat his Father. The dashing military officer, the Aksesa, was looking down... seriously massaging his Grandfather's feet.
His movements were meticulous, almost reverent, far different from his usual rough style.
Behind the sofa stood his Mother. The beautiful, fashionable socialite was smiling sweetly... diligently massaging Grandfather's shoulders gently.
The smile wasn't sincere; there was a subtle tension at the corners of her lips, but her ambition was stronger than her shame.
And his Grandfather? He chuckled softly. His eyes stared straight at the TV, but the satisfied smile on his face was clearly not due to the news broadcast. He was enjoying every second of this worship.
The light from the TV screen illuminated his old face, adding to the impression that he was the center of gravity of this entire house.
Then, Arka heard them talking. Their voices were feigned to be spoiled and whining, which made Arka nauseous.
"Father..." Arka's Father's voice sounded pitiful.
"Since I was little, I wanted a real 500cc trail bike, but Father never bought it for me... Then the collection of ancient Tang Dynasty swords... Then the limited edition military watch... blah blah blah..."
"Yes, Father-in-law!" His Mother refused to lose, her voice made very soft while continuing to massage.
"My husband didn't even buy me the limited edition bag I pointed out in Paris! And the apartment in the central district! And the diamond necklace the Queen wore... The list of unfulfilled wishes is so long, Father... boo-hoo-hoo..."
Arka just stood there.
His heart felt like it fell out of his chest watching his parents perform this humiliating ritual.
His face darkened further at the sight.
He didn't see the love of a child or a daughter-in-law. He saw two opportunists licking the boots of the "Grandpa Tycoon." It was the most disgusting and transactional display of fake filial piety he had ever witnessed.
The warm family room felt suffocating, the AC air seemingly freezing in his throat.
_______ ✧ _______ ☾⚜☽ _______ ✧ _______