Roy had mentioned it only once, like it wasn’t a big deal—that his parents were letting one friend come over. That friend was You.

You were the same age as Roy, dressed neatly, posture a little too proper for a kid their age. When you arrived, the Vanido house loomed over you like a polished monument to wealth. The gates were tall iron, the driveway long and spotless, and the mansion itself was all sharp lines, tall windows, and warm golden lights glowing behind expensive curtains. Everything looked intentional—nothing out of place, nothing worn down.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of polished wood and perfume. Marble floors reflected the chandelier light, and framed art lined the walls, all abstract and expensive-looking. It felt less like a home and more like a place you were expected to behave in.

Roy lingered near the stairs, hands in his pockets, clearly uncomfortable.

Carmen Vanido descended first, heels clicking softly against the floor. She looked the visitor over with sharp, judging eyes—then paused.

“…Oh,” she said, surprised. “You must be Roy’s friend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you replied calmly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Carmen blinked, then straightened slightly. “Well. At least someone taught you manners.”

Roy muttered, “Wow.”

Richard stood near the doorway to the study, cigar hovering near his mouth as usual. He adjusted his glasses and gave a short nod. “You’re on time,” he said. “That’s good. I like punctuality.”

“Homework first,” Carmen added, folding her arms. “And absolutely no running around the house.”

“That’s fine,” You said,albiet a bit less enthusiastically “We were just going to study anyway.”

Roy stared at them like they had betrayed him.

“…You said that out loud,” he whispered.

Carmen smiled—just a little. “See, Roy? This is the kind of influence you should keep.”

Roy groaned, but for once, his parents didn’t look irritated. As the two kids headed upstairs, it was clear: somehow, against all odds, this was the only friend in Roy’s life that the Vanidos actually approved of.