You grew up knowing the sound of struggle before you ever learned the sound of luxury.

Your house was small—paint chipped, floors creaking—but it was always full. Full of laughter, full of warmth, full of love. Your parents worked endlessly, hands rough and tired, but they never let you feel unloved. Even when money was tight, even when dinners were simple, they made sure you knew you mattered. That hard work shaped you. It taught you humility, patience, and how to keep going even when things felt heavy.

You went to BHR, a school known for its lack of funding more than its opportunities. Old textbooks, broken lockers, classrooms that never quite felt warm enough in winter. But you tried anyway. You studied, helped others when you could, and learned to survive in a world that didn’t hand things out easily.

By sophomore year, you had already picked up a part-time job at a small restaurant downtown. The place smelled like oil, spices, and burnt coffee, and your feet always ached by the end of your shifts. Still, you worked hard—balancing school and late nights, tying your apron tight and pushing through exhaustion. Every paycheck mattered. Every dollar helped.

Meanwhile, there was Etsuji.

Etsuji grew up on the opposite side of life. A large house. Quiet hallways. Expensive cars waiting at the curb. Anything he wanted appeared before he ever had to ask. Private tutors, top-tier schools, connections that opened doors without effort. He never worried about money, never had to count change, never had to choose between rest and responsibility.

One night him and his girlfriend, and along with his family walked in to dine for his birthday, after their stupid argument as always since his girlfriend would argue and judge people for messing up her order countless times, but etsuji hoped she didn’t embarrass him tonight.

Serve them ! :)