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[ Note~ Since I'm a noob at remembering Korean names, I'll be using English one's but others will address using either English or Korean. ]
Ding~! Ding~!
The bell above the heavy glass door of Rachel's Fresh Produce jingled. It was a pathetic, tinny rattle that hadn't sounded quite right since a delivery truck blindly backed into the storefront two years ago.
Cassius pushed inside, letting the door click shut behind him, completely locking out the city.
The air hit him like a tidal breeze. Thick, heavy, and delightfully chaotic.
The store smelled aggressively of overripe peaches, sharp citrus, sour lemons, and the faint, earthy dust of unwashed potatoes.
For a guy who had just spent the afternoon shattering mandibles and extorting teenagers in a damp alley, the sheer, mundane sweetness of the produce shop felt like walking into another dimension.
Like being a new born baby, stepping into a wide, big space.
He kicked off his left sneaker.
Thud! It ricocheted off the baseboard with unnecessary force.
He pried the right one off with his big toe, leaving them in a disorganized, utterly disrespectful heap by the mat, and hung his backpack on a wooden peg that groaned under the weight.
"I'm homeeeee, grandma~!" he hollered, lazily dragging out the vowels so they echoed past the stacked crates of bruised apples and straight into the cramped living quarters in the back.
He walked into the tiny, steam-filled kitchen, spotting a figure almost immediately.
Rachel, his gorgeous grandmother, stood by the stove.
She had a faded floral apron tied tightly around her waist, dark hair with noticeable grey's swaying down her shoulders and back, two brown eyes that held more things inside them than anyone could count.
Right now, she was fiercely stirring a massive pot that smelled heavily of garlic, soy, and impending clogged arteries.
She looked, like every grandmother in the world, completely exhausted. It was the kind of bone-deep, foundational fatigue that only came from dealing with haggling, penny-pinching housewives all day.
With three wildly mischievous children to boot.
Cassius slid up right beside her, wrapping a long arm around her frail shoulders for a gentle side hug.
He tucked his elbow carefully, hyper-aware of his own density, making sure to apply only a small amount of his weight so he didn't accidentally crush her.
"What have I told you about being loud, son~son," Rachel grumbled, leaning into his ribcage for a single heartbeat before pulling away to check the heat on the burner.
Even though he was her grandson, she never just called him Cassius. It was always "Son-son." A weird, highly personal nickname that she refused to retire.
Cassius let out a long sigh, leaning his hip against the counter. "Grandma. I love you. I would burn this entire neighborhood to ash if you asked me to. But we desperately need to have a board meeting about this nickname."
"Pass the sesame oil," Rachel said, entirely ignoring the threat of mass destruction.
He grabbed the small glass bottle from the spice rack, handing it over without looking. "I'm just saying, I have a reputation, Ma. A very delicate, highly cultivated aura of masculine intimidation to uphold. If anyone hears you call me 'son-son,' my street cred immediately plummets into the negatives."
"Good. Maybe then you'll read an actual book, with actual meaning to the world," she muttered, pouring a generous splash of oil into the stew. "Garlic. Three cloves."
Cassius palmed the garlic, crushing them flat with the heel of his hand in a terrifying display of mechanized efficiency.
"I'm guessing your referring too my stack of comics? They save the world, grandma."
He quickly dismissed that conversation lead, slipping right back into to the main one.
"Back to where I was,"
"If that name leaks, ma, I'll sadly have no choice. I'll have to blow up the gymnasium. Or become a school shooter. Just to reestablish my dominance. Is that what you want? A domestic terrorist in the family?"
"You wish," she replied dryly, not missing a single beat. "And you didn't chop those fine enough. Do it again."
"But I'm trying to talk with yo---"
"Do. It. Again."
"... Fine."
Cassius grabbed one of the kitchen knives, aggressively reducing the garlic to paste in three seconds flat.
But Cassius's boredom comes quick. Even if it was only three seconds.
Now bored, he sled the knife into the sink and hoisted himself up, planting his ass firmly on the edge of the prep bench right next to the cutting board.
Big mistake.
Cassius was about to continue where he left off, fully prepared to get to the bottom of this... name.
But, swoooosh~!
Rachel's hand shot out with the speed and precision of a striking cobra. She pinched the top of his left ear, breaching Cassius's defensive walls, clamping down with the grip strength of an industrial vise, and twisted.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow ,ow!" Cassius yelped repeatedly, leaning completely sideways to follow the pull.
His entire imposing, street-lethal frame was reduced to a contorted, whining mess in half a second.
"Off the counter! How many times have I told you, that isn't where bottoms go?" Rachel scolded, twisting the cartilage another millimeter for emphasis. "Food goes there, not your stink ass!"
"My ass ain't stink, grandma! I shower every damn day!" he protested, violently scrambling off the wood. "Owww! I yield! I yield, grandma! Let go~!"
Reluctantly, she did let go, swatting his shoulder with a damp dish towel for good measure.
Cassius vigorously rubbed his throbbing ear, genuinely wondering if she had permanently deformed it. "Jesus. This has gotta be abuse, right?"
"I even brought tributes, and this is the physical abuse I receive...."
He reached over to the floor, grabbing the plastic bag he had brought in, and slapped it onto the worn Formica table.
All Rachel could do first, was simply eye the bag out. Almost like she was about to square up for a fight.
She wiped her hands on her apron, stepping over, and peeked inside. Her eyes slowly narrowed. She pulled out the premium firm tofu. Then the bundle of perfectly green onions. Then the imported Swiss chocolate.
And finally, the violently red, highly expensive jar of pickled radishes.
She looked up at him. The classic, growing accusing glare auto locking directly onto his soul. It was a gaze that could melt steel beams and extract state secrets.
"Cassius," she first said, using his real name this time, her voice dropping into a dangerous mutter. "Did you... steal these?"
Cassius stood there, his hand that was rubbing his sore ear, sliding to his side. He looked at the radishes. He looked right back at her mere seconds after.
He adopted a look of profound, theatrical shame, staring at the floor tiles. But there was a very obvious, devilish hint of pride and scheme twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"I did," he confessed solemnly.
"Oooh, you little basta---"
"I snatched it right out of the vendor's hands," Cassius continued, fully committing to the act. "Just grabbed the bag and bolted. Disappeared into the wind like a father being told he just got a slut pregnant. I was practically a blur."
Rachel did not laugh at this act. She didn't gasp, nor did she say another word.
Her arm simply blurred.
Swoooosh~!
The wooden spoon, still slick with hot soy sauce, swung in a lethal, horizontal arc aimed directly at his knuckles.
Cassius's combat instincts, the ones honed by years of surviving a literal death cult, flared instantly.
"Woah~."
He snapped his hands back, pivoting his upper body with panther agility to dodge the kitchen weapon. He rotated his upper body, spinning a full 180 degrees to evade the follow-up swing, his right hand flying up to defensively shield his face in the process.
Sssmack!
His very own palm connected perfectly with his cheekbone, a incredibly, loud sharp slap echoing loudly over the bubbling stew, the silence following, louder.
Cassius paused all movement. He was now facing the refrigerator, his own hand plastered aggressively to his own face, having just successfully pimp slapped himself out of pure reflex.
Rachel slowly lowered the spoon, staring at the back of his head....
"Idiot..."
...
...
...
The kitchen was still in a heavy, agonizing silence, which had lasted a solid fifteen seconds.
Only the low, rhythmic bubbling of the soy garlic stew filled the air.
Cassius remained completely frozen, still facing the refrigerator, his hand not moving a millimeter down.
Rachel, who had lowered the wooden spoon and called him a 'idiot', let out a breath.
Not one of those sharp exhale of anger, but a long, deeply tired sigh that carried this peculiar weight, a weight that only a certain amount of woman could cultivate.
She had once again, like the many other times her son~son had done something dumb, came to realize she was raising a son with the common sense of a concussed penguin.
Step~ Step~
She slowly closed the distance between them, reaching up to pry his hand away from his face. Her thumb coming up to gently rub the rapidly reddening skin on his cheek.
"I was literally about to put my coat on," she murmured, her tone losing its previous bite. She pushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes. "I was just waiting for you to walk through that door so you could watch your siblings. I needed these exact things for the stew. I honestly did not even have the energy for the walk..."
"So... thank you, son~son~.I appreciate the tributes."
Cassius, upon hearing his grandma gratitude, instantly dropped the dramatic shame routine.
The manufactured guilt seen it way out, and he completely transformed back into his easy, unbothered, effortlessly cool persona.
"Well, then," he grinned. "Glad I could be of service. Consider your knees saved from the uphill battle against gravity, Ma."
Rachel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head in a gentle horizontal way. She reached her hand up toward him again, palm wide open.
Cassius — a weapon forged in the bloody, unforgiving halls of the Mansion, a boy whose mere gaze had paralyzed three dudes — immediately folded. Under no pressure.
He hunched his shoulders, dipping his head to bring himself down to her exact level.
Rachel's palm landed softly on his dark hair. Two pats. A solid, approving thump~thump.
He purred. Not even caring if he was seen as child. He did, after all, live for this exact response.
"Die, villain!"
A blur of motion flickered in his peripheral vision.
Daemon, his ten-year-old brother, launched himself off the arm of the ratty living room sofa.
The ten-year-old had some very serious hops, catching actual air as he sailed across the threshold separating the living room and the kitchen, a small fist cocked back and aimed directly at Cassius's temple.
Time seemed to slow down.
Rachel let her hand drop from Cassius's hair, her dark eyes casually tracking the airborne child. 'Here we go,' she thought, releasing another heavy, soul-weary sigh. "Haa~."
In that exact fraction of a second, Cassius's soft, innocent, grandma-loving smile left his expression. Replaced by a wicked, growing grin that belonged entirely to a dickhead.
Without even fully turning around. Cassius simply pivoted on his heel, his arm shooting out to wrap around Daemon's waist mid-flight, neutralizing the kid's momentum in thin air.
Without missing a beat, he stuck the thrashing ten-year-old over his shoulder like a chaotic sack, sprinted three heavy steps back into the living room, before launching himself into the air, and executed a flawless, devastating spinebuster directly into the center cushions of the sofa.
Whump~!
Dust exploded from the upholstery.
Cassius had expertly rotated his own forearm to take the brunt of the impact, cradling the back of Daemon's neck so the kid felt nothing but the bounce of the springs.
But the visual was spectacularly violent.
Daemon groaned, bouncing a solid two inches off the cushions.
Cassius immediately spun himself into position, pinning both of the boy's shoulders to the couch with a single, massive arm.
He raised his free hand high into the air.
"One!" Cassius bellowed, slamming his palm onto the armrest. "Two! The challenger is fading! The crowds going wild! He's got nothing left---"
Whack.
A throw pillow materialized out of thin air, hurtling across the living room with terrifying velocity. It slammed directly into the side of Cassius's face, cutting off his WWE commentary in an instant.
Cassius jerked back, his pin breaking.
Daemon immediately took the chance to scramble out from under him, scurrying over the back of the sofa like a released raccoon, giggling maniacally.
Cassius swiped the pillow off his face and whipped his head toward the hallway.
Only to met by his sister.
Hazel stood there.
His nine-year-old sister was currently holding a second throw pillow, her small fingers gripping the corners tight.
She was wearing her favorite oversized yellow sweater, and her face was a mask of true stoicism. She just stared at him from where she stood. Her analytical eyes watching him closely.
"Surrender," Hazel demanded. Her voice perfectly flat.
"Ehh~? I don't think I can, sis~," Cassius said back, casually tossing the first pillow away. "You of all people should know that."
Daemon popped his head up just long enough to throw a crumpled piece of looseleaf paper at Cassius's head. "You heard her. Surrender."
Cassius sighed, though his grin was threatening to split his face in half. He stood up to his full height, cracking his neck as he did.
"Alright. Fine. You wanna have me surrender? Make me. Come on. I'll take both of you little shits."
"Hehe~! Your on idiot!" Daemon gleefully said, crunching up more papers for an attack.
However, Hazel's eyes narrowed. She didn't move a muscle, but Cassius could practically see the calculations running behind her stoic expression.
'If that brother of mine attacks first... I can surprise hi---'
From the kitchen, the sound of a wooden spoon violently whacking against the side of a metal pot echoed through the apartment, interrupting Hazel's thoughts.
"If any of you kids break a lamp," Rachel called out, her voice slicing through the escalating tension like a scythe, "I am serving you all for dinner! Now set this table!"
Cassius immediately dropped his arrogant pose, Daemon popped up from behind the couch, dusting off his knees, and Hazel lowered her weaponized pillow.
"Yes, grandma," the three of them chorused in unison.
After a few seconds of silent listening to there grandma's slippers, they all exhaled a breath they weren't aware they were holding.
"Welcome home, big brother," Hazel chimed. Her large, doe-like eyes blinked up at him, now shimmering with innocence. "How was your day? Did you study hard and make honest choices~?"
'And, switch.' Cassius internally deadpanned.
He then snorted, dusting off his blazer with elegant swipes. He did not reply to her question. "You are a borderline sociopath in a yellow sweater. You know that, right? A imp disguised as a second-grader."
"I have no idea what those big words mean," she said smoothly, crossing her arms behind her back. "I am just a fragile child."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure you are." Cassius looked down at the couch. Watching as his brother sat on the ends. "Up you get, warrior." He nudged Daemon's sneaker lightly with his toe.
Daemon stood on his feet, aggressively wiping a stray dust bunny from his cheek, stuffing the paper he scrunched up into his pockets.
Impressively, he did not look defeated. If anything, the kid looked like he was mentally reviewing game tape.
He jutted his chin out, glaring up at Cassius with reckless courage.
"You just got lucky," Daemon sneered, adjusting his shirt properly. "Next time, I'm taking out your kneecaps. You're basically elderly, so your joints will fold under zero pressure."
"Bold words for a boy who lost in mid-air," Cassius shot back, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. "But I appreciate the delusion. Builds character. So please, try not to lose more braincells in the process, brother."
"Anyway...."
Cassius reached into the inner breast pocket of his school jacket, pinching the corners of two imported Swiss chocolate bars.
Fuuurp~
He pulled them out into the light.
The gold foil caught the harsh, buzzing glow of the living room bulbs, gleaming like plundered pirate treasure.
Both kids instantly stopped breathing. Their pupils dilating smaller.
Here was the beautiful, highly tactical part of the evening: Cassius wasn't stupid. He knew his grandmother's operational playbook inside and out.
He knew it well.
Cause he is still hurt from what happened to himself.
He knew the exact moment she inspected those premium groceries, she had mentally flagged the sugary contraband for 'after-dinner rationing', which, in mom and grandma translation, meant it was going straight into the drawer to be forgotten until Thanksgiving.
So, five minutes ago? When he had hunched down, acting like a touch-starved golden retriever so she could pat his head? That wasn't just for emotional validation.
That was kuroko type misdirection.
While her hand was busy giving him affection, his long, impossibly quick fingers had quietly dipped right back into the plastic grocery bag, securing the payload right under her nose.
The devil's pride wasn't just about stealing from the market; it was about robbing his own grandmother blind in her own kitchen.
'Man, I'm fuckin' awesome~' he thought with an internal smug smirk.
"Payment for services," Cassius declared, dropping a heavy gold bar into each of their eager, grubby hands. "Services being: you both forget I exist for the next sixty minutes so I can shower without hearing someone scream about Roblox."
Once the chocolate landed in Daemon's hand, he let out a guttural noise, half-goblin, half-shriek, and immediately dug his canines into the foil, tearing it open like a starving raccoon.
Hazel clutched hers to her chest like she had just been handed the secrets to the universe.
She flashed Cassius a big, blinding smile. "Thanks, Cass. May chocolate king kiss all your booboos~! Hehehe!"
"He better. I got a lot of booboos to be fixed, little sis," Cassius smirked. The true meaning of his words flying right over Hazel's head.
As long as they were happy, his booboos were forgotten.
Crinkle!
The sharp sound of tearing foil echoed down the short hallway.
In the kitchen, the bubbling of the stew didn't stop, but the rhythmic chopping of vegetables abruptly ceased.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The rapid, heavy sound of Rachel's house slippers hitting the floor warned them of her approach.
She rounded the corner, her floral apron flying, the wooden spoon gripped tightly at her right side.
She looked at the empty grocery bag on the counter, then at the gold wrappers currently shedding all over her living room rug.
Realization dawned on her five seconds ago, swiftly followed by a flash of homicidal rage.
"You little shit!" Rachel barked, pointing the soy-stained spoon directly at Cassius's nose. "The audacity of you doing something that shameful while I was showing you love! I ought to beat some sense into you, boy!"
Cassius backed up, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, "Ohhh, C'mon, grandma. Don't be like that. You should of known me by now."
Though he said that, he was currently grinning too hard to look actually threatened. "Plus, you were so going to hoard them next to the expired baking soda! The chocolate needs to breathe, Grandma!"
"Shut your trap, boy. You should already know It is twenty minutes before dinner!" she roared, advancing two steps. "Do you want them bouncing off the wall until midnight? I'm the one who has to put them to bed tonight! Not you!"
"They need the calories, though," Cassius still argued back, swaying his torso to dodge a phantom swipe of the spoon. "Look at Daemon. He's frail. My farts could push him away. He needs the bulk."
"Tsk~, I ain't that weak, dummy," Daemon mumbled defensively, his mouth currently around a massive mouthful of premium cocoa, chocolate already smeared across his chin and nose.
"Growing bones," Cassius added, ignoring his brother entirely.
"I'll break your damn bones," Rachel threatened, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
But the rigid, furious set of her jaw betrayed her.
The corners of her mouth twitched upward, fighting a losing battle against a smile. She looked back at the tofu waiting on the prep counter, then at the two gremlins vibrating on the couch with sugar-induced ecstasy, and finally back at her frustratingly, cheeky grandson.
She let out her tenth long, weary sigh that seemed to physically deflate her posture. She lowered the spoon, pointing it lazily down the hall.
"Go wash your ass," she muttered.
"Already on it," Cassius called over his shoulder, already pivoting on his heel and executing a brisk, tactical retreat down the narrow hallway.
He moved fast, not wanting her to change her mind and actually swing the cookware.
Once at the bathroom door, he went in without a single hesitation in his step.
He shut the bathroom door behind him, the heavy click of the lock signaling his successful extraction.
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END.