“Jokes aside. Don’t you already have a job?” Diocletian asked after he had calmed down from laughing. He was asking my son, who was massaging his jaw.

  “Well—maybe,” he said ambiguously. He would not look me in the eye despite me staring hard at him. Which undoubtedly made me angrier.

  “It’s the first time I am hearing about this. So do you, or do you not have a job?” I demanded through gritted teeth.

  Before he could answer, Diocletian sighed a bit louder than usual. He scratched the back of his head and bent down. He brought out a black colored laptop from his briefcase and set it on the table.

  “You know, this is the second time I had to open this, because I value privacy—but—just how much did you not tell your parents?” he grumbled to himself as he turned it on. “Once upon a time, your son, asked me for part time work. Said he needed it to buy a computer powerful enough to run his games.”

  I was aware that he indeed used his own money to buy said computer. But the first part of his statement was new to me.

  “And, since, I was the closest thing he had to a guardian, I had him recommended to a friend,” He continued. “But I also instructed that friend to keep me posted on his activities.”

  “Wait, you have me on surveillance!?” my son asked, again in mock horror. Of course he’d known. That is already becoming the theme of this entire crazy night.

  “No, I had your accounts on surveillance,” Diocletian said dryly. “So, that their company doesn’t get fined for hiring minors. And this only worked because your country has poor laws regarding online work.”

  After a few moments, he logged into his laptop, and a few clicks later, he smiled in triumph.

  “Well, then, let’s see what the hell your boy has been up to, shall we?” he said enthusiastically.

  Though I could tell he was enjoying himself. Just what had my boy done that he would enjoy it? I don’t think I want to know, but at the same time, just dying to know.

  “Oh—look at the time. Gururu. Oh? Was that my stomach? Of course! I haven’t eaten yet! I’ll just grab a plate—and leave all of you to it,” he said, even feigning that sound from his stomach.

  He tried to get up, but the hands of Konrad and Nana, pressed down on both his shoulders and forced him to sit down. After witnessing that display, I admit, with great delight, I turned to Diocletian who had somehow, became rather silent.

  “Dio?” Konrad asked in quiet voice. His question seemed to snap his partner back, who was slumped forward and was just looking at the screen of his laptop, mouth agape.

  “Ah, uhm, sorry. Right, well, he began when he was 16,” Diocletian explained and he straightened his posture. “That was two weeks after I introduced him to my friend. He owns a tech company in the San Francisco, US, that also specializes in cybersecurity.”

  “Oh, you mean Gerrald Neumark?” Konrad asked, realization dawning on his face. He then turned to us and said, “We are affiliated with him, give or take five more years and he’ll reach our level.”

  So, my son was affiliated with so many powerful and wealthy individuals. What’s next? Would a film crew suddenly burst out of the doors and walls while yelling “You’ve been pranked!” I felt a migraine coming.

  “Started in mid-December, but he refused pay, citing it was too confusing to count?” Diocletian confused by what he read, looked at my son, who simply shrugged.

  “January, the next year, they began paying him as an offshore freelancer at $500 per month. That is the lowest they could go without too much scrutiny, and they couldn’t increase the amount because of his age,” he continued before he stopped and took a sip of wine.

  Konrad, one hand still on my son’s shoulder, turned the laptop to face him and began to read out loud.

  “He worked for nearly three years as a freelancer, and because of his experience and expertise, he was hired, instantly as an offshore consultant even for cybersecurity, when he turned 18,” he said before leaning forward, squinting his eyes with disbelief. “Last year, he took home—eighty thousand dollars in payment.”

  I sighed deeply. My wife did the same and pushed her glasses back up.

  “That’s not the crazy part,” said Diocletian while he was swirling his wine glass. “Look at the bottom Kons.”

  His partner obliged and scrolled down. For ten full seconds he stared at the laptop before looking at my wife and I with a small smile.

  “Ah—well—it says, he partnered with two people from the company, and they made two apps, and two websites together. They sold all of them, just last year,” he said quietly. “He’s used up around a hundred and forty thousand dollars, but that still leaves him with an account balance of more than—”

  He stopped and scrolled down some more. I was already shocked one too many times this evening. The fact that my son had already spent a hundred and forty thousand dollars is not doing wonders for me right now.

  I’m not sure what knowing his remaining balance would do to me. Still, it can’t be that much… can it?

  “Eight hundred thousand dollars.”

  My wife slowly reached out, took her half-filled wine glass, and downed it in one gulp.

  “So, meaning, this bastard,” I said slowly and jabbed a thumb at the person who was nonchalantly staring at the ceiling. “Could be paying his own tuition, and other school fees, on his own?”

  “Including his brother’s and more, but yes,” Diocletian responded before drinking the last of his wine. After that he graciously filled my wife’s glass. My wife thanked him and proceeded to drink, again in one gulp.

  My fist shot out but he evaded. Despite his size, my son had always been able to evade things coming his way. Unfortunately, it seems that responsibilities are also included in the list of things he can dodge.

  A son that is dumb is a problem true, but I didn’t realize that a son that is too smart would also be a problem. Konrad handed Diocletian his laptop back which the latter closed and stuffed back into his bag.

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  “You know, you should really stop causing trouble for your parents,” Diocletian said with an unamused face.

  “I was going to tell them, eventually, just looking for the right time and place,” he countered, but somehow, I doubt it.

  “All of this aside,” Konrad said, sounding somewhat tired. “My question still stands. What are you going to do after you graduate?”

  A good question. He already had a job that pays him a good amount of money, while he worked from the comfort of his own home. Whatever he would do after he graduated was a mystery to us. Even the course he picked was just him throwing darts at random papers while he was blindfolded.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. He scratched the back of his head for a moment, before looking up again at the ceiling. “Maybe study again?”

  “Hmm. That’s not a bad option,” my wife agreed after a moment. “What will you study?”

  “Law,” he said, and looked at his mother with enthusiasm. At the very least, he actually respects her more than me, which I cannot say is good, but definitely something.

  “Well since you’re smart enough, I could try asking around which places are the best law schools to go to,” Anna replied. I could hear some level of enthusiasm in her voice. “And you also have money saved up so, staying in the capital city would not be a problem for you either.”

  “Mommy no, it’s fine,” he said then pointed to the two gentlemen. “I was thinking of asking them for some help.”

  This time the two were taken aback by his sincerity and what looks to be resolve. The two looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

  “I already have my choices. University of Cambridge or Oxford University in the United Kingdom. And University of Cologne or University of Munich if in Germany,” he said brightly. The two pondered for a moment before brightening.

  “Well, if you insist, I do not mind,” Konrad said, his grandfatherly smile back on display. “You already have the finances, so whatever it is you need simply let me know.”

  “I owe your grandfather a lot after all,” Diocletian said happily. “It is quite impolite of me not to repay him. And if you do decide to choose my country, drag Remy along with you. Please. He needs to do something with his life.”

  It was well and good that my son was well liked like this. As a father I could never be prouder than I am now, knowing he makes his own decisions and could stand on his own two feet. But still.

  “On the condition that you do not have ulterior motives—and if we allow you to go there—will you at least act normal!?” I asked exasperatedly. I have known him for too long to not know he doesn’t have any ulterior motives.

  “A—h! Father!” he said then gestured at his heart and pouted, looking like a heartbroken girl. “You wound me! Here!”

  I knew it. Why must this bastard cancel out every good thing about him? He’s smart, yet he usually acts like a fool. Resourceful, yet dangerously reckless. He doesn’t lie—but he never tells the whole truth either.

  And yet, when he was around people who knew him well, strangely his contradictions somehow get balance out.

  Even now, we were talking even laughing lightly, the two would poke fun at him and he would counter them with his own jokes. They were, for all intents and purposes, his uncles, much like my brothers-in-law, trading barbs and grins like it was second nature to them.

  Watching him now, I could see the ease in his movements, the way he leaned into the conversation without any pretense. He was both the son I worried about and the young man I was proud of, wrapped up in the same awkward, unpredictable crazy package.

  I could feel the familiar tug of exasperation in my chest because of the things he would nonchalantly say. But beneath it was something else—something, warmer—seeing him navigate the world in his own chaotic, brilliant way.

  The uncles laughed louder at one of his jabs, and he shot back with that grin that made you almost forgive everything else. Almost. I joined in of course, not wanting to be left out. Despite how this night started, it was turning out to be a fun one, I thought to myself as my wife held my other hand under the table gently.

  “Did you know that he used the exact same thing on us once?” Diocletian said, eyes twinkling, a wide grin spreading across his face.

  “We came to Manila once,” Konrad nodded, recounting the tale with the same amused smile. “And all we asked is what a Kwek-Kwek is.”

  “Uhm—that’s simply boiled quail eggs. A popular street food, coated in orange batter and deep-fried,” my wife said, glancing between them with a bemused smile. “It’s served most times with vinegar that contains onions and other spices.”

  The two men looked at each other and laughed. “Yes, we know.”

  “He even gave us some,” they added together, still chuckling.

  There was something funny about imagining two billionaires eating a street food that costs less than a dollar. And the fact that my son even managed to do it, is, I admit, quite an achievement. My son simply smiled nonchalantly, though his mischief, his charm, his reckless cleverness—all in full display.

  The atmosphere was quite good when his phone suddenly rang. With confused slowness he answered the call. I couldn’t hear what was said, but my son suddenly stood up and looked behind him, panic written all over his face.

  I too looked where he was staring and I saw Remington at the back of the hall, one hand holding his phone to his ear, the other was waving frantically.

  “Oh shit,” my son exclaimed then looked at the table where his brother was. He pocketed his phone and started frantically gesturing at his brother and his companions to move to the exit.

  I sighed internally. I can already guess what this is about, because the four boys he was gesturing to, all stood up, and though they looked skeptical, they obeyed.

  He excused himself and was about to leave when Konrad grabbed his arm.

  “Now, now. Before you leave, I’ve been thinking and, I’ve come up with a way for you to make it up to your parents, for not telling them the things you should have,” he said slowly. “Why don’t you treat them here?”

  “Oh! There’s an idea, Kons,” Diocletian seconded with a smile. A smile that made him look like his son, though a bit mischievous.

  My son eyed them warily.

  “We are after all in a high-class establishment, with multiple restaurants, how about you treat your parents?” Diocletian agreed, though the slyness in his voice was unmistakable.

  Now, there was an idea I could get behind.

  “And of course, we shall too, as an apology, but naturally, after you,” Konrad added kindly, with a gentle smile.

  “Really!?” my son grumbled, though his voice was frantic. “Now!? Of all times!?”

  “What better time, than the present?” Konrad said with a gentle understanding smile. “You have two cards, yes? So, giving them one would not hurt your ability to make purchases”

  My son with trembling hands, took out his wallet and with deliberate slowness, his card. It was a card that is seldom seen, colored in black with gold print. As far as I am aware, Banks often used designs like that for premium or high-tier accounts. Another thing to ask later.

  The moment my hand closed around the card, my son spun on his heel and ran, tears streaming behind him like a jilted lover.

  “I am truly sorry about him,” I said to the two men as I sighed internally again. “He can be—very—dramatic, at times.”

  The two men simply laughed good-naturedly with Konrad saying, “We know.”

  “Now then, the night is still young,” he said happily while opening another bottle of wine. “And we still have a lot of questions.”

  “Nana? You’ve been quiet so far. Don’t you have any questions for him?” Diocletian asked, his curious gaze falling on the old woman.

  “I was simply enjoying the moment,” she replied, a hint of nostalgia tugging at her eyes. She then turned to me with a look that I was all too familiar with. “I haven’t even begun asking my questions yet. And I have so much to ask.”

  Weirdly enough, I was both anticipating and dreading this moment. She was the person that raised me after all. Aside from my wife, she was the person who knew me best.

  “How are Ichirou and Himiko?” I began, easing into the conversation. I was curious how they were faring. Maybe they have children now and I could visit them. “Are they well?”

  The three fell silent as the atmosphere between them grew heavy. I saw sadness well up in her eyes. Sadness and great regret, as though she were recalling a painful memory.

  “Wha—what happened?” I managed to choke out, my voice catching. “Nana baa-san—what happened?”

  She smiled, sorrow lingering at the corners of her lips. It was a smile heavy with the weight of a world’s worth of emotion. “Himiko is fine. She has a child now, a girl, three years old. You should visit her sometime. She would be delighted to see you again and would love the company.”

  Then she raised one hand and pointed to the other table, at the girl who introduced herself as Reika.

  “She is Ichirou’s legacy.”

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