By Me Pancreas

Prologue The quiet afternoon was shattered like a glass when two groups of boys were causing a commotion and fighting in front of a school. Their uniforms were different, a clear indication that they came from different schools. Loud shouting, punches, and the sound of shoes slamming against the pavement filled the air. As the fight intensified, some of the boys started falling to the ground—blood, bruises, and rage marked the aftermath of the clash. When some realized their group was losing, they began to run away, leaving a few of their companions trapped in the chaos. Left standing were three boys along with several members of their group, towering over the fallen enemies as they continued to beat them. Their presence alone struck fear into those around—not just because of their strength but because of the reputation they carried. A security guard rushed out from the school gate, shouting to break up the fight. “Hey! Stop that! I’m calling the police!” Most of the students quickly fled, carrying their fear and frustration with them. But the three boys remained standing, unfazed. Their cold stares were fixed on the retreating enemies. “We’ll be back for you, Toman! Remember that!” one of the fleeing students shouted, trying to cover his bloodied lip. The three boys calmly walked back into the school, as if the brawl meant nothing to them. They were known as Aces, the Elite Student Leaders of the Toman Gang—a group infamous throughout NMIS Manila, not just for their influence but for the fear they instilled in the entire campus and their popularity as a Elite Students. Behind them were the remnants of violence—bloody lips, bruised skin, and the chilling promise that the fight was far from over. Nord Medley International School of Manila—a prestigious fortress of glass and stone, nestled in the bustling heart of the city. It was more than just a school; it was a kingdom for the elite, where the children of politicians, business tycoons, and foreign diplomats roamed the marble halls with an air of inherited power. Influence wasn’t earned here—it was worn like a badge, stitched into the fabric of perfectly tailored uniforms and whispered through last names that carried weight beyond the classroom walls. At the center of it all was Kai Spectre. The only son of Jackson Spectre, the CEO of Spectre Corp, Kai didn’t need to try to be important—he simply was. Power wasn’t something he chased; it clung to him like a shadow, undeniable and suffocating. His presence commanded attention without effort, a walking storm wrapped in an expensive blazer and an untouchable reputation. With jet-black hair that often fell messily over his cold, gray eyes and a perpetual smirk carved into his sharp features, Kai was both admired and feared. Born to a Canadian father and a Filipino mother he barely spoke about, Kai embodied the sharp contrasts of his lineage—icy indifference layered over smoldering temper. He wasn’t just a name; he was a brand, a legacy in motion. At Nord Medley, he didn’t have to lift a finger to assert dominance. His reputation walked ahead of him, clearing paths and closing doors for anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. By his side were Khirk Madrigal and Shawn Pelaez, heirs to political empires and luxury hotel chains, respectively. Khirk, with his sharp tongue and an even sharper grin, was the type who could ruin someone with just a few well-placed words. His family name was synonymous with influence, and he carried it like a blade, ready to strike whenever boredom crept in. Then there was Shawn—the unapologetic playboy, infamous for cycling through girlfriends like fashion trends. His charm was a well-practiced weapon, his smirk capable of disarming even the most guarded hearts. To Shawn, relationships were nothing more than temporary thrills, distractions from the emptiness that money couldn’t fill. Together, they were an unholy trinity—untouchable, unstoppable, and unapologetically cruel when it suited them. They didn’t need reasons to make someone’s life miserable. Boredom was enough. --- Kai The morning sun cast sharp streaks of light across the mansion’s pool, reflecting off the water like shattered glass. I lounged on a poolside bench, sunglasses shielding my eyes, letting the warmth settle over me like a blanket I didn’t ask for. The air was thick with the faint scent of chlorine and the distant hum of the city—a constant reminder of the world outside these walls that I had no interest in. Then came the sound of footsteps—precise, measured. Victor. “Good morning, sir,” Victor greeted with a polite bow, his voice steady, formal as always. His posture was straight, his expression unreadable—the perfect butler. Almost too perfect. I pulled off my shades slightly, narrowing my gray eyes at him. “What is it, Victor? “Your father just called from Canada,” he replied, tone even. “He’s back in the Philippines for business. He wants to see you.” I slid my sunglasses fully down, resting them on my chest. Just hearing his name was enough to sour my mood. Jackson Spectre. “What does he want now?” I muttered, letting out an annoyed breath. “Tell him to focus on his business and leave me out of it.” Victor didn’t react. He never did. It was like he’d been trained to be invisible, just another piece of furniture in this oversized house. But if you looked closely—and I rarely did—you’d catch the faintest flicker of something behind those cold, professional eyes. “He insisted, sir,” Victor replied after a pause, his voice softer than before. “He didn’t say much, just that he wants to see you.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair, already irritated with the conversation. “Fine. I’ll deal with it later.” Victor didn’t move immediately. His gaze lingered, as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it. Finally, with a slight nod, he turned to leave. But I stopped him. “Victor,” I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. He paused, turning slightly. “Yes, sir?” I hesitated, then shrugged it off. “Never mind.” Victor’s lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Very well, sir,” he replied, disappearing back into the house like a ghost. After a while, I sat up, restless. “Lola Feng,” I called, my voice softer than before. She appeared almost immediately, her steps light but steady. She wasn’t really my grandmother, but she’d been more of a parent to me than my own ever were. She filled the empty spaces my mother left behind and the silence my father never bothered to break. She was the only constant in my life, the only person whose presence didn’t feel like an obligation. “Clear the glasses,” I said, nodding toward the table cluttered with half-empty drinks. She didn’t question me. She never did. Instead, she gave me that soft, knowing smile—the one that always made something tighten in my chest. I’d never admit it out loud, but I loved her. She was the only person I did love. As she cleared the table, Victor reappeared, standing near the doorway, clearing his throat gently. “If I may, sir,” Victor said, his tone respectful but edged with something else—something almost like concern. “Your father… doesn’t call often. Perhaps it’s worth considering why he’s reaching out now.” I shot him a sharp glance. “Since when do you give personal advice, Victor?” His face remained neutral, but his eyes—there was something in them. A flicker of familiarity, like he’d watched me grow up just as much as Grandma Feng had. Maybe not with the same warmth, but with the quiet presence of someone who’s always been there. “I don’t, sir,” Victor replied calmly. “But I’ve been in this house long enough to know when silence speaks louder than words.” That made me pause. Lola Feng set down the last glass, her hand brushing briefly over my shoulder as she passed. “Victor’s right,” she said softly. “You don’t have to pretend with us.” I didn’t respond. Just stared out at the pool, the sunlight reflecting like shards of glass—sharp, cold, and impossible to ignore. After a while, I heard the sound of an engine pulling into the driveway—not just any car, but his. I stayed in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the city outside seeping through the glass windows. Eventually, I got up, not because I wanted to, but because ignoring him would only drag things out. I made my way to his office, the polished floors cold under my feet, the silence in the hallways louder than it should’ve been. When I walked in, he was exactly how I expected—Jackson Spectre, the man who called himself my father, glued to his laptop, fingers tapping away like I wasn’t even there. The room smelled like expensive coffee and cold ambition. I sank into the leather sofa across from his desk, stretching my legs out and resting them on the coffee table like I owned the place. Technically, I did. He just paid for it. “What’s up?” I muttered, glancing out the window. “What brings you back to the Philippines?” He didn’t look up right away. Typical. “I’m here to handle a new business deal,” he replied, still staring at his screen. “Meeting with the CEO of Sanmig Inc. They’re selling 57% of their company shares.” I scoffed quietly, picking at the seam of the cushion. “Right. And what does that have to do with me? Why even bother calling me here?” Finally, he looked up. His expression was unreadable—maybe because there was nothing to read. “I just wanted to see you, son. How’s school?” The words sounded like they belonged in some generic script he’d memorized. ‘I just wanted to see you, son.’ Yeah, right. I forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes, and stared at the coffee table instead of him. “It’s fine. No problems.” He nodded like that was all he needed to hear. Figures. “Oh, and your mom wants to see you,” he added casually, eyes drifting back to his laptop. “She’s asking if you can come to Canada this weekend. I’ll have Victor arrange for you to attend classes online next week.” I felt something sharp twist in my chest. Anger? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure. “Tell her to come here if she wants to see me,” I snapped, my voice colder than I intended. That made him pause. He looked at me again, his face unreadable. “You know your mom’s busy, right?” I laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Yeah. You both are always busy,” I shot back, standing up abruptly. The chair creaked slightly, the only sound breaking the tense silence. I started walking toward the door. “Kai,” he called after me, his voice softer this time—almost hesitant. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t look back. Because what was the point? --- The Next Morning Kai The next morning, as usual, we arrived at Nord Medley International School of Manila in style. I parked my Ferrari first, the engine rumbling as I shut it off. Shawn followed, sliding his Ford Mustang into the spot beside me, and finally, Khirk pulled in with his sleek Dodge Challenger. It was always the same routine. As soon as we stepped out of our cars, all eyes were on us. Guys gawked in envy while girls squealed in excitement. We were used to it. We didn’t need to try to get attention—it was ours the moment we stepped foot on campus. Students called us “Aces”, a nickname that stuck after too many incidents of us making sure people knew who ruled the school. The three of us walked into the main hallway of NMIS, and, predictably, the whispers and stares followed. The moment Shawn flashed his usual charming smile at a group of girls, they erupted into giggles. That’s just Shawn—he was a born playboy, great with girls and even better at making them fall for him. After classes, we made our way to the club room, but it wasn’t really a “club” in the usual sense. It was more like a personal state room just for us—our own little Palace inside the campus. The room was secluded, furnished in the way only the children of the rich and powerful would want. As we kicked back, talking about the usual nonsense, I noticed Khirk glancing over at me. "Sup, man? Why so quiet?" he asked, tapping me on the shoulder. I let out a sigh, running a hand through my hair. "My mom wants me to go to Canada next week," I muttered, my tone flat. "Ah, what’s wrong with that? You’ll enjoy it—plenty of beautiful girls there," Shawn chimed in, grinning as he leaned back, clearly thinking of his next conquest. I shot him a look. "Don’t try to be like you, a womanizer." I shoved him on the shoulder with a smile. "When’s your flight?" Khirk asked, his interest piqued. I leaned back, looking at the ceiling, already feeling annoyed just thinking about it. "I’m not going. I’m lazy," I replied, stretching my legs out on the sofa. Shawn chuckled. "Your father’s blood will boil if you don’t go," he teased. "He’s at home anyway," I muttered, waving him off. "How’s Uncle Jackson?" Shawn asked, his voice more casual than concerned. I let out a short, irritated laugh. "He’s fine. Took forever to get back to Canada," I said, the frustration leaking into my voice. Before the conversation could go any further, Khirk pulled out his phone, swiping across the screen. "By the way, have you seen the video? The news?" he said nonchalantly, holding out his phone toward me. "What video?" I asked, confused. Khirk handed me the phone. “A student made a video. He’s calling us arrogant, bragging. He said we’re just second years, acting like kings. Says we’re only arrogant because we’re rich.” I scrolled through the video, watching a student—some random transferee from the 4th year—ranting about us. The nerve. I glanced at Khirk, eyebrow raised. "What year is he?" "4th year. A transferee," Khirk replied, his tone steady as always. "So, what should we do about it?" Khirk never backed down from a confrontation. He was quick to show anyone who stepped out of line what would happen if they did. The whole school knew what we were capable of, and most students kept their distance. I stared at the screen for a moment, then turned to the two of them. "Give them a card." They both nodded. The red cards were our signature move. Simple but effective. A small red card with the words “ACE Warning” written on it. It didn’t matter who you were; once you got that card, you were officially marked as a target. It was our way of showing who was in charge, and it sent a message no one dared ignore.