Part 1

Here, a teenage boy is lying on his bed.

His back aches, probably from being caned by the discipline teacher at school. Perhaps the teacher was bored of caning his hands, and now his back has become the target.

Every time he gets caned and called into the discipline room, his teacher always repeats the same line. Threatening much? Doesn't he have any other phrases?

"One more time you mess up, I’ll send a letter to expel you from school."

Expel him? Please. He has been mischievous since Form 3, and that’s the line he’s heard over and over. Yet, as you can read now, he’s still at the same school and in his final year—Form 5.

Bruk! The door to his room was slammed open. He didn’t bother turning his head; of course, he knew who dared to barge into his room without knocking.

"Stupid, Arsher!" Ash, the elder brother, yelled as he stormed in. Arsher’s ears rang from the volume of his shout.

Arsher turned to his brother. "What? I'm not that stupid."

Filled with rage, Ash grabbed Arsher by the collar, forcing him to stand upright.

"Your discipline teacher called me!" Ash said directly into Arsher’s face.

Arsher put on an innocent face. "So?"

"I want to ask, don’t you have anything better to do, huh?" Ash glared at Arsher.

Arsher shook off the grip. How was he supposed to answer when he felt like he was choking?

"Better to do what? I don’t even have a job. SPM’s ( Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia) not over yet," Arsher replied nonchalantly.

Ash was fuming now. His brother had the audacity to act clueless!

"Why did you spray graffiti on the grandstand wall? If you want to do art, join an art class, animals!" Ash tried to hold back his anger. If he screamed, the house might shake.

Arsher smacked his forehead. "Oh, is that why you came to my room?" he replied calmly.

"The grandstand is not a canvas, idiot! If it were beautiful, fine, but it looks like an unfinished science experiment!" Ash pulled out his phone and showed a picture of the graffiti Arsher had painted.

The funniest part? It was pink.

"How could it be finished? I was just starting when a prefect caught me," Arsher explained what had happened earlier.

Ash pocketed his phone. Why did the discipline teacher even bother calling him? A waste of credit. Ash was also a student at that school; they could have just met face-to-face.

"My teacher was absent earlier, so I went for a stroll. Somehow, I ended up at the grandstand. Pretty far, huh?" Arsher continued his story.

Ash sighed. "I don’t want to hear your pointless stories."

He was about to leave but was stopped by Arsher, who threw an arm around Ash’s shoulder, making them walk side by side.

"Just listen, Ash. When I got to the grandstand, I saw the wall was plain and lacked art," Arsher began walking, forcing Ash to walk along with him.

They descended the stairs, Arsher talking animatedly while Ash grew increasingly annoyed.

"Luckily, I had spray paint with me—pink, your favorite color, Ash," Arsher said with a sly grin. He loved teasing Ash about liking pink.

Ash grabbed Arsher’s collar again. This time, standing a step higher made it easier to scold him like a mom reprimanding her kid.

For the record, he was shorter than his younger brother.

"I don’t like pink, idiot," Ash stressed.

Arsher shook his head knowingly, deliberately riling Ash up. "If you don’t like it, I won’t force you. But admit it, pink is beautiful!"

Ash felt the urge to throw his brother into a ravine. Arsher always had something cheeky to say.

Arsher broke free and walked to the kitchen. Ash followed closely behind.

"Oh, hi, mom!" Arsher greeted his mother sweetly, as if nothing had happened earlier.

It was afternoon tea time, and she was busy preparing snacks.

Ashley looked at Arsher strangely. "I made brownies. Have some."

She slid the plate of brownies toward him. Arsher sat down and dug in.

Where’s Ash, you ask?

"Ash, oh Ash!" Arsher called out. Odd, he was just behind him. Now, gone?

"What?" Ash appeared from the living room, where he had planned to watch TV.

Arsher lifted the plate of brownies. "Want some? They’re good."

"Sure. Move your leg; I want to sit," Ash said, rolling his eyes and nudging Arsher’s leg.

"Ow! What does my leg have to do with anything?" Arsher complained.

"It’s in my way," Ash replied flatly, earning a glare from Arsher.

"Stop bickering over food. Oh, by the way, I read in the school WhatsApp group that tomorrow there’s a selection for the badminton team manager," Ashley said, showing her phone.

Since when did she have her phone?

Arsher read the message carefully. "Ash, are you going?"

Ash shrugged, biting into a brownie. "I don’t know. If you go, I’ll go."

Arsher pondered for a moment. "I’ll go. It’s not hard, right? Just answer questions, and they’ll pick someone."

"If that’s the case, I’ll go too," Ash agreed, nodding to himself.

Ashley sipped her tea. "By the way, Dad called. He’ll be home late tonight."

"What time?" Ash asked, noticing Arsher looking sleepy.

"Around 11," Ashley replied.

Ash patted Arsher’s shoulder. "Hey, sleepy?"

Arsher flinched at Ash’s touch, rubbing his eyes slowly.

"I wanted to sleep earlier, but you barged into my room without knocking and started yelling like someone who lost their wife. Calling me stupid and an animal," Arsher blurted out without thinking.

Ash gulped. Ashley’s sharp gaze turned to him. Oh no! Why did Arsher have to spill the beans?

Ashley placed a firm hand on Arsher’s shoulder. "Is that true, Arsher?"

"Yeah, but Arsher sprayed graffiti on the grandstand’s wa-" Arsher covered his mouth. Whoops! Now he had spilled too!

Ashley looked between her two sons. These two troublemakers never ceased to amaze her.

"I have to punish you. Push-ups, 50 times. No arguments!" Ashley banged the table.

Both Arsher and Ash jumped in surprise. Uh oh, their mother’s lioness side had awakened!

"Mom, please don’t tell Dad about this. Arsher doesn’t want to transfer schools to Italy!"

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