Okay. In his defense, he really wasn't paying attention.
They were all sitting at the back of their Practical Research class, the teacher rambling something about group output, deadlines, and: "Make sure you find a conducive location for your initial data collection, okay?"
And Gesly? He was on his phone, scrolling through Instagram stories.
Specifically: Alonzo's. Specifically: the story where his arm was suspiciously too close to his sister Andi's waist.
"Sure, ma'am," he heard himself mumble when his groupmates nudged him.
Then the bell rang.
He only realized what he'd agreed to three days later—
When their group chat started blowing up:
Jasper:
Bro, see you soon! I'm excited for you guys 😭
Leslie:
Gesly, what's your address again? I already pinned it in the GC. I'll bring snacks!
Gesly:
Huh?
Kyle:
Didn't you say we'd do our practical research at your house? HAHAHA you forgot??
Gesly:
…wait. HUH???
Leslie:
HAHAHAHA too late, you can't escape. You said, and I quote: "I don't care where, just don't make me buy the pizza." 😭😭
Gesly:
Son of a—
And now here he was. Standing outside their gate. Regret radiating from his pores.
There were four of them in the group, all standing in front of the ancestral-house-slash-modern-mansion owned by his family— Thanks to their secret-wealth-but-look-normal-because-of-Andi setup.
"Bro…" Kyle whispered, eyes wide. "Why does this look like a Spanish film set?"
"Gesly… is that a fountain?" Leslie muttered, jaw dropping.
"Dude, this is really your house?" Jasper asked, already lowkey recording with his phone.
"No. It's a haunted house we've been renting for a decade," Gesly deadpanned. "Come on, before your jaws hit the ground."
When the gate creaked open and they stepped inside, everyone fell silent.
No one spoke.
Maybe it was the bahay-na-bato-style archways. Maybe it was the mix of antique capiz windows and modern floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Maybe it was the grand staircase that looked straight out of a soap opera where the lead actress walks down in slow motion.
All Gesly could think was: Please, Ate, don't come home right now. Don't do your runway walk in heels, don't serve cookies on the fancy ceramic plate, don't—
And then—
"Oh! My baby brother has guests?"
Andi. In her house skirt and off-shoulder top that somehow looked thrift-store chic. Slight tinted lip balm. Barefoot. Pretty. Effortless.
Everyone turned.
Kyle whispered, "That's your sister?"
Leslie gasped. "Gesly, I would literally let her step on me—and I'd apologize."
Andi blinked, clutching her mug. "Uh… hi. Gesly's guests?"
Jasper, with the confidence of a certified simp, bowed—BOWED—and said, "Yes, ma'am. I mean—po. We're here to conduct research… with Gesly. Po."
Andi smiled. "Nice to meet you. Just a heads-up: be careful with the antiques. If you break it, you pay for it… with your soul."
Nervous laughter. Slightly flirtatious. Slightly horny.
Gesly facepalmed so hard he saw stars.
They ended up in the mini library-slash-study room at the back of the house, which Andi had cleared for them. Mahogany table. Books everywhere. The vibe screamed Enola Holmes study area.
"Don't worry, there are snacks in the kitchen. But don't go upstairs, okay? That's private space. Unless you have a death wish."
Gesly wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
The whole afternoon, no one could focus.
They kept whispering things like "This house is insane" or "Do they have CCTVs?" and "What do your parents do again?"
He just shrugged. "They're gone. A long time ago."
That made everyone fall silent. A little awkward. A little sorry. But at least, finally, quiet.
At the end of the session, as they were packing up, Jasper asked, "Bro… this house is real? Like, legit?"
"Yeah."
"And you guys aren't… you know… arrogant about it?" Kyle added.
"Yup," Gesly said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "'Cause Ate taught us not to be. She taught us to be kind, quiet, and practical."
Leslie grinned. "So… practical but with a chandelier?"
"Exactly."
That night, on his way to his room, he passed by Andi's door—slightly open. She was sitting by the window, writing in a notebook.
He stopped. "Thanks, Ate."
Andi looked up. "For what?"
"For making this place feel… normal. Even if it's a mansion."
Andi smiled. "Good. Because if you'd made them meet at Starbucks, you'd be paying for everyone's snacks."
"…Never mind. I take it back."
"Too late. Tomorrow, you're washing the dishes."
"What?!"
"No 'what,' baby boy. Welcome to rich but grounded living."
---
It started as a whisper.
"Hey, I heard Gesly has a fountain at home."
"Like, an actual fountain? Not the water dispenser kind?"
The whisper turned into mild chaos across their whole Practical Research section the next day. Students who'd never spoken to Gesly suddenly had… opinions. Observations. Narratives.
And the source?
His own groupmates. Specifically: the traumatized, gossip-fueled souls who'd entered his house yesterday.
"GUYS. YOU. HAVE. NO. IDEA," Leslie declared, wide-eyed and breathless as she dropped her bag on the desk.
"Literally an ancestral house with a modern twist. Like a teleserye mansion meets Instagram model home meets hacienda-with-a-helipad energy."
"Seriously?" Mariz asked skeptically. "Maybe you're exaggerating."
"Shush," Jasper said dramatically, sliding into his seat. "I went in expecting a gate and a water jug outside. Instead—there was a gecko on a 200-year-old ceiling. I almost cried from the vintage vibes."
"Don't they not have parents?" Someone whispered.
"Yeah," Leslie nodded. "But oh my god—the sister."
Everyone leaned in.
Kyle spoke like he was delivering breaking news. "Guys. THE. SISTER."
Everyone froze. Tension thick.
"National Sister Material," Leslie said solemnly. "Like, GMA primetime lead levels."
"Pretty?"
"BEYOND pretty."
"For real?"
"For real. Smooth legs. Wavy hair ends. Smells rich but not snobby. Off-shoulder outfit that screams 'don't test me unless you want to cry.'"
"Damn. Crushable."
"Too much. I'd fake a migraine just to get invited to their house."
Meanwhile, at the back of the classroom—
Gesly just sat there.
Earphones in. But not listening. Staring out the window.
Because he could feel it. The stares. The whispers. The heat.
Suddenly, everyone was curious. Everyone was alert to his every move. Everyone wanted to know about his pan de sal and C2.
Someone even asked, "Bro… do you guys have a driver?"
"Huh? What driver? Flash drive?" He said blankly.
At lunch, they still wouldn't stop.
"Bro, heritage house? Legit?"
"You related to the mayor?"
"You have a wine cellar?"
"Can I visit again?"
"Who's your architect?"
"Do you call your sister 'Ate' or 'Madam'? 'Cause I feel like it should be Madam."
And the one that finally broke him—
"Bro, honestly… just your sister's legs—sold. What lotion does she use?"
At that moment, he finally understood— why people commit crimes.