The Roman Legion
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“Dad, thanks anyway for your…oh, my God!”
“Why, what’s going on?”
I was about to thank Dad for his encouragement when a most chilling scene caught my eye. From my spot in the backyard, I had a clear view through the large kitchen window and accidentally saw the ever-scheming, silver-tongued Maknae whispering something into Mom’s all-too-susceptible ears with an almost Shakespearean cunning. It was like watching a modern-day Iago at work.
Seeing my distraction, Dad followed my alarmed gaze to the kitchen window. There they were. Lil Confucius and the honcho. Both busy talking. Something profound, it seemed. After a few intense moments, their serious faces broke into laughter, Mom’s hands reassuringly on Maknae’s shoulders. They then exchanged a warm hug.
I instinctively knew what was happening. I felt it deep in my bones. I had been victim to my youngest sister’s machinations enough times to recognize it. Maknae, the Machiavellian extraordinaire of Georgia, the ne plus ultra of slick manipulation, had struck again. She had just shrewdly induced our win-at-any-cost Mom—such a lust for victory made the honcho plenty vulnerable—into offering her a sweet deal.
There was little doubt that Maknae had divulged our negotiation details, likely adding her own embellishments to enhance the terms of our agreement, all as a ruse to secure a superior deal from panicked Mom.
This was the very scenario I’d dreaded upon leaving Lil Confucius’ room, humiliated and wrought with anxiety. And just as I’d feared, my worst-case imagination had come true. Maknae was this unstoppable, invincible force of nature that I had no shot of ever beating, much like the Roman legion in its heyday.
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“Uh-oh, that doesn’t look good, kiddo.”
“Oh, Dad, it’s the end for the po’ kitto.”
My knees wobbled like overcooked ramen noodles, and soon they gave out, sending me plummeting to the ground. I squished one of Dad’s precious baby tomatoes as I fell, but he didn’t even bat an eye. His genuine worry for me was clear in his face.
“I think you shouldn’t give up just yet. Go and make Maknae a better offer.”
“Oh, my gentle father, you know how calculating Maknae is. She already had a deal with me! There’s zero chance that I can top whatever she just agreed to with Mom.
“Oh, no, my poor kitten…Dad, you’re gonna have to put that tiny thing in the woods for me because there’s no way I’d be able to do that.”
My plan was to seek my other sister’s vote after speaking with Dad, but now that Maknae’s vote had crossed over to Mom, any further effort seemed pointless.
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But as I remained hunched on the ground, consumed by despair, a promise I’d solemnly made to myself earlier sprung to my mind: I would protect this helpless kitty, no matter what.
The kitten’s appearance in the wee hours couldn’t have been just a coincidence. While Mom, the lightest of sleepers, could be roused by the mere skittering of an ant across her room, I was a deep sleeper who could sleep through cannon blasts outside. Yet, against all odds, it was my ears, not Mom’s, that picked up the faint mewling of the kitten.
Had she been the one to discover the kitten, its fate would’ve been decided then and there. The story wouldn’t have differed if any other family member had stumbled upon it first. My siblings and Dad would’ve promptly summoned the honcho to handle the situation. They always turned to her whenever there was a problem in the house, be it significant or trivial. I, on the other hand, was an altogether different kettle of fish.
The thought of abandoning this fragile kitten, surely delivered to me by fate, was unimaginable. Not now, not ever. With renewed resolve, I stood up. After giving my concerned father a quick hug, I headed to my immediate younger sister’s room, internally repeating a mantra often roared by my football coach: anything of true value is always hard-earned.