When The Poor Girl Suddenly Became Rich

Okay. In his defense, he wasn't really paying attention.

They were all sitting at the back of their Practical Research class, the teacher rambling about group outputs, deadlines, and something like, "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 one where his arm was suspiciously close to Ate Andi's waist.

"Sure, ma'am," he mumbled on instinct when his groupmates nudged him.

Then the bell rang.

He only realized what he had agreed to three days later.

When their group chat blew up:

Jasper:

Bro, see you! I'm so hyped for your place 😭

Leslie:

Gesly, what's your address again? I already pinned it in the group chat. I brought snacks!

Gesly:

Huh?

Kyle:

Didn't you say we'd do our practical research at your house? HAHAHA. You good with that, right?

Gesly:

…wait. WHAT???

Leslie:

HAHAHA there's no escaping this. You said it yourself! You even said, "I don't care what we do as long as I'm not the one buying pizza." 😭😭

Gesly:

Son of a—

And now here he was. Standing outside their gate. Regret radiating from every pore.

There were four of them in the group.

All now standing in front of his family's ancestral home-slash-modern-mansion—thanks to their secret-wealth-but-we-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, mouth slightly open.

"Dude, is this seriously your house?" Jasper asked, already reaching for his phone to discreetly record the moment.

"No. It's just a haunted house we rented for a decade," Gesly deadpanned. "Come on in before your jaws hit the floor."

When the gate creaked open and they stepped inside, everyone went quiet.

No one spoke.

Maybe it was the bahay-na-bato-style archways. Maybe it was the blend of antique capiz windows and floor-to-ceiling glass walls. Maybe it was the grand staircase that looked like it belonged in a soap opera where the main character makes a dramatic entrance in slow motion.

All Gesly knew was: Please don't come home right now, Ate. Please don't do a fashion show in heels. Please don't walk the hall like a runway model. Please don't bring out cookies on a UK ceramic plate—please—

And then—

"Oh wow! Baby boy's got guests?" Andi. In her stay-at-home skirt and an off-shoulder top that looked thrifted but chic. Slightly tinted lip balm. Barefoot. Pretty. Effortless.

Everyone turned.

"That's your sister?" Kyle whispered.

"Gesly, I would let her step on me," Leslie breathed.

Andi blinked, clutching her mug. "Uh… guests of Gesly?"

Jasper, with full simp confidence, bowed—bowed—and said, "Yes, ma'am. We're here to conduct research… with Gesly. Ma'am."

Andi smiled. "Nice to meet you. Be careful with the antiques. If you break something, you pay for it… with your soul."

Laughter. Nervous. Slightly horny.

Gesly facepalmed so hard he saw stars.

They ended up in the mini library-slash-research room at the back of the house, which Andi cleared for them. Mahogany table. Books everywhere. Felt like the study room from Enola Holmes.

"No Wi-Fi here," Andi warned. "Use your own data."

"No problem, ma'am," Leslie said, still wide-eyed. "This is… beautiful."

"Thanks," Andi replied, winking at Gesly before walking out. "There are snacks in the kitchen. But don't go upstairs, okay? That's private. Unless you have a death wish."

Gesly wanted to melt into the floor.

They couldn't focus the whole afternoon.

They kept glancing around, whispering things like, "This house is insane," or

"Are there security cameras here?" and

"What do your parents do again?"

He just shrugged. "They're gone. A long time ago."

And that made them quiet.

A little awkward. A little sorry. But at least… quiet.

At the end of the session, while packing up:

Jasper: "Bro… is this real? Like, this is really your house?"

Gesly: "Yeah."

Kyle: "And you're not… you know, showy about it?"

"Yup," Gesly said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Because Ate never taught us to be flashy. She taught us to be kind, quiet, and frugal."

Leslie smiled. "So… frugal with a chandelier?"

"Exactly," he grinned.

That night, as he walked up to his room, he passed by Andi's door—slightly open. She was sitting by the window, writing in a notebook.

He stopped.

"Thank you, Ate."

Andi turned. "For what?"

"For making this place feel… normal. Even if it's a mansion."

Andi smiled. "Good. Because if you had suggested Starbucks instead, you would've paid for everyone's snacks."

"Never mind. I take it back."

"Too late. Tomorrow, you're washing the dishes."

"WHAT?"

"No more 'what,' baby boy. Welcome to rich but grounded living."

- ; -

It started as a whisper.

"Hey… I heard Gesly has a fountain at home."

"A fountain? Like, water-fountain-in-the-middle-of-the-garden fountain? Not the kind with a jug?"

That whisper turned into mild chaos across the entire Practical Research section the next day.

Students who had never even spoken to Gesly suddenly had… thoughts. Questions. Theories.

And the source?

His own groupmates. Specifically: the emotionally unprepared, gossip-loving souls who had entered their house the day before.

"GUYS. YOU. HAVE. NO. IDEA," Leslie exclaimed, eyes wide as she basically threw her bag on her desk.

"It was literally a Spanish-era mansion with a modern twist. Like a telenovela house meets an Instagram influencer's house meets hacienda-owner-who-has-a-helicopter-pad vibes."

"Seriously?" Mariz asked skeptically. "Maybe it was just a townhouse and you're exaggerating?"

"Girl," Jasper cut in, sliding dramatically into his seat, "I came in expecting a steel gate and a water jug by the door. Instead, I saw… a gecko on a 200-year-old ceiling. It was so vintage I cried."

"Aren't their parents… gone?" someone whispered.

"They are. But his sister, oh my god."

Everyone leaned in.

Kyle delivered the punchline like it was national news.

"Guys. HIS. SISTER."

Everyone looked around. Quiet. Suspenseful.

"Total national 'ate' material," Leslie added. "Like she belongs on GMA primetime."

"Pretty?"

"STUNNING."

"For real?"

"For real. Smooth legs. Naturally wavy hair. Smelled classy but not snobby. Wearing an off-shoulder like it was couture. Voice like Maria Clara but when she speaks—she bites. Like, 'don't test her if you value your feelings.'"

"Damn. Crushable."

"Extremely. I kinda wanna fake a migraine just to be invited back."

Meanwhile, at the back of the classroom, Gesly sat quietly.

Earphones on. But not listening.

Just staring out the window.

Because he could feel it—the stares, the whispers, the weird attention. Suddenly everyone was curious. Alert to his every move. Even his pan de sal and C2 lunch became interesting.

Someone even had the nerve to ask:

"Bro… do you have a driver?"

Gesly blinked.

"Huh? What driver? Flash drive?"

At lunch, they still wouldn't let him be.

"Bro, your house is really a heritage home?"

"Do you know the mayor?"

"Do you have a wine cellar?"

"Can I come visit again?"

"Who was your architect?"

"Do you call your sister 'Ate' or 'Madam'? Because honestly, 'Madam' feels right."

And the one that broke him: "Gesly, not gonna lie… just her legs already sold me. What lotion does she use?"

At that moment?

He didn't want to walk out.

He didn't want to transfer schools.

He wanted to disappear into the floor.

In guidance counseling once, they told him: "Avoid violence."

But now?

Now he understood why people commit crimes.