Franchesca Asuncion Lamora.
A mother of two, supposedly three hadn't she had that miscarriage two years before Bennet was born. She was twenty-four at that time, she's fifty-two now. She got married to Juanito Crisostomo at twenty-three.
By now, some of you must be thinking that doesn't make sense. Or to be more specific, why didn't she change her name to Franchesca Lamora Crisostomo if she really married the guy.
Well, the thing is, there's this certain rule in Straestin that women don't necessarily have to change their surnames into their husband's at all, especially if their family is well-off and have a higher standing than their spouse. So she gets to keep hers.
The same thing goes for the kids. Whoever has the higher standing between the couple will be the only one capable of passing down their surnames. Thus, Bennet and Fidel Asuncion Lamora.
But more than anything else, their household has rather 'intense' traditions. To others, it would come off as cruel and abusive and traumatizing to the kids but to them, they were merely traditions needed to be carried out.
It starts at the age of three. They will be taught how to fight. They will get hurt, have bruises and cuts. And the day always ends with their parents treating them. Letters and numbers are also introduced at this time of age that when they turn five or six, they already know how to read and count. It's crucial.
The reason stems from the Straestin's education system and the people's hierarchy-centric mindset.
If you're poor and have low grades at school or maybe you didn't get to finish at all, then you don't qualify as human. You're the lowest of the low. Not deserving of respect. And you will spend the rest of your life serving those who are above you.
Because of this, bullying will be seen as an everyday happening and the higher-ups don't even do a thing about it. They just let it be. This toxic culture was already so ingrained in everybody's heads that it's impossible to reverse it within a year span.
It's just ironic how Straestin was ranked first as the most educated country in the world but at the same time, has the highest suicide rates.
Hardly surprising if you think about it.
Then the hellish training of the Lamora household officially begins once the child turns six or seven.
The schedule goes like this. Since they'll be grade schoolers at this point, they will wake up at four in the morning. They'll be doused with freezing water to wake them fully. (This step is necessary unless the kid is sick or something.)
Then they will do some strength training or any cardio exercises and sometimes, they might have to spar with other kids their age. Okay, 'sometimes' might not be too accurate; 'often' might be a much better word for this.
They will have to stop at five thirty to allow the kids to prepare for their school at seven. Classes end at four. Nine hours. A nine-hour excruciatingly tiresome and terrible lecture. Not because the teachers were downright awful but they were already tired from their morning training, sometimes injured, and there will be days that even standing for a full minute is torturous. And they had to force themselves not to sleep in classes or they'll get some lovin' from their papa's belt.
After that, they will go home to grab a quick bite so they can proceed to their tutoring classes which will end around seven or eight.
They can't have low grades at school. No. They needed to be at the top or at least, second. They'll get punished if they get any lower than this unless the one who took the top ranking is also a Lamora then they won't get punished as much. Just a little whuppin, maybe.
And from there, they will be taught how to act like a proper Lamora. Etiquette, how to deal with bullies, what to do in unexpected situations like kidnappings, and so on and so forth.
It only gets harder as the kid grows older.
However, it's a totally different story for the successor candidates. They get to learn from the heads themselves. A normal person would rather die than be under their tutelage. For the last six generations, many of these successor candidates have been crippled for life. Three died, one in a coma, and four have gone crazy.
Franchesca was one of those candidates. She was the last one standing in her generation. Sadly, it was also the reason why she lost her first child.
From time to time, she still remembers it. It replays in her mind like a broken disk. As if mocking her for being the failure that she was as a mother. She blamed herself and no one else despite the fact it was her sister who did that to her.
One of the teachings of Lamora; Whatever happens in your life is your doing and yours alone. Blame no one and take responsibility. You are responsible for your own life.
But she didn't like that rule despite somewhat agreeing to it.
Regardless, Franchesca always thought there was only madness in their family and the unquenchable thirst for power. She genuinely thinks so but not until she learned of their family secret. The secret only the successors are told. The reason why Lamora had no choice but to be strict or they'll be swept away by a much stronger force, destroying them completely.
But she still thought there must be a much better way to teach the kids. A much gentler way. It pretty much became her life goal actually. To find other ways, much gentler ways to raise their kids. She became even more adamant about this after that incident with Fidel.
It was night around eleven when she heard a noise coming from the kitchen downstairs. At first, she didn't mind it. 'Probably just one of the kids having midnight snacks.' But it got weirder somehow.
Why would someone who went for a midnight snack be sharpening the knives? Odd isn't it? And if that wasn't weird enough, there also seemed to be another person, an androgynous voice she couldn't recognize speaking. Then she heard her son's voice, Fidel.
'Did my son let a stranger in? This late, really?'
Curiosity got the better of her so she slowly went into the kitchen, careful not to make any sound.
"Ah! Mmm… Ugh!" There were moans coming from the kitchen. Anyone who hears will only think of one thing.
'Is my son doing THAT out in the open?! Goodness! He just turned thirteen!'
At that moment, she had thoughts about going back to bed. She had no interest in watching her son having sex anyway but somewhere in the corner of her mind was a tiny voice telling her not to leave. Call it instinct or gut feelings if you will.
She was getting uncomfortable. 'Okay, just a peek. Just a peek. It's his fault for doing it in the kitchen anyway when he has a completely usable room upstairs. I really need to be strict with them somehow.'
She expected to see Fidel kissing a half-naked woman but reality was always crueler than fiction.
On the counter was the body of a young boy, lifeless. Blood gushing out from the knife stabs, all his fingers chopped off. It was Fidel who did this and Franchesca could hardly believe it.
She froze.
Fidel didn't look like himself anymore. He was swaying from side to side as if in a trance, his eyes unfocused, a bloodied knife in his right hand. He noticed his mother watching him from the kitchen door then he yelped.
And slowly, his lips turned into a grin as tears kept gushing out of his eyes. "Will you still love me, mother?" His voice was two octaves lower.
***
At the present. Around six-thirty in the dining room.
Everyone gathered. Bennet, Ginny, Franhesca, and Fidel. They were the only ones living in this house at the moment. They were having dinner together. An awkward one at that.
Fidel never had a good relationship with his family and Bennet was aware of that so he was trying to talk to him.
"So I heard you got a job here in Lucena?" Bennet asked.
"Yeah."
"When will you start?"
"This thirty."
"...I see."
Then silence.
"Fidel, my son. Why won't you, uh… hem! Tell us how's your life in Barbarra? Is it tough?" It was Franchesca.
"There's nothing much to say, mother." And the conversation completely died after that.
However…
Twenty minutes into their dinner, Franchesca finally dropped the bomb. "I am officially making Chuck my successor." Then everything in the dining room became silent. Not even the utensils were moving. And then…
"Mother. Forgive me but I can't agree to this." Bennet brusquely said. "This—This doesn't make sense at all! Ginny just gave birth to him and—and he isn't even a month's old!"
"Bennet, child. Listen—"
"No, mom. You listen. I won't allow that. He's got lots of cousins out there so why our son? I thought you wanted to put an end to all these? So why?"
Meanwhile, Ginny, who knew what it meant to be a successor, rose from her chair, slammed both her hands on the table, and everybody went silent. "Mama Frans. I don't know what suddenly went in your head but allow me to remind you I only agreed to have kids because you promised our kids won't have to go through your outdated traditions anymore. Did you lie to me, mama Frans? Huh? Did you lie to us?" She was sobbing as she was saying this. And it may look somewhat immature to others seeing this but the woman was going through postpartum depression from childbirth. Even a kitten's purr makes her cry.
"Oh, Ginny. I did not. Please, let me explain."
"No! I won't listen to you, you dirty lying hag!" she screamed.
"We'll talk later, mother." Bennet told Franchesca before he swooped Ginny off the floor and brought her to their room. "Ginny, dear. You shouldn't stress yourself. Hmm? I'll talk to mom later."
"No! Don't you dare stop me, Bennet! Don't you—"
Meanwhile, Fidel who had only been silent till now was cackling his heart out. No. It wasn't because he was enjoying what just happened but to ridicule his mother.
He didn't say anything and just left the table.
"Why did it come to this? Ha! This isn't what I expected. But still, my youngest really hates me and that thing is still following him around, huh." Franchesca muttered.
She was referring to the otherworldly creature about six feet tall who had been hiding behind the curtains. It has a human body but with a horse head. It followed Fidel around but never showed itself since that incident.
It is called a Tikbalang. And only those with 'the eyes' can see him.