### A Duel of Fate
Draven stared at his mother for a moment before letting out a long sigh.
"That doesn't seem fair. I can't even say no. Just look at her."
His mother stood opposite him, arms folded across her chest, cheeks puffed out in defiance. She looked like someone who had already declared herself the winner and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to accept it.
Draven shook his head.
"Don't come crying when you lose."
His mother slowly turned her head toward him.
Then she smiled.
It was a sweet smile.
Far too sweet.
"You don't have to worry about that, honey," she said cheerfully. "Just get ready to do what Mommy says. Because when you lose, Mommy is going to give you lots and lots of hugs and kisses!"
Draven's expression twitched.
*Just what I was afraid of.*
Neither of them backed down.
Instead, they began walking toward each other.
The gentle breeze that had been drifting through the garden gradually grew stronger, stirring the flowers and rustling the vines above them. Their clothes shifted in the wind as they closed the distance between them.
Step by step.
The space separating them grew smaller.
Until, finally, they stood face to face.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Their eyes remained fixed on each other, and the playful atmosphere from moments ago seemed to disappear beneath an almost ridiculous sense of seriousness.
His mother narrowed her eyes.
"Are you ready, honey?"
Draven matched her expression.
"Always."
*Let's dance.*
Suddenly, both of them moved.
Their right hands swept across their bodies in the same motion, as though they were drawing invisible weapons from their sides.
His mother's voice turned cool and composed.
"Best two out of three."
"Sure," Draven replied, his tone equally steady.
The wind whistled around them.
Their eyes locked.
The atmosphere grew heavier, as though even the garden itself had stopped to witness the outcome.
Then—
"Rock, paper, scissors!"
Both hands shot forward.
His mother's fingers formed scissors.
Draven's hand formed a rock.
Silence.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Draven's lips slowly curled into a victorious grin.
"Why don't you just give up now?"
His mother looked at their hands.
Then back at him.
A small smile appeared on her face, though a single bead of sweat had begun to slide down her cheek.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, baby. That was only round one."
Draven raised an eyebrow.
But his mother had already pulled her hand back.
They stepped away from each other, resetting their positions.
Once again, they swept their right hands across their bodies, preparing for the next round.
The wind picked up.
Their expressions hardened.
"Rock, paper, scissors!"
Their hands shot forward.
Fingers flashed.
And then—
They froze.
Both stood with their arms outstretched, their hands held between them.
For a brief moment, Draven's attention shifted to the ridiculous game they were playing.
*This stupid game…*
*We've been playing it since I was a kid.*
His gaze remained fixed on their hands.
*The rules are simple. If she wins, I have to do whatever she wants. If I win, I can walk away.*
His expression tightened.
*Which means I absolutely cannot lose.*
The two remained motionless.
Neither seemed willing to look away.
Their eyes burned with determination as they waited for the outcome to settle.
Then Draven's thoughts went blank.
*Damn.*
### A Mother's Unfair Advantage
Draven narrowed his eyes.
He was certain his mother would throw paper.
There was no doubt in his mind.
So when his own hand revealed scissors and hers came down as rock, he could only freeze.
For a moment, he simply stared at their hands.
A single bead of sweat slid down his temple.
Across from him, his mother smiled sweetly.
"Aw, honey… is something wrong? You don't look too good. Maybe you should just accept your loss and behave like a good boy."
Draven's eye twitched.
*Like hell I will.*
He forced a shaky smile, even as more sweat trickled down his face.
"Mom, don't you think telling me to give up when you haven't even won yet is a bit—"
**WHACK!**
Her hand came down in the middle of his sentence, smacking the top of his head with a sharp, practiced slap.
Draven's eyes flew wide.
"AAAAAHHH!"
A high-pitched scream escaped his mouth as he clutched his head and dropped to one knee, as though he had just been struck by divine punishment.
*Jesus Christ!*
He gritted his teeth, frantically rubbing his scalp.
*What the hell?! It's like my skull's being torn apart!*
Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He slowly looked up at his mother, his expression filled with disbelief and betrayal.
"What was that for?!"
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.
"Watch your tone, brat. I'm your mother."
Draven continued rubbing his head, his lower lip trembling slightly as a single tear rolled down his cheek.
*What did I even say?!*
"Hey…" he began, muttering under his breath. "You could've just told me instead of—"
He stopped.
His mother's shadow loomed over him.
Her smile had disappeared.
Her eyes narrowed.
"...Hmmmm? What were you saying?"
Draven swallowed.
His heart began racing.
*Crap. Did she hear that?*
He immediately forced out a shaky, painfully obvious laugh.
"I-I said… I'm sorry. Yep. Totally my fault."
His mother puffed out her cheeks, looking rather pleased with his response.
"Good! You know when you're wrong."
She unfolded her arms and smiled cheerfully.
"Now that that's settled…"
She raised her hand again.
"Let's continue!"
Draven blinked.
Still kneeling, he slowly rubbed the growing bump on his head.
*I kinda feel like she hit me for no reason…*