[Jay's POV]
The Mario Kart tournament had been abruptly postponed because, apparently, in the Watson household, a "Silly War" could change its medium of combat at any given moment. What started as a dispute over seating arrangements had evolved into a high-stakes, high-chaos culinary "Iron Chef" competition.
The kitchen, which I had just helped Mamma Serina clean to a pristine, marble shine, was now a designated war zone.
"Three different palates, three different plates!" Keigan declared, tying a kitchen towel around his forehead like a samurai headband. "Ate, you are the Guest of Honor, the Supreme Judge, and the Light of our Lives. But today, you are also the Critic."
Mamma Serina had gracefully stepped back, leaning against the far counter with a wooden spoon in hand, acting as the official "Umpire." She looked at me and winked, her eyes sparkling with delight at the mayhem her sons were causing. "The rules are simple, Jay," she called out over the sound of a blender starting up. "
They have thirty minutes to create a dish that represents 'Home.' No blowing up the appliances, and no sabotaging each other's seasoning."
What followed was a masterpiece of Watson-flavored chaos.
Keifer, the "Chill Prince," had shed his sweater and rolled up his sleeves, his face set in a mask of terrifyingly intense focus. He was searing something in a pan, the blue flames reflecting in his eyes as he flipped the contents with the precision of a surgeon. Keigan was a whirlwind of.motion, chopping vegetables with a speed that made me nervous for his fingers, while little Keiran was standing on a stool, his face dusted with flour, whisking something in a bowl with enough force to power a small engine.
"Kuya, you're burning the garlic!" Keiran shrieked, pointing a flour-covered finger at Keifer's pan.
"It's confit, you gremlin, it's supposed to be low and slow!" Keifer barked back, though he quickly adjusted the heat.
"Ate, don't look at his! Look at mine!" Keigan shouted, tossing a handful of herbs into a pot with a dramatic flare. "His is just science. Mine is art!"
I stood by the kitchen island, laughing so hard my stomach hurt. This was the same Keifer who solved complex structural equations in his sleep, now arguing with an eleven-year-old about the consistency of a sauce.
"Time's up!" Mamma Serina announced, banging her spoon against a pot. "Step away from the stoves!"
The three of them rushed toward me, nearly colliding in their haste to present their creations. They lined up their dishes on the marble island in front of me, breathing hard, looking like they had just run a marathon instead of making lunch.
"Judge Jay," Keifer said, his voice dropping into that smooth, princely tone as he slid his plate forward. "I present to you a Seared Wagyu with a Red Wine Reduction and Truffle Mash. A classic, stable, and high-performance meal."
"Boring!" Keigan interrupted, shoving his plate into the spotlight. "I made Spicy Seafood Paella with a Zesty Lemon Infusion. It's bold, it's exciting, and it's better than Kuya's."
"And I," Keiran squeaked, holding up a small, slightly lopsided bowl with both hands, "made 'The Ate Special.' It's Homemade Pappardelle with Four-Cheese Sauce and extra love."
I looked at the three plates. My brain tried to analyze the plating—the Golden Ratio in Keifer's steak, the vibrant color contrast in Keigan's rice, and the rustic, comforting texture of Keiran's pasta.
"The tasting begins," Mamma Serina announced solemnly.
I picked up a fork, the three brothers leaning in so close I could feel their collective breath. I started with Keifer's steak. The meat melted on my tongue, the reduction perfectly balanced between sweet and savory. It was exactly like him—refined, powerful, and deeply satisfying.
Next was Keigan's paella. The spice hit me first, a bright, energetic burst of flavor that was followed by the freshness of the seafood. It was a perfect reflection of his personality—loud, vibrant, and impossible to ignore.
Finally, I tried Keiran's pasta. The cheese was rich and creamy, the noodles perfectly al dente. It tasted like a hug in a bowl. It was simple, honest, and incredibly sweet.
I put my fork down and looked at the three of them. They were staring at me with a level of anticipation that I usually only saw during final exam results.
"Well?" Keifer asked, his eyes searching mine. "Who wins the favor of the Empress?"
I chewed slowly, enjoying the suspense for a few seconds longer than necessary. "Data analysis complete," I said, a playful spark in my eyes. "Keifer, your technique is flawless. Keigan, your flavor profile is the most daring. And Keiran... your pasta is the most comforting thing I've eaten all year."
"So... it's a tie?" Keigan asked, his face falling.
"No," I smiled, reaching out and pulling all three of them into a group hug—which was difficult, considering Keifer's height. "The winner is the Watson Estate. Because I've just realized that no matter what the dish is, as long as it's made by a Watson, it's awesome."
"Lame!" Keigan shouted, though he was grinning as he hugged me back.
"I'll take the tie," Keiran chirped, clinging to my waist. "As long as I get to sit next to Ate!"
Keifer looked at me over the heads of his brothers, his expression softening into that look of pure, unadulterated devotion. He leaned in, whispering just for me, "You're getting too good at handling us, Jay. Pretty soon, you'll be the one running the empire."
"I think I already am," I whispered back.