you, Stacy.”

That hurt him almost as much as the act itself.

She was not thanking her because she was grateful.

She was thanking her because humiliation had become routine enough to require survival manners.

Mia bent down and picked up the burger with trembling fingers.

She looked dizzy.

She must have been genuinely starving.

Later he would learn why, but in that moment he only knew his daughter was about to eat food that had already been thrown at her like a joke.

He moved before he had fully decided to.

His hand closed around the burger and pulled it away.

“Don’t eat that,” he said, more sharply than he intended.

Mia looked up.

Everything in her face changed at once: shock, relief, shame, terror that he had seen too much.

“D-Daddy?”

The nearest tables went quiet.

Stacy blinked, then looked Don Alfonso up and down as if assessing whether he was a driver, a maintenance worker, or an inconvenience.

“Excuse me,” Stacy said.

“This doesn’t concern you.”

Don Alfonso ignored her and crouched in front of Mia.

His voice softened immediately.

“Stand up, anak,” he said.

“Look at me.

Have you eaten anything today?”

Mia shook her head.

“Why not?”

Her lips parted, then closed.

Tears filled her eyes.

She glanced toward Stacy.

That glance told him enough.

He rose slowly.

“Who took her lunch?”

Stacy laughed.

“No one took anything.

She’s being dramatic.

She likes acting helpless because it gets attention.”

One of Stacy’s friends added, “She begs sometimes.

We were just helping.”

Don Alfonso turned to Mia.

“Tell me the truth.”

Mia’s shoulders trembled.

“They take my lunch money,” she whispered.

“Sometimes my meal card too.

If I complain, they say they’ll tell everyone things about me.

They said no one would believe me anyway.”

The words were quiet, but in the stunned stillness of the cafeteria they traveled farther than a shout.

A canteen worker near the service counter covered her mouth.

Two students at a nearby table exchanged shocked looks.

Stacy’s confidence flickered, then returned in a flash of indignation.

“She’s lying,” she snapped.

“Why would I steal from her?”

“Because you can,” Don Alfonso said.

The principal, alerted by the disturbance, hurried into the cafeteria with two faculty members behind him.

Principal De Guzman was a polished man with a habit of speaking in careful phrases that always seemed designed to protect the institution first and students second.

“What is happening here?” he asked.

Stacy answered before anyone else could.

“Sir, Mia’s father is causing a scene.

We were only offering her food because she forgot her lunch again.”

The principal looked at Don Alfonso with practiced caution.

“Sir, perhaps we can discuss this privately.”

“No,” Don Alfonso said.

“We can discuss it where my daughter was forced to sit on the floor beside a trash bin.”

A flush crept up the principal’s neck.

“There may be a misunderstanding.”

“Then let us clear it up.

Right now.

Review the cafeteria cameras.

Check meal records.

Ask your staff why a student had no tray, no seat, and no protection.”

The principal hesitated just long enough to reveal everything.

He knew this school ran on influence.

He knew Stacy’s father mattered.

He knew scandals threatened donors.

His first instinct was not to help Mia.

It