God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem-Chapter 624: Unrecognisable Son

"It's...kind of ridiculous, Kafi. The reason she didn't recognize you is because...well, she doesn't know what you look like right now."

Kafka blinked, his confusion deepening.

"What? How's that possible? I know it's been a while since she's seen me, but it's not like I've been gone for decades. I haven't changed that much." He paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. "Have I? Do I look that much older or something?"

Abigaille laughed, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his forehead, her hands cupping his face.

"Oh, Kafi, you look as young as ever. Handsome as ever, too. You're still my beautiful boy." Her smile turned teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity in her eyes. "And it's not about aging. It's just that you've...glowed up, Kafi. So much that Olivia couldn't even recognize you."

Kafka's brow furrowed, his head tilting. "Glowed up? What's that supposed to mean?"

Abigaille's laugh was warm, her fingers brushing through his hair she admired his handsome face.

"Come on, Kafi, don't play dumb. You know how you used to be. Back in the day, you didn't exactly...take care of yourself. Messy hair, oily face, clothes that looked like you'd slept in them for a week."

"...You kinda looked like a homeless person, if I'm being honest."

She grinned, her teasing softened by affection.

"But after that day—whatever it was that changed you, you started putting in effort. Got your hair under control, cleaned up your skin, started dressing like you actually cared."

"You went from scruffy to...well, charming. Handsome as hell and Olivia hadn't seen you since before all that, so when she walked in, she didn't see her scrappy little Kafi. She saw some good-looking stranger all over me, and her mind jumped to the worst."

Kafka's jaw dropped, disbelief crossing his face. "You're kidding me. My own mom tried to kill me because I got a haircut and washed my face? Because I maintained basic hygeine practices?"

"...That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Abigaille laughed, her hands squeezing his shoulders. "It's not just a haircut, Kafi. You're a whole different person now, looks-wise and as a person in general. And in that moment, with everything looking so...compromising, she didn't have time to think it through. She just acted."

Kafka shook his head, leaning back against the couch, Abigaille still warm and comfortable on his lap.

"That's...insane. I can't believe my glow-up almost got me stabbed."

He chuckled, the absurdity of it sinking in, though a flicker of unease remained, but a nagging doubt tugged at the edges of his mind. He tilted his head, his brow furrowing as he looked up at her, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"Wait a second, Mom. You surely would've sent pictures of me to her right? I mean, if she'd seen how I look now, she'd have known it was me and not some random molester, right?"

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Abigaille's face shifted, that guilty look returning, her eyes darting away as she bit her lip. She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her top, and Kafka's curiosity sharpened, sensing there was more to the story.

"Mom..." He pressed, his tone half-teasing, half-insistent. "What's with the look? Spill it."

She sighed, her voice hesitant, almost sheepish.

"You're right, Kafi. If I'd sent her pictures of you, she probably would've recognized you. And...I did try, a while back. I told her I wanted to show her how handsome you'd gotten, how much you'd changed. I was so proud, you know?"

Her smile was fleeting, tinged with embarrassment.

"But Olivia...she refused."

Kafka's eyes widened, his confusion deepening.

"Refused? Why the hell would she do that?"

Abigaille's cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked down, her voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"Well...she said if she saw pictures of you—how you'd turned out, all charming and thriving, it'd make her too happy, too satisfied. And because of that she'd feel too comfortable with her situation, and she was afraid she'd lose her drive."

"She said she was going to use your new image as...motivation, I guess. She told me she wanted to finish her work first, tie up all her loose ends in the city, so she could come home for good."

"...Seeing you would make her slow down, and she didn't want that. So she said no pictures until she was done."

Kafka's jaw dropped, his expression a full of disbelief and incredulity.

"Are you kidding me? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard! Who thinks like that? 'Oh, I can't see my kid because I'll work too slow'? That's insane!"

He shook his head, his voice rising with exasperation.

"What kind of mother uses her son's improvement as some kind of carrot on a stick to get through her job? That's next-level crazy!"

Abigaille looked away, her shy smile tinged with amusement as she fiddled with a strand of her hair.

"I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous. But...that's Olivia for you. Like I said, as scary as she seems, she's got this awkward, weird side. She makes these strange decisions sometimes, things no one else would even think of."

"...We're all a little dumb in our own way, I suppose."

Kafka leaned back, his arms tightening around her waist as he stared at the ceiling, his mind reeling.

"Unbelievable." He muttered, a half-laugh escaping him. "I thought I had her figured out—ice queen, knife-wielding badass—but now you're telling me she's some quirky weirdo who won't look at a photo because it'll mess with her work ethic? What kind of mother do I even have?"

Abigaille giggled, her hands sliding up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing his cheeks in a tender, grounding gesture.

"You've got a mother who's complicated, Kafi. Terrifying one minute, tripping over her own feet the next...But she loves you, even if she's got a funny way of showing it sometimes."

Her smile softened, her eyes warm with affection.

"You'll see that side of her soon enough. The real Olivia, not just the scary one."

Kafka shook his head again,

disbelief still etched on his face.

"Yeah, well, she better show up soon, because this whole 'almost stabbing me because I got a haircut' thing is not the reunion I had in mind."

He then pulled Abigaille closer, his hands resting on her hips, his teasing grin returning.

"Guess I'll just have to stick with you for now, Mom. At least you recognize me, right?"

Abigaille laughed, swatting his chest playfully.

"Oh, hush, you. I'd know my handsome boy anywhere, glow-up or not."

She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, her warmth a balm to the lingering unease in his chest.

The absurdity of Olivia's reasoning hung between them, a bizarre twist in an already chaotic day, but for now, Kafka let himself sink into the comfort of Abigaille's presence, hoping the next encounter with Olivia would bring clarity instead of knives...