Real Estate Fable EP.7 (2/4): The Pain from Someone I Once Called “My Idol”

Real Estate Fable EP.7 (2/4)
The Pain from Someone I Once Called “My Idol”
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His name was Benz.
A 24-year-old boy from Bang Kruai,
at the last stop of bus number 203.
His mother sold noodles.
His father went out to sea to fish.
His first paycheck...
came from editing food review videos.
6,800 baht a month.

He didn’t finish school,
but he wasn’t lazy.
He talked well, smiled easily,
and was kind — too kind,
so much that it made him fragile to dreams.
And that’s why he fell in love with P’Non
the very first time he heard his Live on TikTok.

“If you don’t have money, you can use your effort instead.”

The voice of P’Non was warm and calm.
Not rushing. Not selling dreams.
He sounded more like a brother
than a recruiter.

Benz listened until the end
and finally decided to text him.
He didn’t know how to start,
typed and deleted, typed and deleted,
until he wrote:

“P’, I really want to do this job. I have no money,
but can I learn from you? I’ll help you in any way I can.”

He didn’t expect anything.
He just wanted a small space
where life didn’t feel so empty.

P’Non replied that evening,

“Come on in, kid. I started with nothing too.”

Within five minutes, Benz was added to a group chat —
“Team P’Non.”

There were agents of every level: new, mid, pro.
Everyone welcomed him.
Photos of closed deals filled the chat,
clients smiling with house keys in hand.
Benz felt like he’d entered a school with no classes —
only hope as the subject.

He started with the smallest tasks.
Taking property photos.
Visiting houses.
Talking to juristic officers.
Noting house numbers, layouts, measurements,
collecting details from owners
and sending everything to P’Non.

Each time he pressed “Send,”
he felt like he had built something.
Even though his name never appeared in the posts,
he smiled —
because he believed,

“This is my team.”

The first time he heard his name in a live Zoom,
P’Non said:

“If anyone doesn’t have listings yet,
look at this kid, Benz.
He’s got fire — the most detailed in the team.
Just got a new house in Ekkamai by himself!”

Benz almost cried.
He had never been praised publicly before,
never been called “good” by name,
never thought that someone like him
could be seen.

After that, he gave it all.
No rest. No complaints. No demands.

He sent P’Non more listings than anyone.
Three one day, five the next.
He ran around, shot photos,
gathered data, updated owners,
always ending his messages with,

“Please take care of this one, P’. I’ll support from here.”

Benz thought,
without him,
P’Non wouldn’t have these listings.
But without P’Non,
he could never close them either.

Then came that house.
Two-storey corner unit, Ramintra area.
The owner was a relative of his mom’s friend.
Benz knew it had potential —
priced below market, well-kept,
wide front, high ceilings,
corner garden lot.

He rushed to take photos,
wrote a caption,
got the floor plan and a blurred deed copy,
and sent it to P’Non.

“P’, please handle this one yourself.
I’m sure it’ll close fast.”

Three days passed.
No reply.
He didn’t ask — didn’t want to push.
He just checked the page every day.

Until one day…
the world fell silent.

There it was — the same house.
Same photos.
A caption almost word for word.
But his name was gone.
No mention of “team.”
No credit.

And at the top, the words:

“Exclusively assigned by the owner.”

Benz froze.
Didn’t cry. Didn’t rage. Didn’t call.
He just typed softly:

“P’, I sent you this house, right?
Or did you get it from somewhere else?”

The reply came:

“I have direct rights from the owner, Benz.
Might be the same one coincidentally.”

He put the phone down.
Washed his face.
Breathed deeply —
not in anger,
but in confusion.

“I used to believe if I treated him well,
he’d never do this to me.
I’m not sad because I lost the deal.
I’m sad because I thought we were a team.”

That night, Benz couldn’t sleep.
Not out of fury.
But because he wasn’t sure.

Yes, it was his photo.
Yes, it was his listing.
But what if P’Non really got it directly?
What if he was wrong?
He couldn’t live with the doubt.

The next morning,
he went back to that same Ramintra house.
The owner remembered him immediately.

“Oh, Benz! Haven’t seen you in days.”

He smiled, bowed, and asked gently:

“Sorry to ask, but did you give anyone else permission to sell your house besides me?”

She thought for a while, then shook her head.

“No dear, only you. I haven’t posted it anywhere yet.”

He pressed his lips together.

“Do you know someone named Non?”

“Who? Never heard of him.”

Benz smiled —
a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s okay. Thank you so much.”

Back home,
he looked at P’Non’s post again.
It wasn’t anger anymore —
it was heartbreak.

“I didn’t just lose faith in P’Non.
I lost faith in myself —
for believing love and loyalty would protect me from betrayal.”

He walked aimlessly along the road,
didn’t pick up calls,
didn’t reply to group chats.
Sat under a tree near 7-Eleven,
pulled out a wrinkled 100-baht bill,
bought water,
and drank it like it was poison.

“What was I to him, really?”

He didn’t want revenge.
Didn’t even show the chat to anyone.
Just whispered:

“Maybe I was just the errand boy,
the hunting dog —
once the prey was caught,
he kept it all for himself.”

That night,
he came home late.
Didn’t turn on the lights.
The phone screen still glowed —
same post, same caption,
same likes.
Someone commented:

“P’Non, you’re my idol!”

He wasn’t jealous.
Didn’t crave the spotlight.
He just thought,

“The world still sees him as a hero.
But in my story... he’s the villain.”

That night,
he deleted everything —
old posts, tags, team stickers,
logos, memories.
It didn’t erase the past,
but it told himself one thing:

“Enough.”

The next day,
he posted a property on his own.
It wasn’t fancy.
Photos weren’t perfect.
Captions weren’t sharp.
But he ended it with:

“This house is under my care — directly from the owner.”

No shares.
No likes.
No co-agent requests.

But Benz smiled.
Because this time,

he wasn’t lying.

“I’m just an ordinary kid
starting again from zero —
without anyone’s name behind me.
And I’ll never let anyone use mine
to deceive others again.”

This is the other side of the story —
told by someone who once worked under Non.
The damage may not have a price tag,
but the wound left inside
will never fully heal.

What happens next in Non’s story?
Stay tuned for EP.7 (3/4).
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