Mom.
3:17 AM. Unit 1418, Shore Residence 3. The bedroom was dark except for the pale rectangle of his phone screen, the only light in the room, casting his face in cold blue-white. The AC hummed at full blast. 33°C outside. Manila in April. Even at three in the morning, the city breathed heat through the walls like a fever that would not break.
Jae-min lay on his back. Phone held above his face. His mother's contact glowed on the screen. "Mom ❤️." Her profile picture was a selfie from last Christmas — her and Dad in front of the fountain at Portofino Alabang, both of them smiling, alive, the white pillars of the mansion visible behind them.
His thumb hovered over the call button. One inch. The distance between him and the sound of her voice.
"What would I even say? Mom, cancel your flight. The plane is going to crash into a mountain. How do I know? Because I watched you die in another life. Because I'm standing here with blood from my own future still drying on my hands. She'd think I lost my mind. She'd be right to think it," Jae-min thought, DEEP bitter helplessness crushing his chest
He put the phone down. Screen black. The room plunged into darkness. He stared at the ceiling. The void inside his chest pulsed once, hungry, impatient.
"I can't call her yet. Not without proof. Not without a plan. Not without something she can hold in her hands and believe. Right now, all I have is a voice that shakes and a story that sounds like a breakdown," Jae-min thought, DEEP cold, strategic resolve hardening beneath the helplessness
He picked the phone up again. Opened his notes. Typed:
[Jae-min]: CALL MOM. NEED PROOF FIRST.
He set the phone on the nightstand. Lay still for exactly twelve seconds. Then he got up.
The shower ran scalding. The suit went on like armor. Black. Crisp. Each button a small act of war. The Rolex clicked onto his wrist. The leather shoes shone under the bathroom light. By 5:30 AM, he was in the GT-R, pulling out of Shore Residence 3 into the pre-dawn dark, the twin-turbo V6 growling through empty EDSA, Manila still sleeping, the streetlights casting long orange streaks across the pearl white hood.
"No proof. No evidence. Just a shaking voice and a story that sounds like psychosis. But money — money they understand. Money is proof. Money is power. Money is the only language every bank, every institution, every person on this planet speaks. I need cash. I need credit. I need everything I can carry," Jae-min thought, DEEP cold, lethal determination calcifying his core
The GT-R's headlights cut through the early morning haze. Makati rose in the distance, glass towers catching the first orange bleed of dawn.
— • • • —
8:00 AM. BPI, Makati flagship branch. 36°C. The morning sun hit the glass facade like a spotlight, flooding the marble-floored lobby with harsh white light that made every polished surface gleam. The air conditioning hummed at a low, steady drone, fighting a losing battle against the Manila heat bleeding through the automatic glass doors. The lobby smelled of floor wax, fresh currency, and the faint chemical bite of hand sanitizer from the security checkpoint.
A queue of customers shuffled toward the teller windows.
Jae-min sat across from a loan officer named Gerald. Middle-aged. Receding hairline. A half-empty cup of instant coffee sat on Gerald's desk, a ring of brown residue staining the ceramic.
"I need a personal loan," Jae-min said, HIGH authority, his voice carrying the absolute command of a commanding officer
Gerald adjusted his glasses. The professional smile clicked into place, fifteen years of muscle memory operating behind glazed eyes.
"Of course, Mr. Del Rosario. How much were you thinking?" Gerald offered, HIGH rehearsed enthusiasm, his pen poised over a fresh application form
"Five million," Jae-min declared, HIGH certainty, the number dropping like a guillotine blade
Gerald's pen stopped mid-stroke. The professional smile fractured down the center like cheap plaster.
"I'm sorry?" Gerald choked, HIGH shock, the word barely escaping his throat
"Five million pesos. Unsecured," Jae-min repeated, HIGH detachment, his voice carrying the same dead, flat cadence of a man reading a grocery list instead of requesting the equivalent of a small house
The air in the small glass-walled office seemed to thicken. Gerald's half-empty coffee sat untouched, going cold. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed with a faint, electric tick that suddenly sounded very loud.
"Sir, that's… for an unsecured personal loan, that amount would require extensive background—" Gerald stammered, HIGH panic, his smile fully disassembled now, scattered somewhere beneath the desk along with his composure
Jae-min slid a thick manila folder across the table. Inside: his payslips from the last three years. His tax returns. Bank statements showing a clean, flawless credit history. His Del Rosario family assets listed in Portofino Alabang — land, property, investments.
Gerald opened the folder. Flipped through the pages. Watched his eyebrows rise like two caterpillars trying to escape his forehead.
"You're a warehouse manager at—" Gerald started, HIGH bewilderment, the words catching in his throat
"The largest logistics hub in Southeast Asia. Pasay," Jae-min cut in, HIGH tactical precision, his dark eyes flat, unblinking, assessing
"Yes, I see that, but five million is—" Gerald tried, HIGH desperation, his voice climbing
"I also want to open three credit cards. Maximum limit on all of them," Jae-min demanded, HIGH command, his tone leaving no room for negotiation
Gerald stared at him over the rims of his glasses. The smile was gone. Fear had taken its place.
"Mr. Del Rosario, are you in some kind of trouble?" Gerald asked, HIGH alarm, leaning forward
"No," Jae-min said, HIGH finality, a steel door slamming shut
"Then why do you need this much capital so suddenly?" Gerald pressed, HIGH urgency, his voice cracking at the edges
Jae-min leaned forward. The leather chair creaked beneath him. He met Gerald's eyes with a stare so hollow, so impossibly dark, that Gerald felt his soul leave his body for a brief but memorable moment.
"Business investment. I'm not here to negotiate, Gerald. I'm here to get approved. Can you do that, or do I need to speak to your branch manager?" Jae-min growled, HIGH dominance, each word landing with the weight of a judge's gavel
Gerald swallowed hard. His finger hovered, trembling, then pressed a button on his desk phone.
[Gerald]: "Ma'am? Can I get a signature override for a five-million personal loan? …Yes. Right now," Gerald mumbled, HIGH defeat, the fight draining from his body
— • • • —
Across the street from BPI Makati, a black Grab sedan idled at the curb. 36°C. The engine ticked in the morning heat. The air conditioner struggled against the humidity pressing against the windows like a warm, damp towel.
Kiara Valdez sat in the back seat, her designer sunglasses pushed up into her hair, scrolling through Jae-min's Instagram with aggressive speed, which he hadn't updated since 2019. Her burgundy nails tapped against her phone screen with the impatient rhythm of a woman who was not accustomed to waiting. Her designer dress, a deep burgundy slip, hugged every curve, catching the sunlight that filtered through the tinted window.
Jennifer Avante sat beside her, clutching her handbag like a life raft, staring out the window at the BPI entrance. Her icy-blue hair fell straight past her shoulders, catching the light with a faint, almost metallic sheen. She wore a simple cream blouse and a navy skirt.
"Kiara banged on my unit's door at 7 AM like the building was on fire. I should still be in bed," Jennifer thought, DEEP exhaustion and reluctant resignation
"He's been in there for forty minutes," Kiara snarled, HIGH possessive fury, jabbing her finger at the glass doors
"Forty minutes for a bank visit. What is he doing in there, buying the bank?" Kiara added, HIGH venomous impatience, every syllable sharpened
"M-Maybe he's just… banking?" Jennifer offered, HIGH timid hope, her eyes dropping submissively
"Jae-min doesn't 'just bank,' Jen. Jae-min buys tapsilog at the carinderia and complains about the government. He doesn't spend forty minutes inside a BPI branch unless something is very, very wrong," Kiara hissed, HIGH predatory suspicion, her green eyes narrowing to dangerous slits
"I wish I could go inside and find him. I would kneel at his feet if he asked," Jennifer thought, DEEP desperate longing aching in her chest
"Okay, he's coming out," Kiara shrieked, HIGH manic urgency, grabbing Jennifer's arm with a grip that would leave bruises
"Go, go, go, tell the driver to follow him!" Kiara screamed, EXTREME commanding fury
"Kiara, this is literally stalking," Jennifer said, HIGH reluctant protest, her voice thin
"It's not stalking if he's your ex and you're concerned," Kiara spat, HIGH defensive venom
"That's literally the definition of stalking," Jennifer said, HIGH nervous defiance, shrinking back
"TELL THE DRIVER TO FOLLOW HIM," Kiara roared, EXTREME fury shattering any pretense of composure
The Grab driver, a long-suffering man named Roger, slowly turned around.
"Ma'am, I have a dashboard camera and I will not hesitate to use it," Roger warned, HIGH deadpan authority, born from years of Metro Manila traffic
"Just follow the white car," Kiara barked, HIGH impatience, her patience a smoking crater
"What white car?" Roger asked, HIGH genuine confusion
"That one," Kiara said, HIGH stabbing urgency, pointing toward the street
A pearl white Nissan GT-R Nismo growled out of the underground parking across the street. The twin-turbo V6 barked twice as Jae-min reversed out of the spot, the exhaust note echoing off the marble buildings like a controlled explosion. Every head on the sidewalk turned. A security guard nearly dropped his coffee. A stray cat flattened itself against a planter box.
Roger stared at the car, his jaw slackening.
"Ma'am, that's a Nissan GT-R Nismo," Roger breathed, HIGH reverent awe, his face transforming
"I know what it is," Kiara snapped, HIGH dismissive fury, her jaw tight
"That car costs twelve million pesos," Roger said, HIGH awe-struck disbelief, his grip tightening on the steering wheel
"I KNOW what it is. FOLLOW IT," Kiara screamed, EXTREME frustration obliterating her composure
Roger followed it.
— • • • —
9:30 AM. BDO, Ayala Avenue. 35°C. The branch was busier than BPI, a long queue of customers snaking toward the teller windows, the hum of voices and clicking keyboards filling the air-conditioned space with a low, anxious drone. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Someone's phone rang with a pop song no one wanted to hear.
Jae-min walked past the queue. Past the greeter. Straight to the loan desk.
"Two million. Unsecured," Jae-min demanded, HIGH cold command, before he'd even sat down
The loan officer, a young woman named Clarisse with a neat ponytail, blinked at him.
"Sir, our maximum unsecured loan for a single applicant is—" Clarisse started, HIGH professional alarm, her training colliding with reality
"I have a co-borrower. My uncle. Retired Colonel Ricardo Del Rosario. Thirty years military service. Camp Aquino. Villamor Air Base," Jae-min fired back, HIGH tactical precision, his mind running the numbers instantly
"Uncle Rico. PMA Class of 1989. The same class that produced two generals, a senator, and an embarrassing number of coup plotters. He chose the infantry track. His instructors called it wasted potential. He called it honest work. Thirty years of honest work," Jae-min thought, DEEP strategic calculation running the variables
"A retired colonel? Does he know—" Clarisse asked, HIGH bewilderment, her optimism taking its first real hit
"He already signed the documents," Jae-min said, HIGH final authority, cutting off further questions
He slid the papers across the desk. Uncle Rico's signature. Perfect. Authentic. Every loop, every stroke, every angle, flawless. He had forged it ten minutes ago in the GT-R, using a practice signature pad he'd found in his glovebox while stuck in EDSA traffic. The forgery was so clean it could have been notarized by God Himself.
"Forgive me, Uncle. I'll tell you the truth tomorrow. You'll understand. You always understand," Jae-min thought, DEEP bitter guilt flashing behind his eyes
— • • • —
Outside BDO, the Grab sedan idled at the curb. 36°C. The engine ticked. The heat pressed against the windows.
Kiara had been inside the lobby for exactly ninety seconds before the security guard, a stocky man with a shaved head and absolutely zero patience, politely, and then less politely, asked her to leave. Something about loitering and this is a bank, not a café, ma'am and I will call the police.
She was now standing on the sidewalk in her five-inch heels, typing on her phone with vicious intensity, her face flushed, while Jennifer watched from the back seat of the Grab with a bottled water.
"Get out, Jen. We're moving," Kiara said, HIGH sharp command, yanking the car door open
Jennifer took a long, slow sip of water. Then another. The cold condensation dripped onto her fingers.
"Kiara, I d-don't think—" Jennifer started, HIGH nervous hesitation, her blue eyes darting
"NOW, Jennifer," Kiara seethed, EXTREME commanding fury cracking through her teeth
Jennifer got out. The Manila heat hit her like a physical wall, 36°C, humidity at ninety percent, the air thick and wet and heavy in her lungs. Her cream blouse started clinging to her back like a second skin within seconds.
They walked. Kiara in front, heels clicking against the sun-baked pavement, her burgundy dress swishing with each aggressive stride. Jennifer behind her, already sweating through her deodorant, her handbag pressing uncomfortably against her hip.
Then it happened
Kiara stepped on something. Something soft. Something squishy. Something that yielded beneath her five-inch Louboutin heel with a wet, sickening schluck that traveled up through the sole and into her soul like a tiny electric shock of pure disgust.
She looked down.
Dog shit. Fresh. Still steaming in the Manila heat. A perfect, cylindrical specimen, mashed artfully across the bottom of her pump like a brown flag of surrender.
"No," Kiara gasped, HIGH visceral horror seizing her throat
"Y-Yes," Jennifer said, HIGH measured composure, looking down at Kiara's shoe with an expression of profound, luminous neutrality
"No no no no NO," Kiara shrieked, EXTREME revulsion contorting her face
She lifted her foot. A long brown smear connected the sidewalk to her shoe like a terrible bridge.
"Is that — is that DOG SHIT?" Kiara screamed, EXTREME disgust
"It appears to be, y-yes," Jennifer confirmed, HIGH clinical precision, the calm cadence of a scientist observing a lab experiment
"ON MY LOUBOUTINS," Kiara screamed, EXTREME devastation
"Those are v-very nice shoes," Jennifer said, HIGH polite composure, taking another sip of water
"JENNIFER. THIS IS NOT FUNNY," Kiara howled, EXTREME fury
"I d-didn't say it was funny. I said they were nice shoes. There's a difference," Jennifer said, HIGH restrained composure, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips
Kiara stomped her foot against the curb, trying to scrape the offense off. It didn't work. It smeared. It spread. It somehow got worse, the warm, soft texture pushing deeper into the ridges of the Louboutin sole with each desperate scrape.
She grabbed a napkin from her purse and crouched down, gingerly, in her tight burgundy dress, her knees pressing against the hot concrete, to wipe the shoe. The napkin disintegrated on contact. The smell hit her like a freight train made of regret and intestinal bacteria.
"Oh my God. Oh my GOD," Kiara gagged, HIGH revulsion, lurching backward, the napkin trailing brown wreckage from her fingers
"Would you l-like my water?" Jennifer offered, HIGH angelic sincerity, the innocence of a woman who was absolutely, categorically enjoying every single second of this
"I want you to shut up," Kiara hissed, HIGH venom, through clenched teeth
Jennifer sipped her water. The ice cubes clinked softly against the glass.
— • • • —
11:00 AM. Security Bank, Bonifacio Global City. 35°C. The branch was sleek and modern, all glass and steel and muted lighting designed to make wealthy clients feel important. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the BGC skyline gleamed under the midday sun, towers of glass and chrome standing like sentinels over immaculate streets.
"In twenty-six days, ten meters of snow will reduce those towers to dark stumps poking from an ocean of ice. Only rooftops breaking the white plain," Jae-min thought, DEEP clinical certainty settling behind his eyes
A water feature gurgled softly near the entrance. The air smelled of leather furniture and expensive perfume.
Jae-min walked up to the counter. Dropped his documents. Didn't sit down.
"Three new credit cards. Maximum limit," Jae-min ordered, HIGH clipped command, no room for hesitation
The banker, a sharply dressed man with a crooked tie and the expression of someone who had been having a good day until approximately three seconds ago, adjusted his tie.
"Sir, you already have two active cards with us—" the banker frowned, HIGH professional concern, confusion battling protocol
"Cancel them. Open three new ones," Jae-min commanded, HIGH absolute authority, no room for hesitation
"May I ask why?" the banker pressed, HIGH nervous persistence, a bead of sweat forming at his temple
"No," Jae-min said, HIGH cold detachment, his refusal absolute
"Sir, policy requires—" the banker started, HIGH professional alarm, protocol warring with the growing dread in his gut
Jae-min placed his phone on the counter. Opened his BPI app. Showed the approved five-million loan. Then the BDO app. Two million approved.
The banker's eyes went wide. Then wider. Then wide enough to qualify as a medical condition. The color drained from his face like someone had pulled the plug.
"I'm a premium client. Process the cards," Jae-min demanded, HIGH commanding authority, his voice leaving no room for argument
The banker looked at the glowing screens. Then at Jae-min's dead, unblinking eyes. Then back at the screens. Then at his tie, which he adjusted one final time with the trembling fingers of a man who had just realized his entire career had been a warm-up act for this exact moment.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," the banker stammered, HIGH terrified compliance, nearly tripping over his own feet rushing to the printer
— • • • —
Back on the streets of BGC. 36°C. The Grab sedan crawled through midday traffic.
Kiara had wrapped her ruined Louboutin in a plastic bag she'd begged from a 7-Eleven cashier, a transaction that had involved her hissing through her teeth while the cashier stared at her shoe with open-mouthed horror. She was now walking with a pronounced limp, one heel dragging behind her like a wounded soldier, her face contorted into a mask that could have melted steel. Her hair, once a perfect cascade of loose orange waves, was starting to frizz in the humidity, tendrils escaping from behind her ears and clinging to the back of her neck. The plastic bag around her shoe crinkled loudly with every step, announcing her presence like a tiny, pathetic trumpet.
Jennifer walked beside her. Hydrated. Watching.
"Jae-min just came out of Security Bank," Kiara muttered, HIGH feverish suspicion, through clenched teeth, squinting across the plaza at the white GT-R pulling out of the parking structure
"He was in there for twenty minutes. Who spends twenty minutes at Security Bank?" Kiara added, HIGH predatory calculation, her mind spinning theories
"Someone opening three c-credit cards?" Jennifer guessed, HIGH tentative hope, testing the water
Kiara stopped dead. Her green eyes narrowed to razor-thin slits.
"He's preparing. He's getting cash. A lot of cash. But why?" Kiara declared, HIGH predatory calculation firing behind her eyes
"M-Maybe he's starting a business," Jennifer offered, HIGH tentative suggestion, her voice small, careful
"Jae-min doesn't start businesses. Jae-min complains about traffic and eats tapsilog," Kiara snarled, HIGH bitter dismissiveness
"He looked at that wagyu last night like a man trying to memorize the taste of something he knew he'd never have again. I would let him do anything he wanted to me if he just looked at me that way," Jennifer thought, DEEP intense, submissive heat pooling in her stomach
"People don't change, Jen," Kiara snapped, HIGH dismissive finality
They followed Jae-min on foot toward the parking structure. The midday sun was brutal, a white-hot hammer pounding down on the concrete, turning the plaza into an oven. Kiara was limping. Her burgundy dress, once pristine, was wrinkled and clinging to her in all the wrong places. The plastic bag on her shoe was making a sound like a dying accordion.
She looked down at her ruined shoe. Then at Jae-min's retreating figure across the plaza, the GT-R's white body catching the sunlight. Then at the curb, where a massive rainwater puddle stretched from one end of the sidewalk to the other, blocking her path like a moat.
"Of course," Kiara groaned, HIGH bitter resignation
She looked left. No way around, a concrete planter boxed her in. Right. A tall hedge. Forward. A twelve-foot-wide puddle of murky Manila street water, dark and oily, probably home to at least three undiscovered diseases and an entire civilization of mosquito larvae.
She stepped carefully. One foot forward. Testing. The water was deeper than it looked, it swallowed the toe of her good shoe immediately, sending a cold shock up through her ankle. She committed. Limped forward, arms out for balance, her plastic-wrapped shoe dragging behind her like a sad little anchor.
A motorcycle courier came flying down the street. He hit the puddle at full speed. He didn't slow down. He didn't swerve. He may not have even seen her.
The wave was enormous. A wall of brown, murky Manila street water erupted from the puddle like a miniature tsunami, a curving, majestic arc of filth that caught the sunlight for one terrible second before it came crashing down.
It landed directly on Kiara Valdez. From head to toe. Her hair. Her face. Her designer burgundy dress. The plastic bag around her shoe. Everything.
The water was warm, the kind of warm that made it worse, because it meant it had been sitting on the asphalt, baking in the sun, absorbing every disgusting molecule the Manila streets had to offer.
The motorcycle courier didn't even look back. He was already three blocks away, weaving through traffic with the cold, indifferent efficiency of a man who had places to be and no time to acknowledge the collateral damage.
Kiara stood frozen. Water dripped from her eyelashes. From the tips of her orange hair, now plastered to her skull in wet, dark ribbons. From the hem of her dress, which clung to her legs like a wet tissue. A tiny stream of murky water ran down her nose and dripped off her chin.
Jennifer stood three feet behind her. Completely dry. The puddle had missed her by exactly the width of one person.
"The universe has a sense of humor, and it is targeting Kiara Valdez with surgical precision," Jennifer thought, DEEP suppressed exhilaration, her ribs aching from the effort of containment
"That…" Kiara breathed, HIGH shattered disbelief, her voice thin and cracked like old paper
"That just happened," Kiara added, HIGH hollow shock, the words coming out slow, like she was processing them one at a time
"It d-did," Jennifer said, HIGH restrained composure, her expression one of deep, thoughtful contemplation
"A motorcycle just… splashed me," Kiara said, HIGH processing horror in real time
"With a v-very impressive wave, yes," Jennifer confirmed, HIGH barely restrained composure, the suppressed vibration of a woman holding back a laugh with every ounce of willpower she possessed
"JENNIFER," Kiara roared, EXTREME fury
"I'm s-sorry, that must have been terrible for you," Jennifer said, HIGH theatrical sincerity, dripping with fake concern
Kiara looked down at herself. Soaked. Ruined. Smelling like a combination of Manila street water, dog shit, and shattered dignity. Her Louboutin, the one without the plastic bag, was now submerged in puddle water up to the ankle. The other one was wrapped in plastic and still smelled like feces. She had gone from magazine cover to garbage disposal in the span of forty-five minutes.
Then the sky, which had been partly cloudy all morning, soft white cumulus drifting lazily over the Makati skyline, opened up without warning. It started as a drizzle. Fine, misting specks that landed on her bare shoulders. Then a shower. Then a full-on downpour, the kind Manila was famous for, sudden, violent, and absolutely merciless, the rain hammering the pavement so hard it bounced back up in tiny splashes, turning the plaza into a shallow, reflective lake within seconds.
Jennifer pulled a small, folding umbrella from her handbag. Compact. Navy blue. She popped it open with a smooth, practiced click and stood under it, bone dry, watching the rain hammer down on Kiara.
Kiara stood in the downpour. Soaked to the bone. Her ruined dress plastered to her body, the fabric now so transparent it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her mascara, waterproof, because Kiara Valdez did not compromise, was finally losing its battle, running down her cheeks in two dark streaks that made her look like a raccoon who had lost a fight. Her hair, once her crowning glory, was flattened against her skull like a wet cat that had been put through a washing machine.
She looked up at the sky, mouth open, eyes wide, rain streaming down her face, and screamed at the heavens.
"WHY," Kiara shrieked, EXTREME despair, at the clouds
The clouds did not answer. They just dumped more rain on her.
She tilted her face upward, closing her eyes against the downpour, letting the rain wash away the street water and the smell and the humiliation and—
Something warm and wet and distinctly NOT rain landed directly on her open mouth.
Kiara froze. Every muscle in her body locked. Time stopped. The rain continued. The city continued. But Kiara Valdez stood perfectly, absolutely still.
She opened her eyes. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Looked at her fingers. White. Paste-y. Slightly warm.
She looked up. A pigeon sat on the ledge of the building above her, staring down at her with the cold, dead, black-dot eyes of an assassin who had just completed a flawless contract kill. Its head tilted. It cooed once. Then it spread its wings and flew away, unbothered, a tiny gray smudge disappearing into the gray sky.
Bird poop. A pigeon had just pooped in her mouth.
Jennifer stood silently from under her perfectly dry umbrella.
"Did a bird just—" Kiara croaked, HIGH trembling rage, her entire body shaking
"Y-Yes," Jennifer said, HIGH careful neutrality, the diplomat
"In my MOUTH?" Kiara screamed, EXTREME horror shattering the rain
"Y-Yes," Jennifer said, HIGH fragile composure, something fragile underneath
"A PIGEON pooped in my MOUTH?" Kiara asked, HIGH sweet venom.
"The evidence strongly supports that conclusion," Jennifer confirmed, HIGH barely contained restraint, her lips pressed together so tightly they had turned white, because if she laughed, if she let even one single sound escape, she would lose her best friend forever, and she was not emotionally prepared for that, even though it was without question the single funniest thing she had ever witnessed in her entire thirty-three years of existence
Kiara stood there for a full ten seconds. Rain pouring down on her. Dog shit on one shoe. Puddle water soaking her dress. Bird poop in her mouth. Mascara running like war paint down her cheeks.
She looked at Jennifer.
Jennifer looked back.
"Don't you dare," Kiara warned, HIGH venomous threat, her finger trembling as she pointed at Jennifer
"I d-didn't say anything," Jennifer said, HIGH submissive restraint, her blue eyes dropping to the wet pavement
"You're THINKING it. I can see it on your face," Kiara seethed, HIGH venomous accusation
"I'm thinking that you should p-probably rinse your mouth," Jennifer said, HIGH helpful composure masking barely restrained glee
"JENNIFER," Kiara roared, EXTREME fury
"M-Maybe with the rain water? Since you're already standing in it?" Jennifer suggested, HIGH delicate precision, choosing her words like she was defusing a bomb
Kiara opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then she let out a sound that wasn't quite a scream and wasn't quite a sob, it was something in between, a raw, primal noise that came from the deepest, most broken part of her soul. The sound of a woman who had been systematically destroyed by the universe in the span of forty-five minutes and had absolutely nothing left to give.
She spat. Wiped her mouth again. Looked down at her ruined shoes, her ruined dress, her ruined hair, her ruined everything. Then she looked across the plaza, where Jae-min's GT-R was just pulling out of the parking structure and disappearing into traffic, utterly, completely unaware that he had been followed all day by the two most wretched women in Metro Manila.
"I'm done," Kiara said, HIGH shattered surrender, her voice cracking, turned to dust
"Are you s-sure?" Jennifer asked, HIGH gentle concern, tentative
"I am DONE," Kiara sobbed, HIGH raw despair, her voice breaking completely
"I have dog shit on my Louboutins. A motorcycle splashed me with street water. It rained on me. A PIGEON pooped in my MOUTH. In the Philippines. In MANILA. Where everything is already trying to kill you. And for WHAT?" Kiara continued, HIGH broken fury mixing with genuine despair
"To find out what Jae-min is doing?" Jennifer asked, HIGH cautious prompt, her voice thin
"I DON'T CARE ANYMORE," Kiara sobbed, EXTREME surrender, tears mixing with rain and mascara and bird poop
"That's… p-probably for the best," Jennifer agreed, HIGH careful agreement
Kiara turned and limped away, plastic bag dragging behind her, leaving a faint brown trail on the wet sidewalk. She didn't look back. Her shoulders shook with each step.
Jennifer watched her go. Then she looked at the GT-R's taillights disappearing in the distance, two red dots fading into the gray curtain of rain.
"Watching his car disappear into the city while Kiara got demolished by the universe was the most alive I've felt in three years," Jennifer thought, DEEP private, honest yearning
She lowered her umbrella. The rain had stopped. Just like that. The clouds parted. A shaft of golden sunlight broke through and hit the wet pavement, turning the plaza into a shimmering mirror.
Jennifer walked to the curb. Flagged down a new Grab. Got in. The leather seat was cool against her legs.
"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked, HIGH professional authority
"Shangri-La at the Fort, p-please," Jennifer said, HIGH subdued restraint, her voice thin
She settled into the back seat. Pulled out her phone. Opened her notes app.
[Jennifer]: He's doing something big. I d-don't know what yet. But I'm going to find out.
She paused. Deleted it. Typed something else.
[Jennifer]: I hope he's okay. I would give anything to be by his side.
She stared at that for a long time. The words glowed on the screen.
"I want to bear his children. I want him to claim me," Jennifer thought, DEEP desperate, aching devotion clenching her heart
"He looked at that wagyu last night like a man memorizing the taste of the last good thing he would ever eat. I don't know what's happening to him. But I'm going to find out. Not because of Kiara. Because of him," Jennifer thought, DEEP fierce, private determination
— • • • —
12:30 PM. Metrobank, Paseo de Roxas. 36°C. The branch was older than the others, wood-paneled walls, brass fixtures, the smell of old paper and leather polish that clung to the air like a grandfather's cologne. The queue was short. The tellers moved with the mechanical efficiency of people who had done this ten thousand times.
Jae-min walked to the counter. Dropped his folder. Didn't smile.
"Four million," Jae-min said, HIGH calm certainty, his voice steady
The teller opened her mouth.
"Unsecured. I know. Here are my documents," Jae-min cut in, HIGH preemptive authority, sliding the heavy manila folder across the marble counter
"Walk in. Drop documents. Watch the banking professional's soul leave their body. Walk out with millions. Repeat. I've discovered a cheat code," Jae-min thought, DEEP dark, cynical satisfaction
The teller flipped through the pages with increasing speed, her eyes widening at each new document. Approved.
The GT-R's fuel gauge was mocking him from the dashboard. He'd filled up that morning, ₱4,800 of premium gasoline, and he was already down to a quarter tank. This car consumed fuel the way a forest fire consumed oxygen: aggressively, relentlessly, and with a total disregard for the consequences.
"Sixteen million in loans and I'm still going to go bankrupt from gasoline alone," Jae-min thought, DEEP dark, cynical irritation biting at his focus
He pulled out of the Metrobank parking lot, the V6 snarling as he merged into Paseo de Roxas traffic. A short, humorless laugh escaped him.
— • • • —
2:00 PM. Union Bank, Makati Avenue. 35°C. The officer at Union Bank was the first one all day who seemed to have an actual spine. He was young, maybe late twenties, with a sharp jaw and a hard stare. He stared at his monitor, frowning. Then looked at Jae-min with an expression that suggested he had just uncovered something deeply unsettling.
"Sir, our system is flagging multiple inquiries across different banks in the last six hours—" the officer warned, HIGH professional alarm, his fingers hovering over the keyboard
"System error. Fix it," Jae-min ordered, HIGH cold authority, his eyes narrowing
"Sir, I can't just—" the officer stammered, HIGH defiant resistance, his confidence cracking at the edges
"Then get me someone who can," Jae-min growled, HIGH commanding dominance, his voice dripping with authority
The officer stared at him. Jae-min stared back. Two predators locked in a silent standoff across a laminate desk. The officer blinked first, a single, almost imperceptible flutter of his eyelids that conceded the entire battle. He stood up, disappeared into a back office, and returned three minutes later with the branch manager, a tall woman named Grace who had the kind of smile that meant business and the kind of posture that said she did not get paid enough for this.
Grace looked at Jae-min. Jae-min looked at Grace. Grace looked at the loan documents. Jae-min looked at Grace. Grace looked at the ceiling.
"Mr. Del Rosario, I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. We'll process everything immediately," Grace announced, HIGH tight professional authority, her smile hiding what appeared to be a minor existential crisis
Approved.
— • • • —
3:30 PM. PNB, Escolta. 34°C. The branch was the oldest of them all, a heritage building with high ceilings, ornate columns, and the faded grandeur of a bank that had seen empires rise and fall. The air inside was cool and still, carrying the scent of old wood, brass polish, and the faint, dusty aroma of documents that had been filed and forgotten decades ago.
Jae-min sat across from Ernesto, an old man who looked like he should have been retired ten years ago. Ernesto's reading glasses sat on the tip of his nose. His hands trembled slightly as he flipped through Jae-min's documents.
"Three million," Jae-min said, HIGH steady resolve, something resolute behind his eyes
"Sir, this is highly irregular—" Ernesto stammered, HIGH worried alarm, peering over his glasses
"Is it illegal?" Jae-min pressed, HIGH razor-sharp challenge, his tone cutting
"No, but—" Ernesto tried, HIGH uncertain protest, his voice small
"Then process it," Jae-min commanded, HIGH absolute authority, no room for argument
Ernesto processed it. He also gave Jae-min a complimentary pen and a calendar with photos of Philippine landmarks. Jae-min took both.
"Small, absurd trophies from each bank I've conquered. They feel right," Jae-min thought, DEEP dark, ironic satisfaction
— • • • —
5:00 PM. EastWest Bank, Ortigas. 33°C. The loan officer was a young guy. Maybe twenty-five. Fresh out of some banking training program. That enthusiasm died approximately four seconds into the conversation.
"Two credit cards. Max limit," Jae-min said, HIGH controlled command, the way a man holds a wound closed
"Sir, you've opened nine credit cards across seven banks in one day. This will destroy your credit score," the officer warned, HIGH desperate urgency, the voice of a man trying to save someone from a terrible mistake
Jae-min smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. It never reached his eyes anymore.
"In thirty days, credit scores won't exist," Jae-min murmured, HIGH haunted certainty, something far away in his voice, like wind howling through an empty building
The officer stared at Jae-min, a chill crawling up his spine.
"What?" the officer asked, HIGH chilled dread, a cold fear creeping up his spine
"Process the cards," Jae-min ordered, HIGH absolute command, his voice leaving no room for argument
The officer processed the cards. His hands were shaking by the time he slid them across the counter.
"Whatever this man is doing is either the most brilliant financial maneuver in Philippine history or the opening act of something far, far worse. I need to update my resume," the officer thought, DEEP creeping, existential dread
— • • • —
7:00 PM. GT-R. Parking lot of a 7-Eleven. Pasay. 31°C. The engine was off. The cabin was stuffy and close, smelling of leather, premium Japanese car freshener, and the faint, stale aroma of a breakfast long past. The fluorescent lights of the 7-Eleven buzzed through the windshield, casting Jae-min's face in a sickly, blue-white glow.
His phone burned in his hand. He opened his notes. Scrolled through the list. The numbers glowed on the screen like a countdown.
[Jae-min]: BPI: ₱5,000,000
[Jae-min]: BDO: ₱2,000,000
[Jae-min]: Security Bank: 3 credit cards (₱300,000 limit each)
[Jae-min]: Metrobank: ₱4,000,000
[Jae-min]: Union Bank: ₱1,000,000 + 2 credit cards (₱250,000 each)
[Jae-min]: PNB: ₱3,000,000
[Jae-min]: EastWest: 2 credit cards (₱200,000 each)
[Jae-min]: Total cash loans: ₱15,000,000
[Jae-min]: Total credit limit: ₱1,800,000
[Jae-min]: Grand total: ₱16,800,000
Sixteen point eight million pesos. In one day.
"In the old world, this would have taken three lifetimes. In this world, it took seven banks and a forged signature," Jae-min said, HIGH raw, hollow conviction, his voice echoing in the silence of the car
He glanced at the fuel gauge. Nearly empty again. His second fill-up of the day. Another ₱4,800 gone, burned into the Manila sky by a twin-turbo V6 that treated premium gasoline like a suggestion and a challenge simultaneously.
"If the apocalypse doesn't kill me, this car's fuel consumption will," Jae-min thought, DEEP dark, humorless irritation
He leaned back against the headrest. The leather creaked. Closed his eyes.
He had screamed. He had punched the wall until his knuckles bled, until the skin split and the bone showed and the frozen plaster crumbled beneath his fists. But nobody came. Because everyone else was dying too.
"Now I have sixteen point eight million pesos and a hole in reality. It still doesn't feel like enough. It will never be enough," Jae-min thought, DEEP hollow, aching inadequacy gnawing at his core
He opened a new note. Typed rapidly, his thumbs jabbing at the screen with frantic urgency.
[Jae-min]: DAY 3 COMPLETE.
[Jae-min]: TOTAL: ₱16.8M
[Jae-min]: FOOD: 200 MEALS (800 MORE IN 3 DAYS)
[Jae-min]: NEXT: GUNS. AMMO. BUNKER SUPPLIES.
He stared at the glowing screen. His reflection stared back, hollow eyes, sharp jaw, a face that looked like it had aged ten years in two days. Then added one more line.
[Jae-min]: CALL MOM AND DAD. TELL THEM THE TRUTH.
"They won't believe me. I know that. I have to call them. Mom. Dad. Ji-yoo. I have to warn them about the flight. They won't believe me. I know that. I'll sound insane. But I have to try. I can't just — I can't let them get on that plane without hearing my voice. Without at least trying," Jae-min thought, DEEP bitter, desperate resolve hardening his will
He started the GT-R. The deep, guttural rumble of the engine vibrated through his bones, through the seat, through the steering wheel, a living thing beneath him, hungry and powerful and utterly indifferent to the suffering of his bank account. He pulled out of the 7-Eleven parking lot. The headlights swept across the wet pavement. The rain had left the streets slick and reflective, the city lights smearing across the asphalt like oil on water. The void inside him pulsed. Expanding. Hungry. Always hungry.
"Tonight, I call my parents. Tomorrow, I show my uncle the impossible," Jae-min thought, DEEP cold, lethal resolve hardening his core
— • • • —
8:15 PM. Shore Residence 3. 29°C. The basement parking was quiet. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead, casting the concrete pillars in flat, sterile white. The smell of exhaust and damp concrete filled the air.
Jae-min parked the pearl white GT-R in its spot. She sat low on her suspension, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, a predator at rest. He stepped out and walked toward the elevator of Building B. His boots echoed heavily in the underground space. The sound bounced off the walls and came back to him in fragmented echoes, like the building was repeating his footsteps in a language he didn't understand.
He pressed the up button. Waited. The elevator hummed. Distant. Getting closer.
The elevator dinged. The stainless steel doors slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss. It was empty. But on the floor of the elevator car, someone had dropped a crumpled piece of paper. A flyer. The kind of thing that gets tucked under windshield wipers and immediately discarded.
But this one was different. It wasn't an advertisement for a laundry service or a grocery promo or a real estate open house.
Jae-min frowned. He stepped inside and picked it up. The paper was thick. Heavier than normal. Official. He ran his thumb across the surface and felt the raised texture of an embossed watermark, a government seal. The kind of paper that didn't come from a printer. It came from a printing press. The kind used for things that matter.
He unfolded it. It was a military-grade dispatch notice. Dated three days from now. The header read: CLASSIFIED, AFP JOINT OPERATIONS COMMAND. The text was brief. Clinical. The kind of bureaucratic language designed to carry orders without carrying emotion.
MANDATORY WITHDRAWAL OF ALL AFP FORCES FROM SOUTHERN LUZON. EFFECTIVE DATE: THREE DAYS FROM ISSUANCE. ALL UNITS TO RETREAT TO DESIGNATED NORTHERN STAGING AREAS. DO NOT ENGAGE. OBSERVE AND REPORT ONLY.
Jae-min's blood ran cold. The paper felt like dry ice in his fingertips, a freezing burn that crawled up his fingers and settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone.
"Three days. The military is pulling out of Southern Luzon in three days. Why? What is coming out of the south that the government is already running from? What has changed?" Jae-min thought, DEEP cold, creeping dread icing his spine
His grip tightened on the paper. The edges crumpled. His knuckles went white.
The elevator doors began to close. He stepped through at the last second. Fourteenth floor. The hallway was quiet. His boots echoed against the tile. He walked to Unit 1418. Unlocked the door. Stepped inside. The AC hit him, cool and indifferent.
He didn't turn on the lights. He walked through the dark living room, past the kitchen, into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed. Phone in hand. The screen lit up his face in cold blue-white.
Mom's contact. "Mom ❤️." The same selfie from last Christmas. Her and Dad, smiling, alive, the white pillars of Portofino Alabang behind them.
His thumb hovered over the call button. The same one inch it had been at 3:17 AM. But the money was real now. The credit cards were real. The forged signature was real. None of it was proof. None of it would make a plane crash sound believable.
"It doesn't matter. I can't wait anymore. I have to call her. I have to tell them something. Anything. Even if they think I've lost my mind. Even if Dad gets that jaw. Even if Mom schedules a doctor's appointment. I have to try," Jae-min thought, DEEP desperate resolve fracturing through the exhaustion
He pressed the call button.