Jared Alonzo stared at the needle.
"Relax," the nurse said with a reassuring smile. "It's just a small prick."
"Yeah… easy for you to say," Jared muttered quietly.
He hated needles.
Always had.
But today, he didn't have a choice.
Three hundred pesos.
That was all it took to make him sit here—inside a small blood donation clinic, trying not to panic like a child.
For someone else, it was pocket change.
For Jared?
It meant food. Transportation. Survival.
"First time?" the nurse asked.
"Yeah."
"You'll be fine. Just don't overthink it."
Too late for that…
Jared tightened his grip on the armrest.
It's just blood. People do this all the time.
Before he could think any further—
Prick.
His body flinched slightly.
"Done," the nurse said casually.
Jared blinked in surprise. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"…oh."
He let out a slow breath, shoulders easing.
That wasn't so bad.
He leaned back as his blood flowed steadily into the collection bag beside him. The deep red liquid swayed gently, almost hypnotic.
His eyelids grew heavy.
"Just relax," the nurse said. "You might feel a bit lightheaded."
"Okay…"
At first, everything felt normal.
Then—
Something changed.
A strange sensation crept into his mind.
Not pain.
Not dizziness.
But clarity.
Like a fog lifting.
Jared frowned slightly.
Wait… what is this?
A memory surfaced—clearer than it had ever been.
A lecture.
A formula.
Something he had struggled with for weeks.
And now?
It made sense.
Instantly.
"…what?"
His breathing slowed.
But his thoughts—
They accelerated.
Connections formed rapidly. Concepts aligned effortlessly. Even small details—the nurse's tone, her posture, the subtle shift in her expression—became crystal clear.
This isn't normal…
"Are you okay?" the nurse asked.
"Yes," Jared replied.
Too quickly.
Too smoothly.
He noticed it immediately.
Analyzed it.
Questioned it.
All within a second.
His eyes widened.
I just… processed all of that… instantly.
When the donation finished, Jared stood up carefully.
He expected weakness.
Dizziness.
Something.
But instead—
He felt… sharp.
More awake than ever.
Outside the clinic, the world felt different.
Sharper.
Brighter.
Faster.
Jared walked down the street, his gaze naturally analyzing everything around him.
A jeepney sped past.
Without thinking—
"…around 35 kilometers per hour."
He stopped mid-step.
"…okay."
That was definitely not normal.
His heart started pounding.
Not from fear.
From realization.
"If this is real…"
He slowly turned his head, looking back at the clinic.
A small smile formed on his lips.
"…then every time I donate blood…"
The conclusion came naturally.
"…I become smarter."
That night, Jared sat at his desk.
A worn-out textbook lay open in front of him.
The same one he had struggled with for weeks.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then began reading.
Minutes passed.
Then an hour.
Then—
He stopped.
"…I understand it."
Not memorized.
Not guessed.
Understood.
Completely.
Jared leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
A laugh escaped his lips.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Then uncontrollable.
"This is insane…"
He sat up again, his eyes gleaming with excitement—
And something deeper.
Something dangerous.
"When can I donate again?"
Three months.
Jared clenched his fist.
"Then I'll wait."
His voice was calm now.
Steady.
But his eyes burned with ambition.
"Three months… and I'll do it again."
This was the moment everything changed.
The first step of a genius bound by blood.