The Next Morning
I was on my way to school, riding my bike. The air was fresh, the surroundings were quiet—it could've been the perfect start to the day. But as I pedaled down the road, a car suddenly sped up from behind.
VROOOOM!
In just a second, I was nearly hit. I lost balance and bam! crashed to the side of the road.
"Ow…" I groaned as I stood up, holding my elbow and full of frustration.
I turned to the car—it had stopped, and someone got out.
"Heyyy, man! You almost ran me over!"
But instead of apologizing, he had the nerve to complain.
"Well, what were you doing on the road? You're in the way!"
My temper flared instantly. I walked up to him.
"Excuse me? I was already on the side! You're the one acting like you're racing your own ego!"
I looked at him closely—didn't even need to stare long. Sure, he was good-looking, but the confidence was clearly fake. The kind of guy who thinks he's all that, but just from his vibe, you know you should steer clear.
His face alone screamed trouble.
"You know," he suddenly said while fixing his collar, "you're actually pretty. Let's go out sometime, call it even for the near-accident."
I smiled. But not the happy kind—a smile full of irritation.
"Oh, really?"
I grabbed his arm. And before he could react, with one swift move—I knocked him down.
BAM!
Automatic.
Thanks to Manong Franco—he taught me basic self-defense back when he was watching over me at practice. He always said:
"You don't have to be strong. You just need to know how to fight when it matters."
Mr. Fake Confidence hit the ground. He quickly got up, looking like he was about to charge at me—this time, with a raised hand.
But before he could even come near—
"Is this guy bothering you, seatmate?"
Bryce.
He stood beside me, silent but radiating a strong presence. He looked at the guy—one glance and the air seemed to freeze.
Even I got chills.
"Dude," Bryce said in a cold tone, "you don't lay a hand on a girl."
The guy scoffed, clearly not used to being challenged. "Who even are you? Her boyfriend?"
Bryce didn't answer right away. He cleared his throat and gave a faint smile—not out of joy, but like someone who knew the weight of every word.
"You don't have to be her boyfriend to defend what's right."
"Huh?" the guy snapped back sarcastically. "What are you, some kind of hero?"
A voice suddenly shouted from inside the car—female, irritated, dramatic.
"Babe! What's taking so long? We're gonna be late!"
She got out—a woman with layers of makeup, curled hair, and a shrill voice. Pretty, but obviously relying on filters and attitude for confidence.
She scanned me from head to toe, frowning.
"Miss, if you've got issues, don't drag us into it, okay? You're wasting our time. Let's go, babe."
I couldn't hold back. My ears were practically steaming with annoyance.
"Oh really? Now I'm the problem? I'm the one who nearly got run over, and I'm to blame?"
"Well, why were you there? Common sense, girl. If you know a car's coming, move out of the way!"
My neck heated up. But I didn't yell. I didn't need to fight with volume—I'd fight with wit.
"Common sense too, 'miss girl,' if there's someone on the road, slow down. You're not on a racetrack. Roads have rules, and being stupid behind the wheel isn't one of them."
"Stupid?" she smirked, but clearly got triggered.
"Wow, you must be really smart. If you were so smart, why are you just riding a bike?"
Before I could respond, Bryce cut in—his tone cold, but his words hit hard.
"Having a car doesn't equate to intelligence. It just means you can afford one. But if that's your definition of being smart, then clearly, we're not speaking the same language."
Silence fell. You could see the guy struggling to hold back his pride.
"Wow, so smart. What is this, a debate competition?"
Bryce stepped forward, gaze unwavering, not a hint of fear.
"We're not debating. We're educating. But if you want to turn this into a mental battleground, we don't mind.
Because while you're busy boosting your ego in your car, we're busy using our brains."
I looked at the girl, sharp gaze.
"And next time, fix your sunglasses. They're not just for show—maybe then you'll actually notice the pedestrian lane."
Silence. It was like even the air around us had paused.
Nothing more to say.
"Let's go, babe. These people aren't worth it."
The guy looked back one last time, with a stare that felt like a challenge.
"This isn't over."
His voice was serious—not a threat, but clearly a warning.
The car drove off, leaving behind smoke, the smell of burnt rubber, and tension that still hung heavy in the air.
After they were gone, Bryce and I looked at each other—both holding back laughter.
Then we burst out laughing.
"You really like appearing out of nowhere, huh," I said as I followed him to his car.
He opened the trunk and carefully placed my bike inside, like it was second nature. Then he opened the front door—on my side. No words, but I got the message. I got in.
"How was my entrance?" he asked, flashing that cheeky grin like he'd been waiting to ask that all along.
"Effortless but annoying," I replied, laughing. "Thanks, Bryce."
"Anytime."
"We're late," I said, sneaking a glance at my watch.
"Perfect timing—everyone will be looking at us. Main character energy, right?" he said, raising an eyebrow like a movie star.
I shook my head and laughed. "You really think you're the lead character, huh."