The lights of Davao City flickered like a scattered constellation, and from the twelfth floor of the downtown hotel, Alex could see the afterglow of fire trucks leaving the burnt-out shell of the hospital. News anchors were already running the story on every local channel—rebel attack, hospital fire, unconfirmed injuries—and yet not a single image or mention of the mysterious man who had jumped through fire with three unconscious children on his back.
Alex leaned back against the couch, a bottle of mineral water half-finished in one hand, the remote control in the other. A soft chuckle escaped his lips.
"Pure luck," he murmured, tapping the side of his head. "Still holding out for me."
He turned off the TV and tossed the remote aside. The adrenaline had faded, but his mind was still running like a faulty engine—flickering with questions, potential threats, and the cryptic mysteries of the treasure box now tucked inside the hotel's hidden compartment.
He stood, stretched his arms, and glanced at the mirror. His face was clean, unreadable. No one would peg him as the man from the fire. And that was how he wanted it.
He needed a breather. Just one night to blend into the background again. To unwind. Maybe pick up one more lead.
So he slipped into something more relaxed—plain jeans, a fitted dark shirt, and a light jacket—and left the hotel with that same casual rhythm that said he belonged.
The Moonfish Lounge was one of those trendy, dimly lit bars designed to feel expensive and mysterious. Located between a boutique hotel and a small casino, the place was tucked into the city's undercurrent of wealth and whispered business deals. Purple lighting bathed the walls, and the scent of aged liquor, expensive perfume, and quiet corruption hung in the air like incense.
Alex walked in, nodded at the bouncer, and chose the farthest booth—near a large aquarium wall glowing with neon fish. He ordered soda water with lime and pretended to be checking emails while secretly letting his ears tune into the ambient conversations around him.
Sneaky real estate agents. Shady businessmen. Mid-level bureaucrats trying to sound more important than they were.
He heard it all, but nothing about supernatural activity—until she walked in.
She didn't so much enter as glide into the lounge—an unspoken ripple of attention followed her. She was around nineteen or twenty, maybe 5'7", with straight raven-black hair that framed a delicate but sharp face. Her eyes were feline—gold-flecked, unblinking. She wore black: a sleek sleeveless top, slim-fitting pants, and heeled boots that clicked with purpose. Her movements were graceful, her energy sharp. Deadly.
Alex felt it immediately. That quiet hum in the air. She wasn't just beautiful. She was awakened. Without a doubt.
The sentient whispered to him like a warning on the wind: Awakened detected.
He watched from the corner of his eye as she ordered a cocktail and leaned casually on the bar. For a few minutes, she didn't even look his way. Then, with smooth precision, she turned and walked directly toward him—drink in hand, expression unreadable.
She sat beside him without asking. Like an old friend. Like she belonged there.
"I know what you are," she said, her voice smooth like silk soaked in danger. "You walk like you're used to dodging arrows but talk like someone who's read too many books."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "And you're either a very curious girl or a very dangerous one."
"Why not both?" she replied, sipping her drink with elegance. "I'm Trisha."
"Alex," he said, not bothering with a fake name. "Nice to finally meet someone like me, or something like me."
"Ah, the lone wolf act," she teased, leaning back into the booth. "You're the first awakened I've seen walk into this city and pretend to be normal, and you're also the only one who ordered soda water in this place."
"I like to keep a clear head."
Trisha smirked. "I like to keep mine tilted just enough to see danger before it sees me."
They sat for a moment, sipping in silence, reading each other in that unspoken way people with powers often do. Not hostile. Not friendly. Just... waiting.
"Let me guess," Alex said finally. "You're an Assassin-class awakened with family problems, a wild plan, and no one to trust."
Her eyes narrowed just slightly, amused. "That's dangerously accurate. Psychic?"
"No. Just good with people."
"Also a terrible liar," she added. "I can feel your energy. It's... massive. Ranger, I'm guessing? You've got that wild vibe: trees, wolves, righteous vengeance."
Alex smirked, "Druid, actually. And you? Hmmm... Killer reflexes. Knife collection. Probably sleep upside-down like a bat."
Trisha laughed. "Close. I do prefer the cold side of the pillow."
They chatted longer. Nothing serious—just witty banter, careful probing. Trisha told him about her obsession with classic anime, her hatred for small talk, and her dream of living in Tokyo and opening a ramen shop. Alex countered with stories of fake travel blogging, running from wildlife, and pretending to enjoy durian just to make locals smile.
When the conversation dipped into comfortable silence, she leaned in closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"I want to leave Davao, the country, actually, but my family won't let me. I'm only nineteen, and unfortunately, my father is the mayor."
"That is unfortunate," Alex said dryly.
"I have a plan," she continued, turning her glass slowly. "I want to marry you."
Alex blinked. Then choked on his drink. "Excuse me?"
"Not a real marriage, obviously," she said, brushing it off like she'd asked him to buy groceries. "Just something that'll get the paperwork moving. You're older and foreign-looking. They'll believe it."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough," she said, her tone now measured. "You're awakened. You're not registered. You're powerful, and more importantly—you're quiet. That's all I need."
Alex stared at her for a long second. "And what if I say no?"
"You won't," she said confidently, draining her drink. "Because you're not like the others. You help people. I've been following your... smoke trails."
Before Alex could reply, two tall men in matching black suits entered the lounge, scanning the crowd. Their eyes locked on Trisha. One of them touched his earpiece. The other reached into his coat.
Trisha let out a resigned sigh. "Oh shit. Father's goons."
The taller one approached their booth and discreetly pressed a pistol beneath the table—right to Alex's ribs. "Sir, we need you to come with us."
Alex calculated the angles. Distance. Wind speed. Number of bones he could break before anyone noticed.
Trisha laid a hand on his arm. "Just come. Trust me."
Moments later, Alex was seated in a grand villa that screamed local wealth and low-key corruption. Marble floors. Gold trim. A chandelier that probably cost more than his hotel.
The mayor stood before them, barrel-chested and red with rage. His arms were crossed. His expression could curdle milk.
"What is the meaning of this?" he barked.
"Dad, we're engaged," Trisha announced, with full soap-opera conviction.
Alex resisted the urge to groan.
"You're what?!" the mayor bellowed.
"I love him," she added dramatically, throwing her arms around Alex. "And I'm pregnant."
Alex froze mid-breath.
The mayor reached under his desk. Alex's eyes narrowed. Gun, definitely.
Trisha jumped in front. "If you kill him, I'll die too!"
"What is this madness, Trisha?!" the mayor shouted in exasperation.
"I want to live my life," she snapped back. "Not be caged like some heirloom vase! This is the only way. Let me go—or I'll go anyway."
The mayor glared at Alex like he was both the devil and the idiot who let the devil in.
After a long pause, he finally growled, "Stay in the city tonight. No leaving. No funny business. We'll talk again in the morning—with the entire family."
As they were escorted back to the hotel, Alex leaned toward her and whispered, "So... this is the part where I say thank you or file a restraining order?"
Trisha smirked. "Just get me out of here, forest boy. You'll have my eternal gratitude... and a highly skilled assassin on your side."
"Perfect," he muttered. "Just what I needed before monster hunting in rebel-infested mountains—an overly dramatic teenage ninja bride."