The afternoon heat in Manila was cruel. It stuck to the skin like glue and made even breathing feel heavy. The sound of tricycles honking outside mixed with the loud music from a nearby sari-sari store. The whole place smelled like dust, smoke, and fried food.
Ethan Cruz walked up the narrow stairs of the old apartment building, his guitar case slung across his back. He was tired from walking around all day, trying to look for a job that no one wanted to give him. His white shirt was drenched in sweat, his jeans had small rips at the knees, and his sneakers looked like they had survived a flood.
He rubbed his neck and sighed. At least Mia's home, he thought. Maybe she cooked something again. She always said she'd support him no matter what. That thought made him smile, even just a little.
When he reached the third floor, he noticed something strange. The door of their small apartment was half-open. Music was playing inside—slow, romantic, the kind that didn't sound like something Mia usually listened to. He paused.
Then he heard voices.
At first, he thought he misheard. Then he froze when he realized what it was. A soft laugh. A low moan. His chest tightened. His hand slowly touched the doorknob.
He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to open that door. But he did.
And there they were.
Mia. The girl he loved for two years. The girl who used to say, "I'll never leave you, no matter how poor we are." She was on the bed, half-covered by the blanket, with another guy beside her. The guy's shirt was off. Mia's hair was messy.
For a moment, no one moved.
Ethan didn't shout. He didn't throw anything. He just stared.
Mia's eyes widened. "Ethan—"
He stepped back. The doorknob slipped from his hand. His voice didn't come out. The air in the room felt like it had disappeared.
Then, without saying a word, he turned around and walked out.
He didn't slam the door. He didn't curse. He just stood in the small living area, staring at the floor. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Tick. Tick. Tick.
His chest hurt, but not the kind of pain that made you cry. It was the kind that made you feel empty—like everything inside you just… fell apart.
He sat down on the small couch. His eyes landed on his old guitar leaning against the wall. The strings were a bit rusty, but it was the only thing that never left him.
Then his phone buzzed.
He answered without looking. "Hello?"
"Mr. Cruz?" It was the landlord's voice. "Sorry to bother you, but it's already past due. You still haven't paid the rent."
Ethan rubbed his forehead. "I know, sir. I'll— I'll find a way."
There was silence on the other line before the man sighed. "Look, Ethan. Your girlfriend already paid. But she only paid for her part. She said she's moving out."
Ethan blinked. "What?"
"I'm sorry, son. You'll have to clear out by tomorrow."
The call ended.
Ethan lowered the phone slowly. He looked at the room again—the small electric fan that made too much noise, the old rice cooker, the blanket on the bed. Everything suddenly looked unfamiliar.
He stood up and went to the window. From there, he could see the street below—vendors shouting, kids running, jeepneys stopping to pick up passengers. The smell of car exhaust rose from the road.
He stayed there for a long time. Then he quietly packed his things.
A few shirts. A pair of pants. A toothbrush. His guitar. That was it.
When he zipped his backpack, he heard footsteps behind him. Mia stood there, wearing a loose shirt, her hair tied up carelessly. She didn't look guilty. Just tired.
"Ethan," she said softly, "I'm sorry you saw that."
He didn't answer.
"I didn't want to hurt you," she continued. "But we both know this isn't working. You don't have a job, Ethan. We can't live like this forever."
He finally turned to her. His voice was quiet. "You could've just told me."
She looked away. "It's not that easy."
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Was it easier to bring another guy into our bed?"
Mia's face turned red. "Don't make this harder than it already is."
"I'm not," he said, his tone flat. "I'm leaving anyway."
He picked up his guitar case and walked out.
The hallway outside smelled like old paint and sweat. The building was so old that the floorboards creaked under his shoes. He didn't look back.
Downstairs, the streets were alive with noise. The sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink. Ethan adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking with no direction.
He passed by a group of kids playing tumbang preso on the sidewalk, their laughter echoing between the buildings. Across the street, a woman sold barbecue sticks beside a jeepney stop. The smell of smoke made his stomach growl, but he ignored it.
He didn't even know where he was going.
By the time he reached Recto, the sky had turned purple. Streetlights flickered on one by one. He sat on a concrete bench beside a closed shop, dropped his bag beside him, and took out his guitar.
He ran his fingers over the strings. It was slightly out of tune, but the sound was still familiar—warm, soft, and honest.
He started to play.
At first, it was just for himself. A slow song, one he wrote months ago but never finished. His voice was quiet, rough from not singing for days.
Then someone stopped. A little girl holding her mother's hand tugged at her sleeve. "Ma, look!"
Her mother smiled faintly and dropped a few coins into Ethan's open guitar case.
"Thank you," he said softly.
As the song went on, more people stopped. Some filmed him with their phones. Some just listened quietly. The street noise faded a little. For the first time that day, Ethan didn't feel completely invisible.
His voice grew stronger. He sang about heartbreak, about starting over, about not knowing what tomorrow would bring.
When he finished, the small crowd clapped. A few more coins fell into the case. Someone even said, "Bro, ang galing mo ah!"
Ethan smiled for the first time that night. "Salamat."
He played another song. Then another. The coins piled up slowly.
After a while, a man in his 40s wearing a cap and glasses approached him. He looked like he was just passing by, but he didn't leave right away.
"Hey, kid," the man said. "You got talent."
Ethan looked up. "Ah, thank you po."
The man smiled. "You got a voice that makes people stop. Keep it up. You'll go far."
Then he walked away, blending into the crowd.
Ethan didn't know it, but that man was a music producer.
He packed up after midnight, counting the money he earned. It wasn't much—around two hundred pesos—but it was enough for a meal. He bought a small cup of rice and fried egg from a street vendor, then sat under a lamppost to eat.
He looked at the stars peeking through the Manila smog. "Guess it's just you and me now," he muttered to his guitar.
When he was done eating, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. The night breeze was cool. The sounds of traffic faded into the background.
He didn't know how long he sat there before something strange happened.
A faint light appeared in front of him. At first, he thought it was a reflection from a passing car. But it stayed. Floating.
Ethan frowned and reached out—but his hand went through it.
Then words appeared. Glowing blue text, hanging in the air.
[DING!]Congratulations, Ethan Cruz!You have been selected by The Career System!
Ethan blinked. "Huh?"
More text appeared below it.
Welcome, User!You have unlocked your first career: Street Guitarist (Lv. 1)Earn money, gain experience, and unlock new career paths by completing quests!
He stared at it, confused. "What the hell…"
He rubbed his eyes, thinking maybe he was too tired or going crazy. But when he opened them, the glowing words were still there, shining in the dark.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "I must be losing it."
Then another line appeared:
[New Quest Unlocked!]Perform for 10 strangers and earn 100 pesos in tips.Reward: +1 Career Point, +100 XP, +₱500 Bonus
Ethan blinked again. "Wait… what?"
He looked down at his guitar. Then back at the floating text. Then he looked around, but no one else seemed to see it. People just walked by, minding their business.
"Alright," he said quietly. "If this is a dream, I'll play along."
He took a deep breath, tuned his guitar again, and started playing another song. The melody echoed through the quiet street.
Within minutes, a few people stopped again. A couple of students. A delivery rider. A vendor closing up shop.
Coins started dropping into the case.
The floating text blinked.
[Quest Progress: 7/10 strangers | ₱86 earned]
Ethan's heart raced. This wasn't a dream.
He played louder, his voice steady, the rhythm smoother than before. People clapped again, smiling.
When the last person dropped a coin and the total hit a hundred pesos, the text flashed.
[Quest Complete!]+1 Career Point+100 XP+₱500 Cash Bonus Added to Inventory
Right before his eyes, a small envelope appeared on the ground, glowing faintly.
He picked it up. Inside was real money. Fresh, crisp ₱500 bills.
He stared at it for a long time. The cars passed, the city lights flickered, and his heart beat faster than it ever had.
Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"Looks like my life's not over yet."
He stood up, slung his guitar over his shoulder, and looked at the empty street stretching ahead of him.
For the first time in years, Ethan Cruz felt something he hadn't felt in a long time—hope.