The Manila Hotel ballroom was a fever dream of gold leaf and ego. Under the massive crystal chandeliers, the air was thick with the scent of five-figure perfumes and the quiet hum of people who think they're untouchable.
General Ricardo Valderama was the sun in this particular galaxy. He stood there, swilling aged scotch, surrounded by a wall of sycophants. Beside him, Lance Dizon looked like a kicked dog that had been given a fresh coat of paint—scrubbed clean of his San Pedro scandals, but still wearing that twitchy, haunted look.
The Unwelcome Guest
The heavy double doors swung open, and the room's collective pulse skipped a beat. Bella Aragon walked in, looking like a queen in a custom black gown that probably cost more than a San Pedro housing block. But it wasn't her the crowd was staring at.
It was the man on her arm.
Chano looked like he'd been dragged through a bargain bin and lost the fight. He wore a barong that was two sizes too big, made of that cheap, scratchy material that looks like it's yellowing the second you put it on. His hair was a chaotic mess, and he carried the heavy, tired air of a man who spent his life in a dimly lit shop.
"Ma'am Bella, welcome," the concierge stuttered, his eyes darting to Chano with visible confusion. "And... this is?"
"My guest," Bella said, her voice projecting like a physical force. "Chano. He's a specialist I've been working with."
"Specialist?" a voice sneered.
Lance swaggered over, flanked by a few other heirs who looked like they'd never worked a day in their lives. He looked at Chano with pure, unfiltered disgust. "Wait, I know you. You're the guy who fixes dead motherboards in the dirt. Did your shop burn down, or did you just get lost on the way to the market?"
A wave of snickering swept through the silk-draped crowd.
"Bella, are you serious?" Lance laughed, playing to the room. "Look at him! You brought a cell phone repairman to the National Gala? Why? Is your battery low, or did you need someone to fix the Wi-Fi in the middle of the dance floor?"
The Humiliation
Chano didn't bite. He just walked straight to the buffet and started piling pancit onto a plate like he hadn't eaten in three days. He looked small. He looked pathetic.
Dexter, the IT consultant who was still smarting from the humiliation at the Aragon Tower, saw his chance. He stepped into Chano's path, "accidentally" lurching forward.
SPLAT.
A full glass of heavy red wine soaked into Chano's cheap barong, turning the pale fabric into a bloody mess.
"Oh! My bad, 'toy," Dexter gasped, dripping with fake sincerity. "I didn't see there was a rag standing here. Wait—is that a barong? What'd it cost, five hundred pesos? Here, this is probably worth more than your life."
Dexter flicked a thousand-peso bill. It fluttered through the air and landed at Chano's feet, right next to his scuffed shoes. "Go buy a new one. Or better yet, take it back to Laguna. It might cover the rent for that pathetic hole you call a shop."
The room erupted. Even the General watched from the distance, a small, cruel smirk playing on his lips. To them, Chano was just background noise.
Chano looked at the bill, then up at Dexter. "Thanks," Chano said. His voice was level, almost bored. He tucked the money into his pocket. "This will help with the server maintenance."
"The nerve," someone whispered. "People from the provinces really have no shame."
The Silent Counter-Attack
Bella looked like she was ready to burn the hotel down, her knuckles white as she gripped her clutch. Then she felt her phone buzz.
Chano: Let them laugh. Focus on the General. Elijah is in.
In Chano's ear, Elijah was cackling. "Master! I've got them! While they were busy laughing at your outfit, I hijacked Dexter's phone. I'm currently broadcasting his search history and his 'hidden' private folders to the hotel's internal Wi-Fi. Also... the General just logged into his encrypted tablet."
Chano took a slow sip of water, his eyes scanning the room. He spotted Marco dressed as a waiter and Philip—looking hilariously uncomfortable—in a security uniform near the service lift.
"Master," Elijah whispered. "The General just opened his 'Ghost Ledger' to verify a wire transfer. He thinks he's on a secure line."
Chano walked into the center of the dance floor, directly under the massive chandelier. He looked straight at Valderama.
"General," Chano called out. The room went silent. "Nice watch. Patek Philippe, right? Did you buy that with the blood money from the Singapore mission five years ago?"
The General's glass stopped mid-air. His eyes turned into cold slits. "What did you say to me, boy?"
"I'm just saying," Chano said, leaning casually against a marble pillar, "that you might want to look at the screen behind you. It looks like your system has a... leak."
The massive projector screen, meant for a tribute to the evening's "heroes," flickered. Suddenly, a massive spreadsheet appeared. Thousands of names, dates, and astronomical amounts—bank transfers from the Scorpion Group to the Valderama accounts.
At the very top, in a glowing, electric blue font, was the signature: [ X ]
The Flip
The General's face turned a violent shade of purple. "Turn that off! Shut it down now!"
"Too late, General," Chano said. He stood up straight, and suddenly, that cheap, stained barong didn't matter. The aura in the room shifted. He didn't look like a technician anymore; he looked like the man who owned the room. "Elijah, send the copies to everyone's device. Let's make sure they have a copy for the ride home."
PING. PING. PING.
Every smartphone in the ballroom chimed at once. The elites who had just been mocking Chano were now staring at their screens in horror, seeing their own names listed as payees for the Scorpion Group's dirty work.
Chano walked up to Dexter, who was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering. Chano reached into his pocket, took out the thousand-peso bill, and stuffed it into Dexter's open mouth.
"Keep it," Chano whispered. "You're going to need it for bail."
Bella stepped up beside him, her head held high. "I told you, General. He's a specialist. And tonight... he just specialized in your down fall."