Aling Luding's Bar – 8:32 PM
Dimly lit and smelling faintly of isaw, cheap beer, and spilled gasoline, Aling Luding's Bar wasn't where city leaders usually met. But for Conrad, Johnny, Jose, and Glenn, it had become a nightly headquarters of strategy, complaints, and mobile games.
Four grown men were hunched around a scratched table cluttered with empty bottles and half-finished chicharon platters, furiously tapping their phones as Call of Duty Mobile blared gunfire into the air.
"Cover left, cover left!" Glenn shouted, his tongue sticking out between his teeth.
"I'm flanking them with the RPG," Jose said, eyes locked on his screen.
Johnny narrowed his eyes, fingers dancing. "They got me. Sniper! Right tower!"
"Reviving," Conrad muttered, swiping rapidly. "God, this game's more stressful than the mayoral race."
Just then, the door creaked open and Jamie stepped inside, still in her blazer and heels, elegant as ever against the bar's chaotic backdrop.
"Hi, Dad," she said, approaching the table.
The four men froze mid-round. Conrad immediately stood, nearly knocking over his chair.
"Sweetie! How was your day?"
"Good," Jamie replied. "Dad, we're having a symposium tomorrow at the Pangitarium. I hope you can go. It's official student council stuff."
There was a short pause.
"Pang," Johnny chimed in helpfully.
"It," added Glenn, raising his beer.
"Tarium," Jose concluded, pointing his phone at Jamie like it was a microphone.
Conrad blinked. "Wait—isn't that the place where handsome people go in and come out ugly?"
"It's a planetarium, Dad," Jamie said, shaking her head with a half-smile.
"Right, right," Conrad nodded quickly. "I'll go. I promise."
"Thank you!" Jamie beamed, stepping forward and hugging him. "You better."
She left as quickly as she'd come, her heels clicking back out the door like punctuation marks.
Johnny raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"
Conrad sat back down, a little dazed. "Yeah. It's the least I can do."
He took a long sip of his beer. "After that recital thing, I owe her."
Flashback – Two Years Ago
The Narumi living room was lit up by the glow of a flat-screen TV. A promo blared: "WWE Live in Manila—This Weekend Only!"
Conrad pumped his fists. "Oh boy, WWE in Manila! Kako, the boys and I are gonna watch this!"
From the hallway, Kako's voice echoed. "Conrad! We talked about this! My parents will be here this weekend! It's my mother's birthday! You should be there!"
Conrad scratched his head. "Okay, okay, tell you what—if you let me out of this, I'll attend Jamie, Anthony, and Stephanie's recital in your place."
There was a pause.
"...Deal!" Kako declared.
Back to Present – Aling Luding's
Conrad grinned. "And of course, we watched WWE. Then we fetched the kids after the fight was done. Missed just the first half of the recital. Technically not a lie."
"Technically you're still a dead man," Jose muttered.
The Next Day – Pangitarium Grounds
The Pangitarium sat awkwardly between a public eco-park and the old university science wing—a crumbling glass dome with rusting pipes and poorly labeled plant exhibits. Inside was a strange hybrid of humidity, wilting greenery, and educational posters from 2003. Still, it was the chosen venue for the university's "Youth and Green Future" symposium.
A makeshift podium had been set up in front of a half-dead fern. Student groups hovered around, some handing out pamphlets, others organizing compost exhibits that smelled like failure.
Jamie stood near the stage, arms crossed, tapping her clipboard. She wore a pale green dress under a black blazer, her hair in a low ponytail. Precise. Purposeful.
Bernard arrived a few minutes later, wearing khaki slacks, a rolled-up button-down, and an expression that said "I just woke up like this, but I'm charming anyway." He nodded toward her.
"Nice dome," he said, glancing around. "Is it supposed to smell like wet sock?"
"It's supposed to simulate tropical microclimates," Jamie replied, not looking up. "It just smells like negligence."
The crowd began to swell. Professors. Students. Photographers. Then came the parents.
Conrad, Johnny, Jose, and Glenn entered from the east gate, wearing semi-formal polos and confused expressions.
"Why does it smell like a swamp fart in here?" Glenn whispered.
"It's the moss," Johnny said, reading a sign upside-down. "Says it's part of the exhibit."
Conrad squinted around. "Where's the part with the planets?"
"That's a different building," Jose replied. "This is Pangitarium, not Planetarium."
Trailing behind them, Ray and Bernadette entered together. Ray wore a button-down and shades, while Bernadette wore a statement blouse and a disapproving scowl.
As the two family groups spotted each other, silence hung in the air like fog.
Ray and Conrad exchanged glances—brief, sharp.
Bernadette and Johnny made direct eye contact. She raised a brow. He blew her a sarcastic kiss.
Jamie noticed the tension from the stage but said nothing.
Bernard saw it too, muttering to Arnie, "We're one mosquito bite away from a diplomatic crisis."
As the event began, a student emcee took the mic. "Welcome to the Pangitarium! We're proud to celebrate youth leadership and climate awareness..."
Jamie stepped forward for her speech. She spoke with clinical precision about accountability, eco-governance, and educational sustainability. The audience was silent. Impressed.
Then Bernard took the mic.
He stuffed his notes into his pocket and spoke off the cuff, talking about real trees, messy community gardens, and the time he accidentally flooded his school's rooftop greenhouse.
Laughter. Connection. A different energy.
Two styles. Two approaches.
Side by side.
On the edge of something neither could name.
---
The air inside the Pangitarium was getting heavier by the minute. What began as mild humidity had turned into something dense, sour, and slightly metallic. It clung to skin, settled in throats, and left most guests subtly wiping sweat from their brows.
At the back of the exhibit, near a poorly maintained irrigation pipe labeled "WETLANDS SIMULATION ZONE," Bernadette paused mid-stride and wrinkled her nose.
"It smells like sulfur in here," she remarked dryly, dabbing her silk blouse with a scented tissue. Then, with a sidelong glance at Conrad: "Perhaps Satan is around."
Conrad stood a few feet away, arms crossed and eyes fixed on Jamie, who stood confidently near the podium, continuing her speech. Her tone was crisp, words rehearsed to perfection—but she spoke with fire beneath the polish.
He didn't react to Bernadette's jab. Didn't even blink.
Johnny leaned closer to Conrad, holding a pair of old binoculars he'd pulled from his belt bag. "Conrad, look—there's Oral Roberts."
Conrad squinted where Johnny pointed. Sure enough, in the far corner near a 'Compost Innovation' poster, stood a lean man in a gray blazer and oversized sunglasses. He looked wildly out of place among the students—like someone who had no idea what compost was, and no intention to find out.
Glenn nudged Conrad with his elbow. "And there's Anal Roberts," he added, pointing to a bulkier man in aviator shades and a leather trench coat. He was sipping something from a small metallic thermos, glancing around with twitchy eyes.
"What are they doing here?" Jose asked, his tone dropping into a deeper register. His gaze sharpened. "Last I heard, they were fugitives. The Anti-Graft unit flagged both on three charges of obstruction, racketeering, and—get this—stealing a government printer."
"I thought they were in hiding," Johnny muttered.
"Apparently not," said Glenn. "Guess moss gardens attract creeps now."
Conrad finally spoke, low and quiet. "Might as well take a walk."
Without waiting for permission, he slipped away from the crowd, casually trailing the two men as they moved deeper into the building. The rest followed, subtly spacing themselves to avoid suspicion.
Meanwhile, at the back of the facility, Stephanie and Brendan wandered between tangled vines and dusty plaques.
"Why does this vine look like it's choking itself?" Stephanie asked, snapping a pic with her phone.
"Because the humidity is above seventy percent and there's zero airflow," Brendan replied without missing a beat. "Also, that fan hasn't been plugged in since March 2023."
Stephanie raised an eyebrow. "You scare me sometimes."
"I scare myself most times," he said, turning toward a half-open door with a faint red glow behind it.
"Wait. What's that?"
Brendan pressed his face to the crack.
"I think this is a boiler room."
Stephanie peeked. Pipes ran overhead like tangled arteries. Gauges blinked erratically. One hissed.
"That doesn't look... legal," she whispered.
Back in the main hall, Jamie wrapped up her speech to polite applause. She stepped down from the podium, her expression reserved but pleased. She joined Thea at the side of the stage.
"You killed it," Thea said, passing her a bottled water.
"Did I? I couldn't hear over the collective humidity-induced hallucinations."
"You made compost sound noble. That's a win."
Jamie glanced toward the back of the crowd. "Where's Dad?"
Thea scanned the crowd. "He was here like five minutes ago..."
Jamie frowned.
Further inside the Pangitarium – Maintenance Corridor
The further they walked, the worse it got. The walls turned from whitewashed concrete to unpainted gray. Ceiling tiles vanished. The floor underfoot became a patchwork of scuffed vinyl and rust-colored stains.
Jose paused. "Conrad, we need to be careful. This place wasn't meant to handle crowds. And I don't trust those two."
Conrad waved him off. "Just want to see what they're sniffing around for."
The hallway split—one direction leading to a closed 'Staff Only' utility door, the other to a stairwell labeled IRRIGATION ACCESS.
Johnny paused beside a water tank with a sticker that read "FILTER FLUSHED – 2018."
"Guys," he said slowly, "that's not good."
A hiss echoed through the walls. Followed by a sudden click—like a switch being thrown.
Backstage – Main Hall
Bernard had just wrapped up his speech and walked back toward Jamie. He handed her a half-eaten cookie.
"I stole this for you."
"I don't eat snacks from tables labeled 'sponsored by the alumni club.'"
He held up his hands in surrender. "Fair."
Jamie nodded toward the crowd. "Did you see those two men in the trench coats?"
"Yeah. I assumed they were the bouncers for the orchids."
"Something feels off."
Before he could reply, a sharp, mechanical whine filled the air—followed by a deep, low hiss.
Everyone froze.
Then—a boom. Muffled, but real.
The floor trembled.
Screams began near the back of the Pangitarium. A burst of flame licked through the far greenhouse wall—brief but bright.
People ran. Plants snapped underfoot. The emcee tripped and fell off the stage. A sprinkler system hissed to life—late and uneven.
Jamie grabbed Bernard's wrist. "That was near the boiler room."
His expression hardened. "Let's go."
The blast wasn't cinematic. It didn't throw people through windows or turn the sky orange. It was worse—real, messy, and close.
A metal door in the west wing buckled outward with a muffled roar, followed by a plume of gray-black smoke and the sharp scent of burning insulation. The lights above flickered once. Then again. Then half of them went out.
Panic followed. Controlled, at first.
Screams. Shouting. Stampeding footsteps.
Jamie turned sharply, hand still gripping Bernard's wrist as she steadied him. The two of them stood at the base of the main stage, dust settling around them in slow motion.
"That was the boiler," Bernard said.
Jamie didn't answer. She was already scanning the crowd, counting exits, estimating pathways—standard training from every fire drill her father ever overprepared her for.
"Stay low," she said.
"Always do," Bernard replied, but there was no smirk in it.
More screams now. A student collapsed near the entrance. A speaker fell from the ceiling and crashed into the compost display, sending rotten cabbage flying.
"Over here!" Jamie called out to two freshmen cowering under a display bench. "Exit's behind the irrigation tanks—move now!"
Bernard started toward them, but a sudden shadow cut across his path.
Oral Roberts.
Blocking the side hallway. Hands in his jacket pockets. Sunglasses still on, even in the semi-darkness.
"Interesting timing," Bernard muttered.
A few steps behind him came Anal—slower, bulkier, jaw set tight. He didn't look shocked. He looked prepared.
Jamie stepped in front of Bernard without thinking. "You're not faculty."
"No," Oral said calmly. "But we are interested parties."
"We don't have time for whatever this is," Bernard said, trying to shift Jamie behind him now.
Anal cracked his knuckles. "Your father's been a thorn, Miss Jamie. Thought we'd send a little message."
Jamie's heart thudded once—hard—but her voice stayed even. "You chose a university symposium?"
Oral smiled faintly. "Public. Emotional. Symbolic."
Bernard's tone dropped. "You're going to hurt a student to get to a mayor?"
"Not hurt," Anal replied, stepping closer. "Just... rattle."
From the corridor behind them, smoke began to creep in slow, lazy fingers across the floor tiles.
Jamie stepped back. Bernard followed.
"There's no one here to protect you now," Oral added.
"Correction," came a new voice from the haze. "We're here."
A clang of a fire extinguisher against tile. A whiff of cheap aftershave and fried peanuts. And then: Conrad.
Behind him emerged Johnny with a crowbar, Jose holding a stun baton, and Glenn already dialing someone on his phone.
Oral didn't flinch. "Mayor Narumi."
Conrad stepped forward. Not shouting. Not joking. Just solid.
"You're in the wrong city, boys."
Anal reached under his coat. Johnny didn't wait—he surged forward and slammed the crowbar into Anal's forearm. The man grunted and dropped what looked like a modified taser.
Oral moved next, fast—but Jose intercepted, driving the baton into Oral's ribs and twisting.
Bernard pulled Jamie back as the two thugs were forced to their knees.
"Who the hell sends you two to a school event?" Glenn muttered, already cuffing Oral's hands with plastic ties.
"I thought you were semi-retired," Jamie said to her dad.
Conrad turned, eyes meeting hers. "I was. But then I remembered—"
He cut off, eyes darting to the thin gash on her cheek.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Jamie said, voice tight. "You came in time."
Bernard looked at the broken taser on the floor. "They weren't bluffing."
Johnny pressed his foot onto Anal's back. "You two picked the worst table to crash."
Jose spoke into his radio. "Suspects detained. Send emergency medical and fire backup. Situation partially contained."
More smoke began to pour from the side hallway.
"Out," Conrad said. "Now."
Jamie hesitated. "There are still people inside."
"I'll help them," Bernard said. "You go."
She looked like she wanted to argue.
Conrad cut in. "Jamie. Now."
She relented, and together they made for the exit—ducking under a crumbling light fixture and past a charred bonsai display.
Bernard turned and helped guide a limping student out behind them. He was coughing but smiling.
Outside, the air was clearer—barely. The Pangitarium glowed behind them in broken light, emergency crews finally arriving, their boots slamming against gravel as they charged in.
Bernadette rushed toward them the moment they emerged.
"Where were you?" she snapped at Bernard. "I couldn't see you—I thought—"
"I'm fine, Ma."
Ray stood beside her, his arm in a makeshift sling. He looked older than he had that morning.
Jamie collapsed onto the grass, coughing once, then twice. Conrad dropped beside her, placing a hand on her back. It was the first time in a long while that his touch wasn't loud or goofy—it was just... there.
"You saved us," she murmured.
He didn't respond.
Bernard dropped down a few feet away, pulling off his jacket and tossing it onto the ground beside him. Johnny knelt next to him, passing him a bottle of water.
In the flashing lights and distant sirens, no one said much. The danger had passed—but not the consequences.
Jamie looked up and met Bernard's gaze. No wit. No rivalry. Just tired recognition.
They'd been cornered, together.
And someone had come for them.
--
The Pangitarium was still breathing smoke. Not from active flame, but from scorched insulation, smoldering wiring, and ruptured pipes that spat steam like anger held too long. The front dome was now cordoned off with yellow tape. Sirens wailed in the background, and the far-off drone of news drones added their own restless whir.
Jamie sat on a low wall, knees dusty, palms scratched. Beside her, Conrad stayed crouched, watching her carefully—father now, not mayor. The lines around his mouth had deepened since this morning. He wasn't cracking jokes. He wasn't posturing. He was just looking at her like he couldn't believe she was still whole.
"I'm fine," she said quietly.
"You don't look fine."
"I'm standing. That counts for something."
He didn't argue.
Across the lawn, Bernard stood with Johnny and Jose, his shirt marked with soot, sleeves rolled to the elbows, voice low as they reviewed what had just happened. Johnny had bagged the damaged taser. Jose was already making calls to verify the identities of the Roberts brothers.
Jamie stood slowly and crossed the distance between them. She met Bernard's eyes—no nod, no greeting—just the weight of everything that hadn't been said.
"They weren't here by accident," she said.
"No," Bernard replied.
"They weren't freelance either. Someone sent them."
"Someone with money. Connections."
She inhaled. "Someone willing to burn a building just to send a message."
Jose looked up from his phone. "There are rumors. But nothing we can print. What we do know is the two of them have been protected—slipping through jurisdictions, charges disappearing."
Johnny muttered, "Means someone high up doesn't just tolerate them. They use them."
Jamie folded her arms. "What did they want?"
Conrad stepped into the group. "Not sure. But it wasn't about the event. It was about who was here. You."
She looked at him.
"They weren't going to hurt me," she said.
"They weren't here to bring flowers, either," Bernard said. "He had a taser in one hand and a plan in the other."
Conrad gave Jamie a hard look. "You don't get to downplay it. When someone sends those two creeps into a school event, it's not just intimidation—it's targeting. They wanted to rattle me. They used you to do it."
Jamie hesitated. "Because of your job?"
"No," Conrad said. "Because of someone I turned down. A deal I refused. A hand I didn't shake."
Bernard glanced sideways. "Someone influential?"
Conrad nodded. "Very. The kind of person who doesn't need to raise their voice to end your career."
The silence after that was long and thick.
From behind them, Glenn approached carrying a bottle of water and a small pack of wet wipes.
"You two still breathing?" he asked, passing them out without waiting for an answer.
Jamie took a sip, then looked over her shoulder at the collapsed wall of the Pangitarium. "There were others still inside. Students. Volunteers."
"I already sent people back in," Jose said. "Fire's out. Most were evacuated before the second collapse."
Bernard stepped closer to Jamie. "There was a moment, before your dad showed up, where I thought..."
She looked at him. "What?"
"That we were going to have to fight our way out."
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "Would've been a short fight."
He smirked. "I dunno. I have reach."
"Barely."
They both looked down at the ground—awkward, tired.
"You alright?" he asked, softer now.
"I think I will be," she said. "Eventually."
Conrad cleared his throat, already back on alert. "Both of you need to keep low for a while."
Jamie frowned. "This isn't some gangster movie."
"No," Conrad said, "it's worse. In movies, you at least get closing credits."
Jose added, "There'll be reports. Coverage. Questions. You'll need to coordinate your statements. Carefully."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You want me to lie?"
"I want you alive," Conrad said. "We can fight later about the wording."
She didn't argue.
Bernard stepped forward. "If the heat's turning up, she's not the only one in danger. I was with her. I talked back. I saw their faces."
Johnny nodded. "We'll keep eyes on both of you."
Conrad turned to Bernard. "You got her out. I won't forget that."
"I didn't do it for you."
"I know."
Jamie looked between them, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. "It wasn't about doing it for anyone. It was just... what had to be done."
And for the first time that day, everyone agreed.
They stood in silence—Jamie, Bernard, Conrad, Johnny, Jose, and Glenn—each processing the same truth:
They weren't just involved anymore.
They were in it.
---
By late afternoon, the grass outside the Pangitarium was lined with police tape and media vans. The stench of burned plastic and scorched wood still hung in the air, blending with the hum of generators and the buzz of half a dozen different camera crews.
Reporters shouted questions toward the perimeter. "Was this politically motivated?" "Is it true your daughter was a target?" "Are you filing charges?"
Conrad didn't speak to any of them. Neither did Ray. But their silence only made the storm louder.
Inside a temporary command tent erected by the local emergency response team, Jamie stood beside Stephanie and Anthony, sipping water while checking updates on her phone. Her screen buzzed constantly—news alerts, speculative tweets, classmates asking if she was okay.
Near the monitors, Jose Suansing replayed security footage pulled from the half-melted Pangitarium system. The video was grainy but clear enough: Oral and Anal Roberts entering through the staff corridor, bypassing a locked door with an ID scanner that had clearly been tampered with.
"That wasn't random," Jose said. "That was calculated."
Johnny leaned in, arms crossed. "They weren't wandering. They knew what they were doing."
Glenn tilted his head. "Means someone gave them intel."
"Someone with access," Jose added.
In the next room, Bernadette paced, her heels clicking against the tile like a metronome set to irritation.
"This was recklessness," she snapped. "That man should never have been allowed near a student facility. The mayor's security is a liability."
Ray sat nearby, his arm now in a brace, watching his wife with a tired, blank stare.
"It wasn't his event," he said quietly.
"No, but it was his daughter's. And where she goes, chaos follows. I'm filing a formal complaint."
Ray didn't reply. He just looked at the table, lost in his own calculations.
Across the field, Bernard stood by a low concrete planter, fiddling with the snap of his wristwatch. Jamie approached, steps measured, eyes sharp.
"She's blaming my father," she said without greeting.
"She would," Bernard muttered.
"He didn't trigger anything."
"I know."
They stood in silence, the air between them dense with smoke, suspicion, and something else neither was ready to name.
Jamie looked at him, her voice lower. "You really think someone meant for this to happen?"
"I think someone wanted to send a message—and didn't care who got caught in the smoke."
Jamie exhaled through her nose. "That's what scares me."
Bernard turned to face her. "It should."
Behind them, the command tent flapped in the wind. Johnny walked out and passed them, nodding slightly to Bernard, but saying nothing.
Jamie watched him go. Then: "What you said earlier... about not regretting stepping in."
He nodded.
"I didn't say thank you."
"You don't have to."
She met his eyes. "I think I do."
For a moment, the sound of generators and sirens faded into background noise. The air was still smoky, the sky still gray. But between them, something held steady. It wasn't a truce, not exactly.
But it was no longer opposition.
It was something else.
Nearby, Herberto walked past slowly with his dog, waving lazily.
As he passed Jamie and Bernard, he muttered under his breath without looking at either of them:
"Fires don't start on their own... not when the wood is arranged just right."
They turned to look at him, but he had already shuffled away, humming to himself.