Mang Berting was seventy-three years old, had outlived three wives and one particularly stubborn goat, and firmly believed that technology was the devil's playground. His flip phone didn't have internet, his television was from 1998, and he communicated primarily through yelling.
But Mang Berting's grandson had shown him the TikTok video.
And Mang Berting knew.
"I saw it with my own two eyes!" he bellowed, banging on Glad's door again. "A real Manananggal! In Dumaguete! On my birthday!"
"Is it your birthday?" Rigen whispered to Glad.
"It is now," Glad whispered back.
She had two choices: open the door and face a man with a bolo and poor impulse control, or pretend she wasn't home and hope he went away. Option two was appealing, but Mang Berting had already seen movement through the window.
"BUKSAN NIYO 'YONG PINTO!" (OPEN THE DOOR!)
"Maybe if we're quiet—" Glad started.
"Alexa, what's the weather today?" Alexa suddenly boomed at full volume.
"THE WEATHER IN DUMAGUETE IS PARTLY CLOUDY WITH A HIGH OF THIRTY-TWO DEGREES CELSIUS. ALSO, THERE IS A MAN WITH A BOLO AT YOUR DOOR. SHOULD I CALL THE POLICE?"
"ALEXA, NO!"
Mang Berting stopped banging. "Did that wall just... talk?"
Rigen, bless her heart, sprang into action. She threw open the door before Glad could stop her, facing the old man with her best bewildered-teenager expression.
"Good morning, Mang Berting! Health inspection? Wala naman kaming—"
"I'm not here for health," Mang Berting growled, trying to peer past her into the apartment. "I'm here for the truth. May nakatira bang... nilalang dito?" (Is there a creature living here?)
Rigen blinked. "A... nilalang? Like, a creature?"
"A Manananggal. I saw the video. She flew right over the boulevard."
Behind Rigen, Glad was desperately trying to hide her wings, which had the unfortunate habit of twitching when she was nervous. She pressed herself against the kitchen wall, arms pinned behind her.
"That video?" Rigen laughed, and it sounded genuine because she genuinely believed it was fake. "Mang Berting, that's just cosplay! My Ate Colene makes videos for TikTok. It's all special effects. Green screen, CGI, you know?"
Mang Berting squinted. "CG... I?"
"Computer graphics. Fake. Hindi totoo."
"I know what I saw," he insisted, but some of the fire had left his voice. He craned his neck, spotted Glad pressed against the wall. "And who are you?"
Glad stepped forward, summoning centuries of practice at pretending to be human. "I'm... Gladys. Rigen's aunt. From Manila. Just visiting."
"Visiting at 8 AM?"
"I'm an early riser."
"With your arms behind your back like that?"
"I have... back problems."
Mang Berting's eyes narrowed. He took a step into the apartment, bolo still in hand, holy water bottle swinging from his belt. His gaze swept across the room—the blackout curtains (necessary for a creature sensitive to sunlight), the collection of vials in the kitchen (blood storage), the heavy-duty fan near the window (takeoff and landing assistance).
Then his eyes landed on something that made even Glad confused.
It was her laptop, open to a shopping site, with the search bar displaying: "Anti-aging cream for creatures who separate at night."
"Ano 'yan?" Mang Berting pointed.
Glad's brain short-circuited. "It's... for a friend."
"A friend who separates at night?"
"She's going through a divorce."
Rigen looked between them, sensing tension but completely misreading the source. "Mang Berting, maybe we should continue this outside? My Tita isn't feeling well, and—"
A loud buzzing noise interrupted her.
All three turned to see Glad's phone vibrating on the counter, screen lighting up with a Facebook Messenger notification from an unknown number.
The preview read: "Hi, flying lady! I'm from ABS-CBN News. Would you be available for an interview about—"
Glad lunged for the phone, but Mang Berting was faster. He snatched it up, squinting at the screen with the confusion of a man who still thought "WiFi" was a type of fish.
"ABS-CBN?" he muttered. "News? About WHAT?"
In one horrifying moment, Glad realized her centuries-long secret was about to be exposed by a seventy-three-year-old man who couldn't operate a remote control.
She did the only thing she could think of.
She fainted.
(Well, pretended to faint. Manananggals didn't actually faint. But humans didn't know that.)
"TITA GLAD!" Rigen screamed, catching her.
Mang Berting dropped the phone, momentarily distracted. "Ano?! May sakit ba talaga siya?"
"YES, she has sickness! Many sicknesses! We need privacy!"
As Rigen half-carried Glad toward the bedroom, Mang Berting stood confused, bolo lowered, holy water forgotten.
But he wasn't done.
He would be back.
And next time, he'd bring reinforcements.