Chapter 9:
The Price of the Glow-Up
The Espiritu Inheritance
Chapter Nine: The Price of the Glow-Up
In RPGs, "Base Building" is usually a menu screen where you click 'Upgrade.' In reality, it involves a lot more cobwebs, a bucket of soapy water, and the realization that the previous tenant might still be in the basement.The heavy bronze key from Lakanbini Susan sat cold in my palm, glinting faintly in the Pasig sunrise. It felt heavier than it should have—like a promise I hadn’t decided to make yet.
Morning in Santolan, Pasig arrived loud and nosy. Before the sun had bullied its way over the Marikina skyline, I was already standing outside Ninang Josie’s carinderia. The smell of frying garlic, boiling ginger, and diesel fumes hit me like a physical wave.
It was the scent of home—nostalgia and hunger rolled into one.
Ninang Josie was behind the counter, a whirlwind of efficiency. She was ladling Arroz Caldo (chicken rice porridge) into plastic containers while shouting orders at a delivery rider.
“Starting a catering business, anak?” she teased, pausing to wipe her brow with a small towel. “You look like you’re preparing for a siege.”
I grinned, grabbing two bottles of orange juice from the chiller. “Something like that. Ninang, I have a question. Hypothetically.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hypothetically.”
“Are there consequences to dressing up my assistant in Earth clothes? And moving into a stone-and-brick shop with modern goods? Like... does the universe get mad?”
Ninang Josie stopped wiping her hands. Her expression turned uncharacteristically sober. She shooed the delivery rider away and leaned over the glass counter, her voice dropping to a low hum that cut through the noise of the tricycles.
“Stone and brick, huh?” she murmured. “Cliffside Street?”
I nodded.
“Listen to me, Pepito. In Sarimanok, clothes aren't just fashion. They’re a statement of intent. A uniform. If you dress that girl in the fine threads of our world, you aren’t just giving her a gift. You’re marking her.”
“Marking her?”
“You are marking her as part of the Lagusan,” she whispered. “Moving into a shop on Cliffside—especially one that belongs to the Sumilang line—means you’re no longer a visitor. You’re a resident. The 'Earth goods' you bring across carry a weight. The more you 'modernize' that shop, the more the local magic will try to 'balance' it.”
“Balance it how?”
“Shadows love bright lights, Pepito,” she said darkly. “And that house has a lot of shadows.”
She stared at me for a moment, then sighed, the tension breaking. She reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic bag.
“But,” she clucked, “you can’t have your partner looking like a rug. If you’re going to do it, do it right.”
She handed me the bag. It smelled chemically clean.“Liquid detergent,” she said. “Spring Fresh scent. If she’s going to live in a stone house, she needs to wash away the scent of the docks. First impressions are everything when you're dealing with a Lakanbini.”
“Salamat, Ninang.”
I pulled out my phone. BEP’s screen flickered to life, ready to log the inventory I had spent the last hour gathering from the nearby department store.[Inventory Acquisition Log] * For the Partner (Project: Glow-Up): * Item: Denim Overalls (Indigo). * Stats: +10 Durability, +50 Pocket Space. * Note: Tough enough for manual labor, stylish enough for a storefront. * Item: Cotton T-Shirts (White, Pack of 3). * Stats: +5 Breathability. * Note: 100% Combed Cotton. Unmistakably "Earth-made." * Item: All-Weather Sneakers (Red). * Stats: +15 Agility, +10 Ankle Support. * Ninang’s Note: "If she's going to be the face of the business, she needs to stand tall." * For the Storefront (The "Class-A" Offering): * Item: LED Camping Lanterns (Battery Op). * Stats: 500 Lumens. * Strategy: If the mages are messing with fire, sell them "Captured Sunlight." * Item: Barako Coffee Beans (Premium Roast). * Stats: +100 Aroma. * Strategy: The scent alone is a diplomatic weapon. * Item: Manual Ceramic Burr Grinder. * Item: Solar Power Bank (Rugged). * Priority: Critical. Keep BEP alive without relying on the shop's "enchanted" outlets (which probably run on ghosts).
[BEP ANALYSIS: Strategic acquisition complete. Combined spiritual weight: Moderate. Probability of Marikit's joy-induced screaming: 98%. Recommendation: Ensure the denim is the right size; dimensional returns are a bureaucratic nightmare.]
I tucked the goods into the Tampipi app, watching them vanish into digital stardust.
"Be careful, Pepito," Ninang called out as I walked back toward the ancestral house.
"The Sumilang house has been empty for a reason. It’s not just the walls that remember—it’s the floorboards. Don't let the shine of your new goods blind you to what’s already in the room."
I nodded, the weight of the key now feeling less like a burden and more like a challenge.
I slipped into the nearest alley behind the pawnshop. I checked for witnesses—just a stray cat judging me.
"BEP, engage transit."The air shimmered. The humid smog of Pasig tore open like wet paper, revealing the crisp, briny, impossibly clean air of Sarimanok.
The transition always felt like stepping out of a sauna into an air-conditioned mall. My ears popped.
My new shop waited up the slope. I could see the roof from here—terracotta tiles overgrown with moss, perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the harbor. It was a two-story blend of gray stone and dark narra wood. It looked dignified, lonely, and slightly menacing.And there, on the front stoop, sat a small figure.
Marikit was hugging her knees, staring at the sunrise. She looked like a gargoyle in a patchwork dress.
“Good morning, Kuya Pepito!” she called, leaping up as I approached. Her voice was bright as bell metal.
“Morning, Mari,” I said, climbing the stone steps. “You’re here early again.
Did you eat?”She hesitated. “I... I was too excited. I didn't want to miss you.”
“Rule Number One of Espiritu & Santos Trading,” I said, sitting down on the step beside her.
“A good boss brings breakfast. And a good partner never works on an empty stomach.”
I pulled out my phone. “BEP, retrieve Breakfast Protocol.”Shimmer.Steam rose into the cool morning air. Two plastic containers of Arroz Caldo materialized, along with plastic spoons.
Marikit gasped. “Whoa! The magic box makes soup now?”
“It’s a pocket dimension,” I said, cracking the lid open. The smell of ginger, toasted garlic, and patis (fish sauce) wafted out. “From Ninang Josie—a legend of cooking. Mainit ’yan (It's hot).”She took the spoon gingerly. She took a bite.Her eyes closed. Her shoulders dropped.
“Masarap!” she whispered. “It tastes like... chicken? But rich? And the rice is... broken?”
“It’s porridge. Comfort food.”We ate in silence for a while, watching the port wake up below us.
The fishermen were hauling nets. The smoke from the guild chimneys was rising.For ten minutes, there was no mission, no scary Lakanbini, no economic strategy. Just two souls sharing ginger soup on a quiet shoreline between worlds.
[User Marikit’s vital signs: Elevated endorphins. Core temperature stabilizing.][Analysis: This ‘Arroz Caldo’ is an inefficient caloric delivery system, but an effective morale booster. Logging recipe for future synthesis.]
I smiled, ignoring the AI. Some inefficiencies are holy.
When the containers were empty, I stood up and faced the door.It was a heavy double door made of ironwood, carved with the same sun-and-serpent motif as the key.
"Ready?" I asked.Marikit nodded, wiping her mouth. "Ready."I inserted the bronze key. It fit perfectly. I turned it.
Ka-chunk. Groaaaan.
The mechanism was heavy, but smooth. The door swung open, exhaling a breath of air that smelled of old paper, dry wood, and silence.
We stepped inside."Whoa," I breathed.The inside was a disaster of cobwebs and "fade-fog"—a low-hanging mist that clung to the floor—but the bones of the place were magnificent.It was a wide, open space intended for commerce. High ceilings with exposed beams. A long, L-shaped wooden counter that had been polished smooth by decades of elbows. Behind the counter were floor-to-ceiling shelves, currently empty save for dust bunnies the size of cats.Sunlight streamed through the grimy front windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust.
"It's huge," Marikit whispered, her voice echoing. "We could fit three stalls in here."
"We can fit an empire in here," I corrected.But then I saw it.In the back corner, past the counter, was a heavy oak door. It was shut tight. Unlike the rest of the room, the shadows seemed to pool around its base, darker than they should be.
Ninang Josie's words echoed in my head. Don't let the shine blind you.
"Kuya?" Marikit asked, noticing my gaze. "Is something wrong?"
I shook my head. "Just dusty. Okay, Partner. Phase One: De-contamination."I pulled out the bottle of liquid detergent and a bucket I’d bought."You handle the 'Spring Freshness,'" I said. "Scrub the counter. Scrub the floor. Make this place smell like it wasn't closed for twenty years. I'll handle the lighting."
The next three hours were a montage of labor.Marikit was a demon with a rag. She attacked the grime with a vengeance. As she scrubbed, the scent of lavender and chemical citrus fought the smell of old damp. Slowly, the wood beneath revealed a rich, honeyed glow. The "fade-fog" seemed to recoil from the smell of the detergent, retreating into the corners.
I focused on the "Tech Upgrade."I didn't want to rely on candles. I took the LED lanterns—sleek, modern, and industrial—and mounted them on the wooden pillars using heavy-duty command strips."Let there be light," I muttered.Click.
The gloom vanished. A crisp, unwavering white light flooded the shop. It was harsh compared to the soft lantern light of the town, but it was clean. It made the dust motes look like falling stars.
Marikit squealed. "It's like having a moon in the room! But brighter!"
"That's the idea," I said. "Now for the merchandise."I deployed the inventory.Cans of Ligo Sardines lined the shelves, their red labels popping against the dark wood. The packs of Pancit Canton were stacked in colorful pyramids on the counter.But the centerpiece was the coffee station. I set up the ceramic grinder and opened a bag of Batangas Barako beans. The smell of strong, dark roast hit the air, mingling with the detergent.
"That smell..." Marikit sniffed. "It's bitter. But... awake?"
"That is the smell of productivity," I said.
"Okay," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. " The shop looks good. But the staff needs an upgrade too."
I picked up the last bag from the counter."Marikit, come here."She trotted over, holding a dirty rag.
"Yes, Kuya?"
I handed her the bag. "Go to the back room—the one with the mirror, not the cellar—and put these on. Leave the dress. It's time for a uniform."
She looked at the bag, then at me. She didn't ask questions. She took it and ran into the small changing room behind the counter.
I waited, heart thumping. I hoped I got the size right. I hoped Ninang was wrong about the "consequences."
Five minutes passed.Then, the door creaked open.Marikit stepped out.She wasn't the "Post-Apocalyptic Urchin" anymore.
The indigo denim overalls fit her loosely but perfectly, cuffed at the bottom to show off the bright red sneakers. The white t-shirt was crisp against her sun-browned skin. She had tied her hair back with a piece of blue ribbon.
She walked tentatively, the rubber soles of the sneakers squeaking on the clean floor. Squeak. Squeak.
She stopped in front of the cracked silver mirror on the wall. She stared.Her mismatched eyes—one green, one violet—went wide. She touched the denim. She touched the clean white cotton. She looked at her feet, which were no longer bare and calloused, but protected.
"I have... pockets," she whispered, shoving her hands into the deep denim pockets of the overalls.
"Kuya! I have so many pockets!"She spun around, the rubber soles gripping the floor.
"I look..." Her voice trembled. "I look like a real merchant."
I walked over and crouched down. "You look like the Head of Sales for the biggest shop in the port," I corrected. "How do they feel?"
"Like armor," she said, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. "Soft armor."
[System Notification: Loyalty Level Increased to 'Unwavering'.][Note: User Marikit has equipped 'Denim of Dignity'. Charisma +10.]"Good," I said, throat tight. "Because we have a VIP coming."
The sun began to set, casting long orange shadows through the front window. The LED lanterns buzzed softly.The shop felt alive. It felt modern. It was a strange island of 21st-century convenience in a world of swords and sorcery.But as the light outside faded, I looked toward the cellar door again.The shadows under that door were blacker than the night outside. And for a second, I swore I heard a scratching sound. Skritch. Skritch.Like something testing the wood from the other side.
"Kuya?" Marikit asked, noticing my gaze. She looked sharp in her new clothes, but she instinctively moved closer to me.
"Are we ready for the Lakanbini?"I looked away from the cellar. I gripped the solar-powered power bank in my pocket like a talisman.
"Ready as we'll ever be, Mari," I said, forcing a grin. "Start grinding the beans. Let's hope the Lady of the Sarimanok likes strong coffee."
Knock. Knock. Knock.Three precise, authoritative raps on the front door.
"She's here," BEP whispered.I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Susan Sumilang stood there, bathed in the harsh white glow of my LEDs. She blinked, shielding her eyes for a moment against the electric brilliance.
"Mr. Pepito," she said, her voice cool, but her eyes scanning the transformed room with shock.
"You work... fast."
"Welcome to Sari-Sari Superstore," I said, stepping aside. "Come in. We have air conditioning. Well, we have fans, but the vibe is cool."
She stepped over the threshold.And deep below us, in the dark, something woke up.
In RPGs, "Base Building" is usually a menu screen where you click 'Upgrade.' In reality, it involves a lot more cobwebs, a bucket of soapy water, and the realization that the previous tenant might still be in the basement.The heavy bronze key from Lakanbini Susan sat cold in my palm, glinting faintly in the Pasig sunrise. It felt heavier than it should have—like a promise I hadn’t decided to make yet.
Morning in Santolan, Pasig arrived loud and nosy. Before the sun had bullied its way over the Marikina skyline, I was already standing outside Ninang Josie’s carinderia. The smell of frying garlic, boiling ginger, and diesel fumes hit me like a physical wave.
It was the scent of home—nostalgia and hunger rolled into one.
Ninang Josie was behind the counter, a whirlwind of efficiency. She was ladling Arroz Caldo (chicken rice porridge) into plastic containers while shouting orders at a delivery rider.
“Starting a catering business, anak?” she teased, pausing to wipe her brow with a small towel. “You look like you’re preparing for a siege.”
I grinned, grabbing two bottles of orange juice from the chiller. “Something like that. Ninang, I have a question. Hypothetically.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Hypothetically.”
“Are there consequences to dressing up my assistant in Earth clothes? And moving into a stone-and-brick shop with modern goods? Like... does the universe get mad?”
Ninang Josie stopped wiping her hands. Her expression turned uncharacteristically sober. She shooed the delivery rider away and leaned over the glass counter, her voice dropping to a low hum that cut through the noise of the tricycles.
“Stone and brick, huh?” she murmured. “Cliffside Street?”
I nodded.
“Listen to me, Pepito. In Sarimanok, clothes aren't just fashion. They’re a statement of intent. A uniform. If you dress that girl in the fine threads of our world, you aren’t just giving her a gift. You’re marking her.”
“Marking her?”
“You are marking her as part of the Lagusan,” she whispered. “Moving into a shop on Cliffside—especially one that belongs to the Sumilang line—means you’re no longer a visitor. You’re a resident. The 'Earth goods' you bring across carry a weight. The more you 'modernize' that shop, the more the local magic will try to 'balance' it.”
“Balance it how?”
“Shadows love bright lights, Pepito,” she said darkly. “And that house has a lot of shadows.”
She stared at me for a moment, then sighed, the tension breaking. She reached under the counter and pulled out a plastic bag.
“But,” she clucked, “you can’t have your partner looking like a rug. If you’re going to do it, do it right.”
She handed me the bag. It smelled chemically clean.“Liquid detergent,” she said. “Spring Fresh scent. If she’s going to live in a stone house, she needs to wash away the scent of the docks. First impressions are everything when you're dealing with a Lakanbini.”
“Salamat, Ninang.”
I pulled out my phone. BEP’s screen flickered to life, ready to log the inventory I had spent the last hour gathering from the nearby department store.[Inventory Acquisition Log] * For the Partner (Project: Glow-Up): * Item: Denim Overalls (Indigo). * Stats: +10 Durability, +50 Pocket Space. * Note: Tough enough for manual labor, stylish enough for a storefront. * Item: Cotton T-Shirts (White, Pack of 3). * Stats: +5 Breathability. * Note: 100% Combed Cotton. Unmistakably "Earth-made." * Item: All-Weather Sneakers (Red). * Stats: +15 Agility, +10 Ankle Support. * Ninang’s Note: "If she's going to be the face of the business, she needs to stand tall." * For the Storefront (The "Class-A" Offering): * Item: LED Camping Lanterns (Battery Op). * Stats: 500 Lumens. * Strategy: If the mages are messing with fire, sell them "Captured Sunlight." * Item: Barako Coffee Beans (Premium Roast). * Stats: +100 Aroma. * Strategy: The scent alone is a diplomatic weapon. * Item: Manual Ceramic Burr Grinder. * Item: Solar Power Bank (Rugged). * Priority: Critical. Keep BEP alive without relying on the shop's "enchanted" outlets (which probably run on ghosts).
[BEP ANALYSIS: Strategic acquisition complete. Combined spiritual weight: Moderate. Probability of Marikit's joy-induced screaming: 98%. Recommendation: Ensure the denim is the right size; dimensional returns are a bureaucratic nightmare.]
I tucked the goods into the Tampipi app, watching them vanish into digital stardust.
"Be careful, Pepito," Ninang called out as I walked back toward the ancestral house.
"The Sumilang house has been empty for a reason. It’s not just the walls that remember—it’s the floorboards. Don't let the shine of your new goods blind you to what’s already in the room."
I nodded, the weight of the key now feeling less like a burden and more like a challenge.
I slipped into the nearest alley behind the pawnshop. I checked for witnesses—just a stray cat judging me.
"BEP, engage transit."The air shimmered. The humid smog of Pasig tore open like wet paper, revealing the crisp, briny, impossibly clean air of Sarimanok.
The transition always felt like stepping out of a sauna into an air-conditioned mall. My ears popped.
My new shop waited up the slope. I could see the roof from here—terracotta tiles overgrown with moss, perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the harbor. It was a two-story blend of gray stone and dark narra wood. It looked dignified, lonely, and slightly menacing.And there, on the front stoop, sat a small figure.
Marikit was hugging her knees, staring at the sunrise. She looked like a gargoyle in a patchwork dress.
“Good morning, Kuya Pepito!” she called, leaping up as I approached. Her voice was bright as bell metal.
“Morning, Mari,” I said, climbing the stone steps. “You’re here early again.
Did you eat?”She hesitated. “I... I was too excited. I didn't want to miss you.”
“Rule Number One of Espiritu & Santos Trading,” I said, sitting down on the step beside her.
“A good boss brings breakfast. And a good partner never works on an empty stomach.”
I pulled out my phone. “BEP, retrieve Breakfast Protocol.”Shimmer.Steam rose into the cool morning air. Two plastic containers of Arroz Caldo materialized, along with plastic spoons.
Marikit gasped. “Whoa! The magic box makes soup now?”
“It’s a pocket dimension,” I said, cracking the lid open. The smell of ginger, toasted garlic, and patis (fish sauce) wafted out. “From Ninang Josie—a legend of cooking. Mainit ’yan (It's hot).”She took the spoon gingerly. She took a bite.Her eyes closed. Her shoulders dropped.
“Masarap!” she whispered. “It tastes like... chicken? But rich? And the rice is... broken?”
“It’s porridge. Comfort food.”We ate in silence for a while, watching the port wake up below us.
The fishermen were hauling nets. The smoke from the guild chimneys was rising.For ten minutes, there was no mission, no scary Lakanbini, no economic strategy. Just two souls sharing ginger soup on a quiet shoreline between worlds.
[User Marikit’s vital signs: Elevated endorphins. Core temperature stabilizing.][Analysis: This ‘Arroz Caldo’ is an inefficient caloric delivery system, but an effective morale booster. Logging recipe for future synthesis.]
I smiled, ignoring the AI. Some inefficiencies are holy.
When the containers were empty, I stood up and faced the door.It was a heavy double door made of ironwood, carved with the same sun-and-serpent motif as the key.
"Ready?" I asked.Marikit nodded, wiping her mouth. "Ready."I inserted the bronze key. It fit perfectly. I turned it.
Ka-chunk. Groaaaan.
The mechanism was heavy, but smooth. The door swung open, exhaling a breath of air that smelled of old paper, dry wood, and silence.
We stepped inside."Whoa," I breathed.The inside was a disaster of cobwebs and "fade-fog"—a low-hanging mist that clung to the floor—but the bones of the place were magnificent.It was a wide, open space intended for commerce. High ceilings with exposed beams. A long, L-shaped wooden counter that had been polished smooth by decades of elbows. Behind the counter were floor-to-ceiling shelves, currently empty save for dust bunnies the size of cats.Sunlight streamed through the grimy front windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust.
"It's huge," Marikit whispered, her voice echoing. "We could fit three stalls in here."
"We can fit an empire in here," I corrected.But then I saw it.In the back corner, past the counter, was a heavy oak door. It was shut tight. Unlike the rest of the room, the shadows seemed to pool around its base, darker than they should be.
Ninang Josie's words echoed in my head. Don't let the shine blind you.
"Kuya?" Marikit asked, noticing my gaze. "Is something wrong?"
I shook my head. "Just dusty. Okay, Partner. Phase One: De-contamination."I pulled out the bottle of liquid detergent and a bucket I’d bought."You handle the 'Spring Freshness,'" I said. "Scrub the counter. Scrub the floor. Make this place smell like it wasn't closed for twenty years. I'll handle the lighting."
The next three hours were a montage of labor.Marikit was a demon with a rag. She attacked the grime with a vengeance. As she scrubbed, the scent of lavender and chemical citrus fought the smell of old damp. Slowly, the wood beneath revealed a rich, honeyed glow. The "fade-fog" seemed to recoil from the smell of the detergent, retreating into the corners.
I focused on the "Tech Upgrade."I didn't want to rely on candles. I took the LED lanterns—sleek, modern, and industrial—and mounted them on the wooden pillars using heavy-duty command strips."Let there be light," I muttered.Click.
The gloom vanished. A crisp, unwavering white light flooded the shop. It was harsh compared to the soft lantern light of the town, but it was clean. It made the dust motes look like falling stars.
Marikit squealed. "It's like having a moon in the room! But brighter!"
"That's the idea," I said. "Now for the merchandise."I deployed the inventory.Cans of Ligo Sardines lined the shelves, their red labels popping against the dark wood. The packs of Pancit Canton were stacked in colorful pyramids on the counter.But the centerpiece was the coffee station. I set up the ceramic grinder and opened a bag of Batangas Barako beans. The smell of strong, dark roast hit the air, mingling with the detergent.
"That smell..." Marikit sniffed. "It's bitter. But... awake?"
"That is the smell of productivity," I said.
"Okay," I said, wiping sweat from my forehead. " The shop looks good. But the staff needs an upgrade too."
I picked up the last bag from the counter."Marikit, come here."She trotted over, holding a dirty rag.
"Yes, Kuya?"
I handed her the bag. "Go to the back room—the one with the mirror, not the cellar—and put these on. Leave the dress. It's time for a uniform."
She looked at the bag, then at me. She didn't ask questions. She took it and ran into the small changing room behind the counter.
I waited, heart thumping. I hoped I got the size right. I hoped Ninang was wrong about the "consequences."
Five minutes passed.Then, the door creaked open.Marikit stepped out.She wasn't the "Post-Apocalyptic Urchin" anymore.
The indigo denim overalls fit her loosely but perfectly, cuffed at the bottom to show off the bright red sneakers. The white t-shirt was crisp against her sun-browned skin. She had tied her hair back with a piece of blue ribbon.
She walked tentatively, the rubber soles of the sneakers squeaking on the clean floor. Squeak. Squeak.
She stopped in front of the cracked silver mirror on the wall. She stared.Her mismatched eyes—one green, one violet—went wide. She touched the denim. She touched the clean white cotton. She looked at her feet, which were no longer bare and calloused, but protected.
"I have... pockets," she whispered, shoving her hands into the deep denim pockets of the overalls.
"Kuya! I have so many pockets!"She spun around, the rubber soles gripping the floor.
"I look..." Her voice trembled. "I look like a real merchant."
I walked over and crouched down. "You look like the Head of Sales for the biggest shop in the port," I corrected. "How do they feel?"
"Like armor," she said, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. "Soft armor."
[System Notification: Loyalty Level Increased to 'Unwavering'.][Note: User Marikit has equipped 'Denim of Dignity'. Charisma +10.]"Good," I said, throat tight. "Because we have a VIP coming."
The sun began to set, casting long orange shadows through the front window. The LED lanterns buzzed softly.The shop felt alive. It felt modern. It was a strange island of 21st-century convenience in a world of swords and sorcery.But as the light outside faded, I looked toward the cellar door again.The shadows under that door were blacker than the night outside. And for a second, I swore I heard a scratching sound. Skritch. Skritch.Like something testing the wood from the other side.
"Kuya?" Marikit asked, noticing my gaze. She looked sharp in her new clothes, but she instinctively moved closer to me.
"Are we ready for the Lakanbini?"I looked away from the cellar. I gripped the solar-powered power bank in my pocket like a talisman.
"Ready as we'll ever be, Mari," I said, forcing a grin. "Start grinding the beans. Let's hope the Lady of the Sarimanok likes strong coffee."
Knock. Knock. Knock.Three precise, authoritative raps on the front door.
"She's here," BEP whispered.I walked to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.
Susan Sumilang stood there, bathed in the harsh white glow of my LEDs. She blinked, shielding her eyes for a moment against the electric brilliance.
"Mr. Pepito," she said, her voice cool, but her eyes scanning the transformed room with shock.
"You work... fast."
"Welcome to Sari-Sari Superstore," I said, stepping aside. "Come in. We have air conditioning. Well, we have fans, but the vibe is cool."
She stepped over the threshold.And deep below us, in the dark, something woke up.
---
Author’s Note:The "Glow-Up": Giving a character new clothes is a classic trope, but in a poverty context, it hits different. Shoes are dignity. Pockets are power.The Barako Coffee: Kapeng Barako is a liberica coffee variety grown in the Philippines. It is strong, pungent, and will wake the dead. Hopefully not literally in this case.The Cellar: Chekhov’s Gun has been loaded. Or rather, Chekhov’s Ghost.Q&A: * Why LEDs? Fire hazards in old wooden houses are real. Plus, the psychological effect of "pure white light" in a medieval setting is intimidating. * What is Arroz Caldo? It's basically a savory rice porridge with chicken, ginger, and garlic. It cures everything from the flu to a broken heart.Next Chapter: The Lakanbini tastes coffee for the first time, and the cellar door decides it doesn't want to stay closed anymore.- Author
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