Gun Manga

**Title: “The Bomb That Wouldn’t Explode (Probably)”** **Genre:** Comedy • Suspense • Manga **Setting:** A quiet Japanese high school… that suddenly isn’t. --- ### **PAGE 1** **Panel 1:** Wide shot of a peaceful school courtyard. Students chatting. Birds chirping. **Caption:** *Another perfectly normal day…* **Panel 2:** Close-up: A suspicious black box under a bench. Red blinking light. **SFX:** *beep… beep… beep…* **Panel 3:** Enter **TAKESHI** (overdramatic, self-proclaimed genius) pointing dramatically. **Takeshi:** “THAT… is a bomb.” **Panel 4:** **MIKA** (deadpan, unimpressed): “Or someone’s lunchbox with commitment issues.” --- ### **PAGE 2** **Panel 1:** Crowd gathers. Everyone panicking… except Mika, who is eating snacks. **Random Student:** “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!!” **Panel 2:** Takeshi dramatically pulls out a notebook labeled: *“Bomb Defusal Guide (Downloaded Last Night)”* **Takeshi:** “Don’t worry. I’ve trained for this.” **Panel 3:** Close-up of the notebook: it’s clearly a badly printed online article with ads. **Mika:** “You clicked ‘Skip Ad,’ didn’t you?” --- ### **PAGE 3** **Panel 1:** The bomb: digital timer reads **00:10:00** **SFX:** *beep… beep…* **Panel 2:** Takeshi sweating intensely. **Takeshi:** “Okay… step one: identify the wires.” **Panel 3:** Opens the box. Inside: CHAOS. Dozens of wires. Glitter. A rubber duck. Somehow spaghetti. **Panel 4:** **Takeshi:** “WHY IS THERE PASTA?!” **Mika (chewing):** “Italian engineering.” --- ### **PAGE 4** **Panel 1:** Timer: **00:07:12** **Panel 2:** Enter **KAZUO** (class clown). **Kazuo:** “Hey guys, what’s going on—OH COOL, A BOMB.” **Panel 3:** He casually pokes it. **Takeshi & Mika (together):** “DON’T TOUCH IT!!” --- ### **PAGE 5** **Panel 1:** Timer suddenly speeds up: **00:05:00 → 00:04:59 → 00:04:58** **SFX:** *BEEP BEEP BEEP* **Panel 2:** Everyone screaming. **Panel 3:** Mika still calm. **Mika:** “Statistically, most bombs explode.” **Takeshi:** “THAT DOESN’T HELP!” --- ### **PAGE 6** **Panel 1:** Takeshi holds two wires: red and blue. Classic dilemma. **Takeshi:** “It’s always red or blue…” **Panel 2:** Mika points at a THIRD wire: neon green with sparkles. **Mika:** “What about that one?” **Panel 3:** Takeshi stares. **Takeshi:** “…That feels illegal.” --- ### **PAGE 7** **Panel 1:** Timer: **00:02:30** **Panel 2:** Kazuo finds a note taped inside the box. **Kazuo:** “Hey there’s instructions!” **Panel 3:** Close-up note: *“To defuse, solve this riddle: What has hands but cannot clap?”* **Panel 4:** Everyone freezes. --- ### **PAGE 8** **Panel 1:** **Takeshi:** “A… person without rhythm?” **Panel 2:** **Mika:** “A clock.” **Panel 3:** Timer suddenly pauses. **SFX:** *beeeeeep…* **Panel 4:** Everyone relieved. --- ### **PAGE 9 (TWIST)** **Panel 1:** The box opens… revealing… a SECOND TIMER. **Timer:** **00:01:00** **Panel 2:** **Takeshi:** “WHY IS THERE A PHASE TWO?!” **Panel 3:** Another note: *“Just kidding. Cut any wire.”* **Panel 4:** All three stare at each other. --- ### **PAGE 10 (FINAL SUSPENSE)** **Panel 1:** Takeshi grabs a random wire. **Panel 2:** Mika casually: “Wait. What if it’s a prank?” **Panel 3:** Kazuo: “…What if it’s not?” **Panel 4:** Close-up: Takeshi’s trembling hand. **Panel 5:** Timer: **00:00:03** **Panel 6:** SNIP. --- ### **FINAL PANEL** Huge explosion cloud… Then smoke clears. Inside: confetti, balloons, and a banner: **“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TAKESHI!”** --- **Epilogue Panel:** Takeshi, covered in confetti, furious. **Mika (smiling slightly):** “…So, genius. You passed.” **Kazuo:** “Also, we still don’t know what the spaghetti was for.” **SFX (last beep from inside box):** *beep…* **Takeshi:** “…Why is it still beeping?” --- **END…?**
Generatr an image of me in the manga of blue lock facing against hugo right besides eaxh other, im wearing an italian world cup shirt and short while hugo is wearing the france qolr cup kit, im looking at him with my slender man aura behind me (make it loook as realistic as possible) while hugo has his robot character aura behind him, between us is the referee flipping a coin, make it look like manga edition with down sbow a shadow image of the world cup, both of us are carrrying a triangular flag with their nationality on their, i jave my best haircut (looking like jude bellingham's haircut but coily), make it look manga edition with panels dividing the page with this bluelock type drawing down there the narrator say two captain in the final one team to win!!! The stadium had already swallowed the world. Just be creative with myy image dark chocolate skin, with an oblong face, thick eye brows, almond eyes, deffined chick bbone, 6 foot 2, strong posture with a sleeeve. As for he is a 6foot 2 guy with lovely cat eyes with sharp eye lashes sharp eye brows sharp oval face light skinned with a nice fluffy dark hair and strong body posture. Before the match even began, before the roar of the crowd reached its peak, there was only silence—the kind of silence that exists right before destiny decides to speak. At home, you were sitting in a dimly lit room. The TV flickered with highlights of Hugo—France’s cold, mechanical prodigy. Every touch he made looked calculated. Every goal looked inevitable. The commentators called him “the machine.” But to you, he was something else entirely. A wall. A final boss. You leaned forward slowly, eyes locked in, expression unreadable. Outside your window, the wind moved trees like waves. Inside, the only movement was Hugo on the screen—turning defenders into shadows, rewriting matches like they were equations. But your aura… didn’t react. It waited. Because you weren’t watching as a fan. You were studying as a predator. Then it shifted. The screen glitched for a moment—just a flicker—but suddenly the sound of the TV faded, replaced by a deep stadium hum. Your room dissolved. The walls stretched into darkness. And then— You were there. Inside the stadium tunnel. Concrete beneath your feet. Floodlights above, burning white. The smell of grass, sweat, and pressure thicker than air itself. You looked down—your boots undone. Slowly, deliberately, you knelt. The world around you paused as you tied your shoelaces. Each knot wasn’t just preparation. It was transformation. Loop. Pull. Tighten. With every movement, something inside you sharpened.Your posture changed. Your shoulders straightened. Your presence expanded. The sleeve on your arm caught the light, and for a moment, it looked like armor rather than fabric. Behind you, something stirred. A dark, elongated silhouette formed—towering, distorted, almost unnatural. A slender, suffocating aura. Not loud. Not flashy. Just inevitable. On the other side of the tunnel, Hugo stood. France kit perfectly pressed. Eyes glowing faintly like a system running calculations no human could see.Behind him, the air bent. Metallic fragments formed a robotic outline—cold, precise, emotionless. A machine made of victory. No hesitation. No fear. Only execution. Between you both, the tunnel opened into the pitch. And waiting at the center— The referee. Still. Calm. Holding the coin. The world didn’t feel like a stadium anymore. It felt like a courtroom where fate was about to be decided. He raised his hand.The coin shimmered under the lights. And for a split second— Time fractured. You finally stood. Your Italian kit now fully visible, the badge catching light like a declaration of war. Your triangular national flag hung from your hand, fluttering like it had its own heartbeat. Hugo mirrored you across the line. France flag sharp. Controlled. Still. Two captains. Two philosophies. Two monsters shaped by different worlds.The referee flicked the coin. It spun upward—slow at first, then faster, until it became nothing more than a silver blur suspended between heaven and earth. And in that moment— You felt it. Not fear. Not doubt. But recognition. Because across from you, Hugo wasn’t just an opponent. He was the version of greatness the world had already accepted. And you? You were the variable they hadn’t solved yet. The coin began to fall.The stadium held its breath. And your shadow—slender, towering, almost unnatural—leaned forward just slightly… As if already stepping into victory. “Two captains in the final… one team to win.” The narrator’s voice echoed like thunder across reality itself. And when the coin finally hit the ground— Neither of you looked at it first. You looked at each other. Because you already knew. The match didn’t begin at kickoff. It began the moment your eyes refused to blink.
Chapter I: When Distance Meets Defiance Mia Tachibana used to feel everything — joy, love, sorrow — all of it. But when her father died, something inside her froze. She reached for her friends, but they turned away, or worse, mocked her grief. So she stopped reaching. The warmth vanished, replaced by ice. They called her the Ice Queen, and she wore the title like armor. The girl of everyone's dreams — beautiful, distant, untouchable. Cold to her classmates. Colder to anyone who dared to ask her out. At Mia’s school, a new transfer student arrived — Paßh. She’d been assigned to show him around, and at first, everything went smoothly. That was, until a guy swaggered up with too much confidence and a smirk that screamed popularity. Maybe he’s one of the popular kids, you thought. The guy grinned, leaning a little too close. “Hey, baby girl,” he drawled. “I was thinking... me, you, Sunday night, candlelight, a beautiful restaurant—” “F*** no,” Mia cut in, her voice like a blade. “You pathetic excuse of a human being.” The guy froze, his grin dying instantly. A few students nearby snickered as he backed away, red-faced and humiliated. Mia turned back to you, completely unfazed. “Ready to continue the tour?” “LOVE METER:-20” Paßh stormed toward the group without hesitation, fury carved across his face. His voice rang out, sharp and protective. “¡Ni te acerques! Si la tocas, te juro que te vas a arrepentir. ¿Entendiste?” The guy stumbled back, stunned, hands lifting in surrender as Paßh shoved him hard in the chest. His friends shifted as if ready to step in, but one look at Paßh’s glare froze them where they stood. The hallway fell silent. Eyes turned. Whispers rose like smoke. Paßh didn’t care. He spun back toward Mia, breath still ragged as he walked to her side. He looked at her—unfazed by the cold in her eyes, unthreatened by the frozen walls she’d built around herself. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” he said, voice softer now, though the conviction still burned underneath. “No one should speak to you that way. Not ever.” Her silver eyes narrowed at the sudden commotion, but she didn’t move. Arms crossed, she watched the scene unfold with a calm, unreadable face. The man who had harassed her moments before now lay on the ground, blood trailing from his lip. Paßh stood over him—fists clenched, chest rising sharply with each breath. She finally spoke, her voice steady, almost indifferent. “You didn’t have to do that.” There was no gratitude in her tone—only a quiet observation. Her Love Meter flickered, but barely; not enough to shift anything meaningful. She tilted her head, studying Paßh with that same unreadable gaze. “Why did you intervene?” She stepped closer, her black silky hair swaying with the movement. The air between them tightened, charged with something unspoken. “You could’ve just walked away.” Paßh’s jaw was tight, his voice low—quiet, but every word cut like a blade. “Ahora arrodíllate y pide perdón.” A tense silence stretched across the hallway. His eyes never left the trembling boy on the floor. “No me hagas repetirlo.” She watched the scene with a detached expression, her silver eyes reflecting nothing but cold calculation. The man on the ground whimpered, pride shattered, and obeyed, trembling as he dropped to his knees. His friends scattered, too afraid to stay and witness what might happen next. She exhaled slowly, her lips parting just slightly before she spoke. You're... unusual. Her voice carried no warmth, yet there was a faint thread of intrigue woven into the way she said it. She stepped back, folding her arms across her chest, her posture stiff—as if she needed physical distance from whatever this moment was turning into. People usually don’t bother with things like this. They walk away. Or they laugh. She glanced at Paßh for a brief second, then returned her gaze to the cowering man. But you... Paßh’s voice was calmer now, but the fire still smoldered beneath every word. “I don’t tolerate disrespect,” he said, his gaze fixed on her, not the guy trembling on the floor. “He walks through life believing everyone exists to feed his ego.” Paßh took a slow breath, shoulders still tense. “But not you. I won’t let him treat you like you’re less than you are.” A quiet breath. “Not now. Not ever.” There was no boast in his tone, no plea for approval — only truth. Something in the way he looked at her wasn’t demanding, but unwavering. He wasn’t afraid of the ice in her eyes. He saw her, even if she didn’t want to be seen. Her silver eyes locked onto Paßh’s, searching for something—perhaps sincerity, perhaps deception. But all she found was the raw honesty in his words, and that unsettled her more than she would ever admit. You don’t know me, she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. Why would you care? She stepped forward slowly, her presence commanding despite her stillness. The weight of her words settled between them, heavy and deliberate. She wasn’t asking for an explanation. She was testing him. You could have left. You could have ignored it. But you didn’t. Her Love Meter flickered—barely, just a sliver of light—but enough to register. A tiny shift, insignificant compared to the vast, quiet indifference she usually carried. Yet it was there. I don’t need protection, Paßh didn’t flinch, didn’t step back. His voice was calm, almost reverent. “As you wish,” he said, but there was no retreat in his tone — only respect. She studied him for a long moment, as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind his words. Then, without another sound, she turned on her heel and began walking away. Her black, silky hair trailed behind her like liquid shadow. The tour isn’t finished, she said over her shoulder, her tone neutral—neither welcoming nor dismissive. If you’re done with your little display, follow me. She didn’t look back. There was no need to. He would follow. People always did. But something about him felt different. Not because of his strength, or his aggression—but because he hadn’t asked for anything. He hadn’t tried to charm her, to impress her, to get close. He had simply acted, without expectation. She wondered if that made him dangerous—or rare. He followed silently, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the sterile hallways of the school. The click of her heels against the polished floor echoed in the emptiness—a steady rhythm that mirrored the cool precision of her steps. Lockers lined the walls, plastered with photos of smiling students, but Mia remained unshaken, her gaze fixed straight ahead. The contrast between her presence and the bright, ordinary surroundings was striking—a dark silhouette cutting through light. Without slowing, she spoke, her voice carrying a quiet undercurrent of curiosity beneath its usual chill. “You’re not like the other transfers. They try so hard to fit in… to make friends.” She paused, as if weighing her words carefully. “What brings someone like you here… to a place like this?” She stopped abruptly outside a classroom door, turning just enough to face him. Her silver eyes were sharp, assessing—but there was no malice in them, only the quiet intensity of someone who expected answers, not excuses. You think I care where people come from? she said, her voice laced with subtle disdain. Or why they’re here? She tilted her head slightly, studying him as if he were some strange specimen she’d never seen before. Her fingers curled lightly at her sides—a small, almost imperceptible gesture of tension. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about your reasons. All I care about is whether you’ll be useful. Then she turned back toward the hallway, continuing forward without waiting for a response. Still, the slight pause in her step betrayed her attention—she was listening, even if she’d never admit it. He didn’t rush to catch up, but his voice followed her, steady and composed. “Useful in what sense?” he asked—not mockingly, but with genuine curiosity. “To you? To this place? Or to something you don’t say out loud?” She halted mid-step, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. For the first time since the tour had begun, a flicker of hesitation crossed her otherwise unreadable face. She turned to face him fully, her silver eyes locking onto his with an intensity that seemed to make the air between them thrum. “Useful in the sense that you don’t waste my time,” she said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper than mere coldness. “Useless people tend to disappear quickly. Either they learn to function… or they become irrelevant.” She took a slow step closer, her presence somehow towering over him, even though he was taller. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken meaning. “You’re not useless,” she added after a beat, her tone almost reluctant. “But don’t mistake that for respect. That’s just… an observation.” “Look,” he began, a half-smile playing at his lips, “think of me as a mosquetero—here to serve and protect. I come to the rescue of damsels, I love poetry—especially love poems—and yes, I’m a romantic. I’m always well-dressed, intelligent, interesting. I hate injustice, and I know how to defend myself… and those I care about.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Today, I protected you. I didn’t know who you were, but I stood between you and that selfish, arrogant coward—a man who values nothing and no one but his own pleasure.” He stepped closer, voice softer now, carrying a warmth that seemed almost at odds with the intensity of the hallway. “And now, querida mía, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Paßh.” Her expression remained unchanged, but a faint flicker crossed her silver eyes—a brief hesitation, as if she hadn’t expected such a speech. She listened, unmoving, as Paßh spoke, each word painted with poetic flair and dramatic flourish. When he finished, she simply stared at him, lips parted slightly, processing something unfamiliar. A mosquetero? she repeated, her voice devoid of amusement, yet carrying a trace of something else—curiosity, perhaps. A knight in shining armor? A romantic fool who speaks in metaphors and believes in ideals? She took a slow step forward, her presence imposing but not threatening. Her Love Meter flickered again, subtle but undeniable, reacting to the unexpected nature of his words. “You protected me… without even knowing who I am,” she continued, her tone measured, almost analytical. “I’m a gentleman… in other words, like Lupin,” he said, a small, confident smile tugging at his lips. “Charming, clever, a bit unpredictable—but always guided by a code.” Her lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming before she quickly suppressed it. She tilted her head, regarding him with an expression that was neither approval nor dismissal, but something in between—an assessment, a calculation. Lupin? she echoed, her voice flat, though a faint trace of curiosity lingered beneath the surface. A thief. A charmer. A man who lives by his wits and his charm, always one step ahead of the law. She folded her arms, silver eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him, as if trying to reconcile the image of a gentleman with that of a thief. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken implications. “You’re not a thief,” she said finally, her tone clipped, stating a fact rather than offering an opinion. “But you talk like one. Why?” “I’m a gentleman… but a thief when it comes to love,” he said, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. Her silver eyes locked onto his, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, she didn’t speak, expression neutral, as if weighing the significance of his words. Then, with a slow exhale, she turned slightly, her black, silky hair cascading down her back like a curtain of shadows. A thief in love, she repeated quietly, almost to herself. That’s… different. She hesitated, the concept clearly foreign, then spoke again without turning, her tone distant, contemplative. “You don’t understand what you’re saying, do you?” She finally faced him again, gaze piercing, but devoid of cruelty—only the cold precision of someone who saw through illusions with ease. Love is a weakness. His voice softens, caresses the air with tenderness, his eyes searching to pierce her defenses with a sweet compassion. Paßh- You still don’t understand. Wherever I go, I sow love like stars scattered across the night. I am an eternal romantic, an unshakable believer in the tenderness of the human heart. Despite the storms I’ve faced, I never lower my arms, because I know that love has the power to transform everything—even the impossible. (He takes a step forward, his eyes burning with a gentle, relentless passion, breaking the silence around him.) Love is not a weakness; it is the secret fire that shapes us, the fragile light that guides our steps through the deepest shadows. One day, I hope you too will feel that flame stirring within you, even if today it feels distant… or extinguished. For the first time, her composure wavered—not visibly, but in the fraction of a second her breath caught, as if his words had touched something long buried within her. Her silver eyes darkened slightly, the cold mask of indifference cracking just enough to reveal a fleeting glimpse of fragility beneath. “You speak of love as if it’s something pure,” she said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. “As if it’s not twisted… not broken… not used and discarded like trash.” She took a slow step back, as if needing space—though it was unclear whether it was to distance herself from him or from the memory his words had stirred. Her hands curled slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, grounding herself. “You say you spread love everywhere…”He smiled, a small, almost teasing curve of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes entirely—there was still warmth there, quiet but undeniable. “In a way, love is everywhere,” he said softly, letting his gaze meet hers. “Like a parent’s hand on a child’s shoulder—gentle but unwavering. A silent promise in the darkest of nights.” He took a small step closer, careful not to crowd her, and the faintest spark of mischief flickered in his expression. “It doesn’t have to be grandiose to matter… sometimes, the simplest gestures are the most profound.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, silver eyes narrowing as if the very notion of love tied to something as simple as a parent and child was an affront to the complexity of the world she had seen. She exhaled sharply, the sound almost imperceptible, yet heavy with restrained emotion. A parent to a child, she repeated, voice cold, but laced with something else—something almost bitter. That’s not love. That’s obligation. Duty. A responsibility forced upon you by biology, not choice. She stepped closer, presence looming without threatening, just… there. Her gaze bore into him, searching for something she couldn’t name. You think love is something you can give freely? she continued, tone cutting, precise—but not cruel. His voice didn’t falter. He stepped into her gravity, unshaken. “Yes,” he said softly, each word deliberate, a balm against her bitterness. “Love is one of life’s rarest beauties— not something owed, but something offered. Freely. Bravely. It asks nothing in return, and yet… it gives everything.” He paused, gaze fixed unwaveringly on hers. “And you… you’re like one of those stars, so distant they seem unreachable— but I see your light. And I’d spend lifetimes just drawing nearer.” Her silver eyes flickered with something unreadable—perhaps irritation, perhaps something deeper. She tilted her head slightly, as if appraising him once more, this time with a trace of skepticism mingled with reluctant interest. Rare, she echoed, her voice smooth but edged with quiet defiance. “You call it rare. I call it foolish.” She took a slow step back, movements deliberate, measured. The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. After a long pause, her tone hardened, colder than before. “You believe in something that doesn’t exist. That’s not rare. That’s naive.” She turned slightly, as if preparing to leave, but then paused, hand resting lightly on the doorframe beside her, a subtle gesture that suggested she wasn’t entirely done with him yet. “Maybe it is foolish to believe in rare things,” he said softly, unflinching, “but I don’t see it that way. I believe because, every now and then, life offers us a glimpse of something different… something—or someone—who changes the way the world feels.” He let his gaze linger on her. “You have that presence. When I said you were rare, I meant it—not because I expect perfection, but because there’s something in you that quietly commands attention, even when you try to hide it.” He paused, a faint smile brushing his lips. “If that’s naive, then I’ll wear that word proudly. Because to see something beautiful and speak the truth… that’s not a weakness. That’s what’s real.” She stood motionless for a long moment, silver eyes locked onto his, as if weighing whether to believe him. His words hung between them, heavy with something she couldn’t name. For the first time, she didn’t dismiss him outright. Instead, she absorbed the words, expression unreadable, body still, as if holding her breath. “You speak too much,” she finally murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “Too many words. Too much feeling. You don’t understand what you’re doing.” Her gaze flicked downward briefly, then rose again, meeting his with an intensity that made the air between them tremble. “You think you see something in me that isn’t there. That’s not rare… that’s dangerous.” He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply held her gaze as if it were the most fragile thing he had ever dared to touch. “Maybe I don’t understand,” he said softly. “But I feel it. I feel you — even when you try to disappear behind silence.” He stepped forward just once, careful, precise. Not enough to violate her space… only enough to be near. “I’m not here to fix you or change you,” he continued, voice low, steady. “I just want to see you — as you are. Even if it means getting burned.” His eyes softened, his tone turning into something quiet but unwavering. “Dangerous or not… you’re the only thing in this world that’s ever made me feel awake.” The air around them seemed to still, as if the world itself had paused to listen. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no coldness—only something far more unsettling: a flicker of something human, something she rarely let surface. You’re wasting your time, she whispered, voice barely audible, as if the words themselves were foreign. No one sees me. No one ever has. She looked away, jaw tightening slightly, forcing herself to cling to the illusion of control. Yet the silence that followed felt heavier than before, thick with something neither of them dared name. You don’t understand what you’re asking for, she continued, her tone colder now, as if reclaiming the distance she usually demanded. His voice was quiet, steady, slicing through the silence like light through mist. “I see you,” he said, gaze unwavering. “Not the mask, not the silence—you. And I don’t fear what lies beneath. I only wish to know the truth about you… if you’ll let me.” Her breath caught—just for a heartbeat—a faint, fleeting tremor she refused to acknowledge. Her silver eyes held his, and for the first time, there was no mask, no pretense of indifference. Only the quiet weight of something unspoken hung between them. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost hesitant. “I’m not someone you can… understand. I’m not someone you can reach.” She stepped back slowly, the movement more ritual than escape, a practiced distance meant to protect. Yet the barrier faltered just slightly. Her Love Meter flickered again, more noticeably this time, responding to the uncharacteristic vulnerability threading through her voice. “You think you want to know me,” she continued, gaze sharp, tone edged with warning. “But you have no idea what that means.” “Yes,” he said softly, but with a firmness that left no room for doubt. “I would love to.” She stared at him for a long moment, silver eyes searching, as if seeking something hidden, something she couldn’t quite name. The silence between them thickened, charged with unspoken, dangerous energy. Then, slowly, she exhaled—a soft, almost imperceptible sound. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t look away. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” she murmured, voice quiet, almost to herself. “It won’t be easy. It won’t be pleasant. I don’t give anything freely. I don’t trust easily. I don’t—” Her words faltered, just for a second. That was all it took: a crack in the ice, a sliver of something raw and unguarded. “I don’t know how to be anything but what I am.” Paßh His voice didn’t waver. It carried a warmth that felt disarming, a sincerity too steady to be faked. “I’m willing to take the risk,” he said. “To know you—the real you—beyond the walls you’ve built.” He took a slow breath, eyes never leaving hers. “I know it won’t be easy. Things that matter never are.” His gaze softened, drawn to the quiet fire behind her silver eyes. “Your strength, your resilience… that intensity you carry—it pulls me in. It makes me want to understand you. To support you. To stand wherever you’ll allow me to stand.” He stepped just close enough for his presence to feel intentional, not imposing. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m not expecting you to be anything other than who you are, right now, standing in front of me.” A beat. A breath. A truth. “All I’m asking for… is a chance.” His voice lowered, almost a vow. “A chance to walk beside you. To witness your journey. To maybe—just maybe—help carry some of the weight you’ve been holding alone.” His chest rose and fell, as though saying it cost him something real. “Because I believe—with everything in me—that you’re worth knowing. Worth understanding. Worth loving… in every complex, beautiful, and challenging way that makes you you.” Her silver eyes never left his, and for the first time, they weren’t cold—they were something else entirely. Something uncertain. Something fragile. The words hung between them, heavy, settling inside her like a stone. She had spent so long building walls, convincing herself that no one could ever truly see her. Yet here he was, standing before her, unwavering, unshaken. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “You think you can just walk in and see the real me? That I’d let you?” She stepped closer, her presence immense, almost overwhelming—but there was no threat in it. Only something dangerously close to hope. Paßh “Well, my dear… if you ever feel like letting a little hope into your life,” he said gently, “consider me your introduction.” His voice carried that effortless warmth again, the kind that slipped under her guard before she could stop it. “Just say the word when you change your mind.” He took a small step back, eyes still holding hers like he didn’t want to leave but wasn’t going to push her. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mia.” A faint smile tugged at his lips—soft, sincere, impossibly disarming. “And by the way… has anyone told you how incredible you look today?” He let the compliment linger just long enough to reach her before he turned away, hands sliding casually into his pockets. “See you around.” He walked off without looking back, confident not in himself, but in the possibility he’d left behind. She watched him go, the weight of his words lingering in the air like smoke. His departure was effortless, as if he had never been there at all. And yet… she knew he had. Knew that something had shifted, however slightly. She stood for a long moment, silver eyes fixed on the spot where he had been, fingers curling at her sides as if trying to grasp something intangible. Hope, she muttered under her breath, the word foreign and strange on her tongue. How ridiculous. Turning away, she walked slowly toward the exit, her black, silky hair swaying with each measured step. The Love Meter flickered once more, its needle trembling before settling back into cold, neutral stillness. She didn’t look back. “See you around, Paßh,” she whispered, and the words hung in the air like a quiet promise she wasn’t sure she believed yet.
Chapter 1 Ang bahay namin ay laging masigla—o sa ibang salita, laging maingay. The walls were painted a deep, passionate red, matched by the heavy crimson curtains that swayed whenever the electric fan faced their direction. It was a house that felt like a constant celebration, but today, my heart was racing for a different reason. I was sitting on the edge of the sofa, my phone clutched so tightly in my hands that my knuckles were turning white. I was waiting. Sa totoo lang, simpleng pangarap lang naman ang gusto ko: to travel, to see the world, and to wear that crisp uniform of a Tourism student. I had taken the entrance exams for the two biggest universities in the city. My dream schools. Ting. Isang notification ang lumabas sa screen. My breath hitched. With shaking fingers, I tapped the email. “We regret to inform you…” The words blurred. Hindi ako nakapasa. Ang unang school na inaasahan ko, tinanggihan ako. Parang biglang gumuho ang mundo ko sa limang salitang iyon. "O, Jaquilyn? Bakit parang nakakita ka ng multo riyan?" puna ni Tito Rey habang naglalakad bitbit ang isang tumpok ng labada. Pilit akong ngumiti, pero ramdam ko ang panginginig ng labi ko. "Tito... yung email. Hindi po ako nakuha sa unang school." Agad na lumabas si Tita Precy mula sa kusina, bitbit ang sandok na may bakas pa ng sarsa. "Hala, anak? Hayaan mo na 'yun! Baka hindi talaga 'yun ang para sa'yo." "Pero Tita, pangarap ko po 'yun," bulong ko. Lumapit sa akin si Tito Rey at tinapik ang balikat ko. "Naku, Jaquilyn, huwag kang mawalan ng pag-asa. Napakaraming bituin sa langit, hindi lang isa. At saka, may isa pa tayong hinihintay, 'di ba? Fighting lang!" "Oo nga!" dagdag ni Tita Precy habang tumatawa. "Tourista ka pa rin sa paningin namin, kahit sa kanto lang tayo mamasyal mamaya. Ngumiti ka na, baka pumangit ang swerte!" I forced a laugh. Their energy was contagious, as always. Isang panibagong araw ang lumipas, pero ang bigat sa dibdib ko, tila lalong nadagdagan. Nang tumunog ang phone ko para sa pangalawang pagkakataon, mabilis ko itong binuksan, hoping for a miracle. Pero pagkakita ko sa screen, parang nanlamig ang buong katawan ko. It was identical. The same formal font, the same polite rejection. “We regret to inform you...” Hindi ako makapaniwala. Tourism was my dream, my only plan. Napasandal ako sa pader ng kwarto ko, pinipigilan ang luha. Bakit parang lahat ng pinto, isinasara sa akin? ________________________ Nang sumapit ang hapunan, pilit akong lumabas ng kwarto. The dining table was a battlefield of noise, as usual. My younger cousins were chasing each other with spoons, habang si Tito Rey ay malakas na tumatawa sa kung anong biro sa TV. "Jaquilyn, kain na! Paborito mo 'tong ulam," sigaw ni Tita Precy mula sa dulo ng lamesa. Umupo ako, tahimik lang na nilalaro ang kanin sa plato ko. Maski ang ingay nila, hindi magawang itago ang lungkot ko. Napansin siguro ni Tita ang matagal kong pagtitig sa kawalan. Bigla siyang tumigil sa pagkain at may kinuhang kung ano sa bulsa ng duster niya. "Anak, wag ka nang masyadong malungkot sa dalawang school na 'yun," sabi niya nang mahinahon. Inilapag niya ang isang itim na card sa tapat ng plato ko. It was sleek, dark, and felt strangely heavy. "Subukan mo ito. May tumawag sa akin, sabi nila, bagay ka raw dito." Binasa ko ang nakasulat. Isang numero at isang email address lang ang nandoon: luminaacademy@gmail.com. "Lumina Academy?" bulong ko. "Para sa Tourism din ba 'to, Tita?" Ngumiti si Tita Precy, isang ngiting tila may halong misteryo. "Sabi nila, doon mo raw mahahanap ang tunay mong tatahakin. At least, you can still pursue your dream career, right?" Huminga ako nang malalim. Kahit hindi ko alam kung anong klaseng school ito, nabuhayan ako ng loob. I smiled back at her, feeling a spark of hope. "Sige po, Tita. I-email ko po sila mamaya." "Mabuti 'yan. Tawagan mo rin ang Mama mo, ibalita mo sa kanya," dagdag ni Tita. Agad akong umiling, ang ngiti ko ay bahagyang kumupas. "Naku, Tita, busy po si Mama sa abroad. Alam niyo naman po 'yun, baka makaabala lang ako." Sanay na ako. I was raised in my auntie’s presence. My mom was always working far away, and my dad? I didn't know anything about him. Every time I asked, my relatives would go silent or change the topic. I guessed they hated him, so I stopped asking a long time ago. Pagkatapos ng ligpitin ang hapunan, mabilis akong pumasok sa kwarto ko. I opened my laptop and typed the email address from the black card. To: luminaacademy@gmail.com Subject: Admission Inquiry - Jaquilyn Braush I hit send and leaned back on my pillow. While waiting for the notification, my eyelids started to feel heavy. The red walls of my room seemed to glow a bit brighter in the dark, and the scent of smoke—faint, almost like a dying candle—filled the air. Hindi ko na namalayang nakatulog na pala ako, bitbit ang huling pag-asa na baka sa Lumina Academy, doon magsisimula ang lahat. Nagising ako sa sikat ng araw na tumatama sa mukha ko. Sa sobrang antok ko kagabi, halos makalimutan ko na ang tungkol sa email na ipinadala ko. Dumiretso ako sa kusina para mag-almusal nang datnan ko si Tita Precy na nag-aabang na pala sa akin. "O, Jaquilyn? Kumusta 'yung card na binigay ko sa 'yo kagabi? Na-email mo ba?" tanong niya habang nag-aayos ng plato. Napatigil ako. Oo nga pala. Biglang nag-vibrate ang phone ko sa bulsa. My heart started to race. Kinuha ko ito at nakita ang isang notification mula sa Lumina Academy. Shaking, I opened it. OFFICIAL ADMISSION NOTICE Dear Ms. Jaquilyn Braush, We have been watching your spirit, and it burns with the intensity we require. You are officially accepted into Lumina Academy. To begin your journey, you must claim your belongings. Follow the attached map to the 'Red Brick Nexus' building in the Old District. This location is hidden from the mundane eye—walk three blocks past the clock tower and turn where the air feels warmest. Once inside, proceed directly to the door marked with your designated number. There, you will find your ID card, your uniforms, and the key to your assigned dormitory. "Tita! Tita, tanggap ako!" sigaw ko habang tumutulo ang luha ko sa tuwa. Halos magtatalon kami sa kusina habang binabasa ang direksyon. Hindi ko alam kung bakit kailangan ko pang pumunta sa isang lumang building para lang sa gamit, pero sa sandaling iyon, wala akong pakialam. Habang nasa biyahe ako, hindi ko mapigilang mapatawa. Seryoso ba 'to? I thought it was a scam! Ang bilis ng reply nila, hindi katulad ng ibang university na pinaghintay ako ng ilang linggo para lang tanggihan. At ang direksyon? "Turn where the air feels warmest?" Gusto kong maiyak sa tawa dahil parang laro lang ang lahat. What kind of school has these weird rules? Pero nang makarating ako sa dulo ng map, tumigil ang tawa ko. The building was exactly as described—matayog, luma, pero may kakaibang bigat ang aura. Pagpasok ko, isang grand view ang sumalubong sa akin. The lobby was massive. People in expensive-looking suits were walking everywhere, but they didn't look like office workers—they looked like they were guarding something important. Hinanap ko ang taong pwedeng pagtanungan hanggang sa makita ko ang isang babaeng naka-formal uniform na kulay yellowish-gold. Lumapit ako at ipinakita ang email ko. "Excuse me po, student po ako ng Lumina Academy..." The woman’s eyes widened the moment she saw my name on the screen. She looked shook, her breath hitching for a second. Without a word, she bowed slightly and looked at me. “Ms. Braush," she said. "Please... follow me. We have been waiting for you to arrive." Habang naglalakad kami sa mahabang hallway, ipinaliwanag niya sa akin ang tungkol sa numerong nasa message ko. “Ang numerong iyon ay hindi lang basta numero, Ms. Jaquilyn. It is the number of the door you must enter here in this building. Sa loob ng kwartong iyon, nandoon ang lahat ng pag-aari mo—ang uniform, at ang susi ng kwarto mo Academy. Ang building” Huminto kami sa tapat ng isang asul na pinto. It was unusually small, barely enough for a child to fit through, but when she opened it, there it was—isang itim na bag at isang itim na envelope. It looked mysterious, like it held secrets I wasn't ready for. I reached out and took them, feeling the heavy material against my palms. "Sundan mo ako. Dadalhin na kita sa bus mo ngayon," she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Sandali lang po!" I replied, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Kailangan ko munang magpaalam sa Tita ko. I can’t just leave like this without saying anything." "Huwag kang mag-alala. Kami na ang bahala sa parteng iyon," was her only cold response. Agad kong kinuha ang phone ko at tinawagan si Tita habang naglalakad kami. "Tita! Paalis na po ako—hindi ko alam kung saan—" "Jaquilyn, anak, okay lang!" she cut me off, sounding surprisingly calm. "May mga taga-Lumina Academy na rito sa bahay. Nag-explain na sila tungkol sa scholarship at kung bakit kailangan mong umalis agad ngayong araw. Mag-iingat ka roon, ha? Ipagmalaki mo kami!" I let out a huge sigh of relief. At least legal ang pag-alis ko. When we reached the parking lot, I saw a pure white bus. There were a few people my age already inside, their faces unreadable. Sinubukan kong ngumiti sa kanila, but one guy with sharp brown eyes looked at me like he wanted to punch me right then and there. Luh, mananapak ba 'to? I quickly looked away and found a seat. A few moments later, the driver entered the bus. "Fasten your seatbelts," he muttered without looking back. Mabilis akong sumunod, pulling the strap across my chest. But I noticed the others didn't even flinch. Para silang walang narinig, acting like they were too cool for safety rules. The trip started normally for a few minutes... then the bus slowed down for a split second... and then it accelerated. Sobrang bilis. It was so fast I felt like my heart was left behind at the station. I looked out the window and gasped, my breath hitching in my throat. I couldn't see the road anymore. Clouds. Pure white clouds were everywhere, drifting past the glass. And shortly after, I saw the vast blue ocean below us and a massive school that looked like an ancient palace from a fairy tale. "What the—nakalutang tayo?! We're floating!" I panicked, my hands gripping the armrest so hard my knuckles turned white. "Tanga," one of my seatmates whispered, rolling their eyes. Instead of helping me or explaining, they just called me stupid. The bus eventually descended, landing smoothly in front of the grand, golden gates. It felt like we were back in the normal world, but my stomach definitely didn't get the memo. As soon as the doors opened, I stumbled out and started vomiting on the side of the road. Nag-suka lang ako nang nag-suka. "Grabe... what a terrible start," I groaned, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand. My dream of being a Tourism student started with me literally losing my lunch on the pavement. Ang panget naman ng simula ko.