alpas

Location: Valerio's Bakeshop, Marwar District Time: After morning rush hour

What is it like to be hungry? Is it the same as desire? 

When she was a child, her mother explained that both were similar to ambition, all sharing the consuming need to fill a never-quite full glass. As descriptive as her mother could be, she never understood the imagery; Aramonta was never restricted to one cup. She had access to what she needed and what she wanted. Resources were never a problem and more often than not, she didn’t even have to wait too long. Today, however, a small family-owned bakery reminded her that though she couldn’t physically feel her pain, she knew what yearning was. 

Val finished up with the last customer, handing over the neatly packed bag of warm bread with an even warmer, “Salamat po.” As they left, he turned his attention to Aramonta, who was peering expectantly through the display. He couldn’t help but smile at her impatience. A fellow bread enthusiast was always welcome.

“You came just in time, Monty,” he said, motioning to the back where trays of freshly baked bread cooled. “I’ve got a new batch of Pan de Val for you to try. Still matcha flavored, but I’m still figuring out how to get rid of the bitterness. Thinking of adding a condensed milk or white chocolate filling. What do you think? Try it with these dips for now. And don’t worry, there's plenty for you to keep... uh, taste-testing,” he said with a small chuckle.

Just as Val was preparing the samples for Aramonta, he caught his aunt and mother’s hushed voices behind him. They weren’t exactly being subtle, though they probably thought they were.

“May partner na ba si Val? Si Monty wala pa.”¹ Tita Maggie asked in Tagalog, her voice low but filled with curiosity.

Val tried to ignore them, focusing instead on slicing into the Pan de Val, but the conversation was impossible to tune out. He only helped out at the bakery on his days off from the Overseers, and this was supposed to be a relaxing morning. Apparently, fate had other plans.

“Hmm... I think meron na,” his mom, Mari, replied in a whisper. “He’s too shy to tell me, pero may napapansin ako.”²

Val’s hands slowed as he heard the exchange, his ears starting to burn. He focused harder on the bread, trying desperately not to react.

“Sino?”³ Tita Maggie pressed, her interest piqued. Mari leaned in even closer, but her voice was still loud enough for Val to hear. “I think he likes... si Santi.”

Val froze, a lump forming in his throat. The knife slipped slightly against the cutting board as he choked, trying to stifle a cough. The sound of Santi’s name had blindsided him, and it took every ounce of composure not to turn around and give himself away entirely.

“Sino? Si... Santi?!” Tita Maggie exclaimed, her voice far too loud for Val’s liking.

His cheeks flushed, and he tried desperately to cover up his flustered state by clearing his throat. “Uh, so, Monty,” he said, rushing to change the subject and pretend he hadn’t heard a thing. “You wanna try the Pan de Val? It’s fresh out of the oven.” He held the plate out to her, his hand still trembling slightly from the embarrassing conversation happening behind him.

But his ears were still burning, and no amount of freshly baked bread was going to make him forget that his mom had just clocked him perfectly.

---

An attempted murder on their watch. Not necessarily Mentari's, but the whole of the OVERSEERS. The BOARD had been watching, but they hadn't seen this coming, the shot had already been fired before anyone was alarmed to the situation, and it had happened from such an angle, with such hacking behind it, that nobody was able to find any real evidence that a shot was even fired.

He didn't care about the rumours that followed. If Santi was indeed a SIGHIR or had Sighir employees, so be it. Assassinations on public figures were out of the question, they couldn't happen.

He thought this was the Skeleton Crew, again. They'd managed to do their heist without alarming anyone, nobody with inside information. Chances were that they'd done it again.

He walked into the NIGHT MARKET because he knew if he were to find the contractor of the assassin anywhere, it would be here. The Market itself felt almost deserted... perhaps the whole city was on edge.

"This place seems oddly quiet. You wouldn't have happened to hear any rumours about the assassination on X's CEO?"

Val had heard of Mentari’s methods, the way they worked their cases without fanfare, always going straight to the heart of things. It’s why he trusted the man. And it was why he followed them here, to the Night Market, risking his position and worse. He was an Overseer, had duties to the city, but Santi’s blood on his hands changed everything. He wasn’t supposed to be here—hell, he wasn’t even supposed to be investigating. The suits had shut everything down, gag orders, the whole bit. But that didn’t matter. Not to Val, not anymore. Santi’s face, pale and bloodied, kept flashing in his mind. He couldn’t protect him when it mattered most, and that truth had consumed him ever since that day.

His eyes tracked Mentari from a distance. The detective moved through the Night Market with that calculated ease he always had, like he knew something the rest of the world didn’t. Val wasn’t going to wait around for anyone to tell him what needed to do—he already knew; he needed answers. Who wanted Santi dead? And why?

The Night Market’s usual bustle was gone, like the city itself was holding its breath. Even the vendors seemed uneasy, their glances shifting toward shadows. Val kept his distance, his mind going through possible suspects. The Skeleton Crew theory wasn’t a bad lead; they’d pulled off heists in the past without leaving a trace. But this? This felt deeper. Motivated.

When Mentari stopped is when Val finally approached, his voice low as he caught up to him. “Funny,” Val started, although he uncharacteristically had no trace of a smile on his now gaunt and hardened face. “I was just thinking the same thing. Quiet doesn’t suit this place.” His gaze swept the Market, taking in the unusual stillness.

"I know the suits don't want us digging," he continued, forcing the words through clenched teeth, "but there’s more to this. The shot was too precise, too planned.” His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper and he then mumbled to himself, “I can’t protect him if I don’t know who’s pulling the strings.”

Val clenched his fists, feeling the weight of his gauntlets, recalling the moment Santi went down. “Any leads on who’d have the fucking audacity to pull something like this? Or do I need to kick down a few doors to get some answers myself?”

The atmosphere was somber, punctuated with a brisk breeze signaling the coming of autumn. People wanted answers and Santi was here to give them one. On a rather simple stage with just a mic stand, Santi addressed the crowd of reporters and citizens of New Jakarta about their concerns regarding the Nemesis heists. “I, Santi Amarin-Zhao, on behalf of X Academy, remain committed to making New Jakarta bett—” A sharp breeze cut through the air, but he barely registered it. It wasn’t until a scream rang out from the crowd that he noticed something was wrong. His hand drifted to his chest, feeling something wet. He looked down. Red. Blood. His blood. He blinked, finally realizing he'd been targeted.

He was at Santi’s side before he even realized what was happening, his Hextech gauntlet already activating the shimmering shield around them. Not enough, a whisper in the back of his mind said. It's true. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t know where Santi had been hit, how deep the wound was, or whether the shield could stop a second, third, or fourth shot. All he knew was that Santi was on the ground, blood soaking through his pristine white Overseer uniform, staining Val’s own hands as he scrambled to cradle him.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Val whispered. He pressed his hands down to stop the bleeding, but it felt like trying to hold back the tide. Blood poured out, warm and sticky between his fingers. Too much. Too fast. “You have to be fine.”

Val should’ve been assessing threats, issuing orders to secure the perimeter, but all of that faded away. His world had narrowed down to only Santi and making sure he stayed alive. Fuck everyone else.

“You know,” he started, trying to keep his voice steady but his hands shook as he reached for the emergency med-kit clipped to his belt. “This weekend… it’s our first anniversary. I had plans. Something special for you. You’re not getting out of it that easy.” He tried to smile, tried to sound normal, but his voice broke with every word. 

The life was draining from Santi. Val could see it in the way his skin paled, in the way his breaths grew shallow and uneven.

“No, no, no. Stay with me, Santi.” Val’s voice finally cracked, tears pricking at the edges of his vision. His hands moved on instinct, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to do anything to keep Santi from slipping away. “You promised me we’d spend it together. You have to stay. You have to see it. I promise, it’s amazing.”

He could feel Santi’s blood seeping even deeper into his uniform, staining him crimson, his hands now shaking uncontrollably. He wasn’t strong enough. Not for this. He’d trained for years, climbed the ranks of the Overseers, honed his skills to protect this city, but none of that mattered if he couldn’t save the one person who meant everything to him.

“Don’t go. Please don’t go.” Val leaned closer, his forehead resting against Santi’s as he whispered, “I can’t do this without you. You’re my everything, Santi. Please, you can't die. I won't let you.”

The world felt like it was collapsing in around him, and the realization hit him with brutal clarity: none of it mattered. New Jakarta, the Overseers, the Board… if Santi wasn’t in it, none of it meant a damn thing.