The woman was a disruption.
She sat across from him, a splash of color in his monochrome world. Her hair was already escaping the bun. A faint scent of sampaguita and cheap coffee clung to her. And on her laptop bag, a bright pink sticker of a cartoon cat with the words "Pusang Gala." A stray cat. He found it entirely too fitting.
And then there was the pandesal.
She had placed the paper bag, already blooming a grease spot, on the edge of his polished narra desk as if this were a family kitchen and not the seat of a multimillion-peso empire.
"Pasensya na po sa traffic," she said again, her voice too bright for this room.
Quino just looked at her. Let the silence stretch. He watched uncertainty flicker across her face. Good. This was Luna Cruz? The best the agency could send? His executive assistant would have never let this whirlwind through the door.
"The position requires managing the social media presence for the entire Montemayor Group," he began, his tone flat. "Our image is one of stability. Tradition."
"I understand, sir." She nodded, hands clasped tight in her lap. "But even tradition needs to be seen, right? To be relevant."
He almost smiled. It was the kind of simplistic, buzzword-laden answer he expected. He would give her an impossible task. A test designed for failure.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Prove it." He watched her straighten. "I have a project for you. A trial run."
"Okay," she said, new wariness in her eyes.
"Montemayor Tabako. The company my great-grandfather started with a single kariton. It's our foundation. Our heritage." He paused, letting the weight settle. "The market is aging. The board sees it as a legacy brand. I want you to change that."
She leaned forward, intrigued. "Change it how?"
"I want you to make Montemayor Tabako relevant to Gen Z." He delivered the line deadpan, waiting for the panic. "I want a full rebranding proposal. Social media strategy, sample content, the works. But—" he held up a finger, "—you cannot erase its history. No gimmicks. The brand's dignity must remain intact."
It was a suicide mission. Rebrand a cigar company for a generation that vaped and prioritized wellness. He expected stammering. Hesitation. Maybe a desperate suggestion for cigar-themed memes.
Luna Cruz blinked. She didn't look panicked. She looked thoughtful. Her gaze drifted past him to the skyline.
"Ah. So, parang..." she murmured. "Parang si Lakam."
He froze.
Lakam.
He'd typed that name a hundred times. Read it on his tablet in his bedroom, analyzed it in forum threads. But never out loud. Never here. And definitely not from someone sitting across his desk holding a paper bag of pandesal.
"What did you say?"
She blinked, pulled back to the present. "Oh! Nothing, sir. Just a character. From a book." She waved it off, pink creeping up her neck. "What I mean is, it's like a classic warrior. Honorable, strong, from a different time. But he needs to learn to speak the language of today if he wants to protect his kingdom. You don't change his heart. You just help him tell his story in a new way."
Quino stared. The analogy was precise. It was the same argument he'd made to the board, just cloaked in fantasy. He'd used spreadsheets and demographic charts. She used warriors and kingdoms.
He recovered. "I don't deal in fiction, Ms. Cruz. I deal in data. Can you do it or not?"
She met his gaze, and for the first time, he saw steel beneath the chaos. "Yes, sir. I can."
"You have until Friday. Nine AM." He looked down at his laptop, a clear dismissal. "You can use the empty cubicle outside. And take your bread with you."
He didn't look up as she gathered her things. He heard the soft crinkle of the paper bag, the rustle of her tote, the sound of her chair sliding back. Her footsteps were quiet as she left, closing the door with a soft click.
Silence returned. But it was different now. Charged. The air still held the faint trace of sampaguita.
He opened his tablet. A few clicks, and he was back on the fan page. Back to the notification that had haunted him since last night.
Liwayway (Author) replied:
"Patience, SagisagNgLahi. Some warriors need to learn they're allowed to be human first. 💙"
He read the words again. Some warriors need to learn they're allowed to be human first.
He looked through his office door toward the cubicle where she'd be sitting, probably surrounded by her own mess.
"Parang si Lakam," she had said.
A ridiculous coincidence. A fluke. She was just a temp with a fanciful imagination and a sticker on her laptop.
He minimized the browser tab. He had a company to run. A legacy to uphold. He was Joaquin Montemayor, not some starry-eyed fanboy getting spooked by a few stray words.
But for the rest of the morning, the thought lingered. An equation he couldn't solve. A puzzle he couldn't dismiss.
***
Luna sank into the cubicle chair, her heart still pounding. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she say that out loud? To him? He probably thought she was insane.
She looked at the notepad where she'd scribbled the task. Montemayor Tabako. Gen Z. Heritage intact. It was impossible. It was...
Her phone buzzed. A notification from the fan group. She'd muted everything but Liwayway's updates. Her own pen name. It was a post from SagisagNgLahi, the fan whose analysis had been stuck in her head all week.
The Diwata deserves a man who will burn the world for her, not one who bows to it.
She stared at the words. At the passion in them. This person understood Lakam's heart better than she did right now. The thought ached.
She opened a blank document. The cursor blinked. His heart a wild bird...
She deleted the line.
She started again.
The warrior's loyalty was his armor. But it was also his cage.
She looked from her screen to the sleek door of Joaquin Montemayor's office. A man trapped by his own legacy. A warrior who didn't know he was allowed to be human.
Maybe the project wasn't so impossible after all. Maybe it was just a different kind of story.
She started to type.