Chapter 39: A Week of Ordinary Days
A week passed.
The warehouse battles, the forbidden technique, the scars that burned across Adrian's body — all of it felt like a distant storm. Yet the storm lingered in his veins, quiet but heavy, reminding him with every breath that cultivation was never far away.
But life demanded normalcy.
Adrian woke each morning to the sound of jeepneys rattling down the street, vendors shouting their wares, and the faint hum of Metro Manila's chaos. He dressed in pressed shirts, carried his laptop bag, and joined the tide of commuters. To his coworkers, he was just another young professional, tired but steady, sipping coffee before meetings.
No one saw the scars.
He hid them beneath fabric, beneath smiles, beneath the rhythm of ordinary days. His ribs burned when he laughed too hard, his veins ached when he typed too long, but he endured. Pain was the cost. Elias had warned him.
At the office, Adrian blended in. He joined casual conversations about basketball scores, weekend trips, and the latest teleserye twists. He laughed when expected, nodded when required, and kept his pendant tucked beneath his shirt. It pulsed faintly, but never flared. For the first time in weeks, it seemed almost dormant.
Leah checked in often. She appeared at lunch breaks, sometimes disguised as a colleague, sometimes just passing by. Her golden aura was hidden, but her eyes were sharp. "You're pretending well," she teased one afternoon, sipping iced coffee.
Adrian smirked. "Pretending?"
"You're acting like you're ordinary. Like you don't carry scars. Like you don't have hunters waiting in the shadows."
Adrian sighed, stirring his drink. "Maybe I need to pretend. Just for a while. To remember what it feels like to be normal."
Leah studied him, silent for a moment. Then she smiled faintly. "Normal doesn't mean weak. It means human. Don't forget that."
Evenings were quieter. Adrian returned to his small apartment, cooked simple meals, and sat by the window watching the city lights flicker. Sometimes he trained, guiding Qi through his veins, careful not to flare too brightly. Sometimes he simply rested, letting the scars remind him of survival.
The pendant pulsed faintly, steady but calm. It felt almost merciful.
On weekends, Adrian joined his coworkers for basketball at the barangay court. His body ached, but he pushed through, laughing when he missed shots, cheering when someone scored. Sweat dripped down his face, mixing with the faint burn of scars, but he endured. For a few hours, he wasn't a vessel. He was just Adrian Reyes, high school graduate turned office worker, chasing a ball under the floodlights.
After games, they ate street food — fish balls, kwek-kwek, isaw — laughing at old jokes. Adrian smiled, genuinely, pendant glowing faintly beneath his shirt. He realized how fragile this peace was, how easily it could shatter, but he cherished it anyway.
At night, he sometimes dreamed of high school. The classrooms, the chalk dust, the smell of paper and ink. He remembered exams, group projects, and the quiet corners where he used to sit, sketching or reading. And he remembered her.
Marianne.
His secret crush. The girl with sharp eyes and a laugh that lingered. He had carried the memory of her quietly, buried beneath cultivation and survival, but now it surfaced again. Maybe it was the scars reminding him of what he fought for. Maybe it was the pendant whispering faintly. Or maybe it was simply longing.
Adrian woke from those dreams with a smile, chest aching but warm. He whispered to himself, voice hoarse. "I'll rise. I'll uncover the truth. But I'll live too."
The week stretched on, ordinary but fragile. Elias remained distant, watching from the shadows, reminding Adrian that discipline was never optional. Leah stayed close, teasing him, grounding him, reminding him that humanity mattered. And Adrian carried the scars quietly, pretending to be normal, pretending to be free.
But the pendant pulsed faintly, steady and calm. It wasn't warning. It wasn't guiding. It was simply reminding him: destiny never sleeps.
On Friday evening, Adrian walked home from the office, the city alive with neon lights and chatter. He stopped at a café he hadn't visited in years, drawn by nostalgia. The smell of brewed coffee, the hum of quiet conversations — it reminded him of high school afternoons, of study sessions, of laughter.
He ordered a latte, sat by the window, and let the memories wash over him.
Then he saw her.
Marianne.
She stood at the counter, hair tied back, eyes sharp, smile faint. She looked older, steadier, but unmistakably the same. Adrian's chest tightened, pendant pulsing faintly. He froze, heart pounding, scars burning.
She turned, coffee in hand, and their eyes met.
Recognition flickered. Surprise. Then a smile.
"Adrian?" she said softly.
Adrian swallowed hard, whispering to himself. "Destiny never sleeps."