Sean's routine was simple.
Morning ,boiled eggs, rice, canned goods.
Afternoon quiet walks around the block, memorizing every street, every alley, every familiar face.
Evening, watching Utube videos about self-defense, street tricks, and ways to build strength without gym equipment.
He didn't rush.
He absorbed.
Every move, every technique, every flaw in the instructors' forms—he noticed it all.
---
One evening, as the rain started pouring outside, he sat by the window again, phone in hand.
Pretty was live-streaming.
This time, her live wasn't about her work.
She was cooking in her small kitchen, smiling softly as she stirred the pot.
"Di gyud ko kabalo magluto og tarong, pero kay walay laing magluto, mao ni."
("I can't really cook properly, but since no one else will cook, here I am.")
Sean watched quietly, lips curling into a faint smile.
Without thinking, he typed: "Bahala'g simple basta tinud-anay."
("Doesn't matter if it's simple, as long as it's sincere.")
Pretty read it out loud during her live, giggling softly.
"Ah, tinud-anay daw, oy. Salamat, Shadow."
Sean froze slightly—not because of the comment itself, but because of the name she casually read from his username.
"Shadow."
That word lingered in his head longer than he expected.
---
After her live ended, Sean sat still, staring at the quiet rain beyond his window.
"Shadow." He whispered it to himself.
It felt strange.
It wasn't just a name—it was like something familiar, something old, creeping out of a place he had long forgotten.
---
Outside, the rain kept falling steady, softening the noise of the street.
But Sean's sharp hearing didn't miss anything.
He peeked through the blinds again, his eyes narrowing under the flickering streetlamp's light.
There they were.
The thugs who had once cornered him in the alley the same faces, same swagger.
But this time, they weren't just loitering.
They were surrounding someone else.
A boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Thin, nervous, cornered by their presence.
Sean's memory clicked instantly.
It was him.
The same boy from that night—the one thug who'd tossed him the peso coin in guilt.
Now, the same group was shaking him down.
Sean listened closely as their voices cut through the rain.
"Kwartahan lagi ka ron, ha? Asa man tung piso nga ako gihatag nimo sauna?"
("Got some money now, huh? Where's that peso I tossed you before?")
Sean's eyes darkened slightly.
So even mercy had a price here.
They were mocking the boy for showing weakness, targeting him now, using the very same moment that once helped Sean.
"Even those who showed mercy… aren't safe from their own kind." Sean muttered softly, his voice low and calm.
The streets really never forgot.
He closed the curtain quietly, slipping his phone into his pocket.
His body wasn't ready for fights yet, but his memory didn't need fists to work.
He knew exactly how to dismantle them.
Not through strength, but through something far more dangerous.
As the rain grew heavier, Sean opened the Survive browser again, his mind already working ahead.
The hunt had begun, but this time, it wasn't him who would be hunted.