Morning stretched lazily over the city, the first rays of light filtering through the cracks in the wooden jalousie windows. The distant hum of tricycles and the occasional barking of stray dogs set the tone of another day in the Santamo household.
Richard was deep in sleep, tangled in a thin blanket, his body heavy with exhaustion. The abrupt shriek of his mother's voice tore through the stillness.
"Richard, wake up! It's already afternoon! Are you planning to waste the whole day sleeping?"
His eyes cracked open, blurred vision settling on the dimly lit ceiling. He groaned, rubbing the crust from his eyelids. His hand fumbled for his phone on the worn-out bedside table. The screen flickered to life—7:02 AM.
Not even close to noon… he thought bitterly, sighing as he swung his legs off the bed.
Barefoot, he shuffled towards the back of the house, stepping onto the cement floor of the dirty kitchen. The cool air bit at his skin, carrying the scent of charred wood and old cooking oil. He crouched down by the traditional clay stove, gathering a few sticks of firewood. A plastic bag crinkled in his hand as he shoved it in the middle, using it as a makeshift firestarter. He struck a match against the box, the tiny flame catching onto the paper and licking at the dry wood. The familiar crackle and rising heat signaled success.
He reached for the old biscuit tin where they kept the rice, scooping three canfuls into a dented aluminum pot. The sound of water sloshing filled the small space as he rinsed the grains, the cloudy liquid swirling before he drained it out. He repeated the process thrice, the motion ingrained in his muscle memory.
A quick measure—index finger dipped just above the rice, water reaching the first line. Satisfied, he placed the pot over the fire, letting it do its work.
His mother's voice cut through the quiet morning again.
"Chard! There's fish in the fridge—cook paksiw while you're at it. So we can have breakfast."
Richard exhaled through his nose, the weight of morning chores settling on his shoulders. He wiped his hands on his shorts before heading to the old fridge, the motor humming weakly. The door creaked open, revealing a lone fish wrapped in a plastic bag. He grabbed it, laying it out on the chopping board.
With practiced ease, he sliced the fish into three portions, the knife scraping against the wooden board. He reached for the onions and garlic, peeling and slicing them swiftly. Into another pot they went, joined by soy sauce, vinegar, a pinch of salt, and a dash of MSG. The acidic tang of vinegar filled the air as he set it over another fire, watching the liquid slowly simmer.
By the time the rice was done, he replaced the pot with another, filling it with water for coffee.
Stepping onto the porch, he felt the damp morning air against his skin. His mother, seated on the bamboo bench, didn't look up from the cigarette she was rolling.
"Is it cooked?" she asked.
"Yeah," he muttered, stretching his arms above his head. "I'm heading out to buy some coffee and cigarettes."
His mother exhaled a thin stream of smoke. "Get me a pack of San Mig coffee. I'll pay you when you get back."
Richard gave a slight nod before stepping off the porch. The day was just beginning, but already, it felt like it was running ahead of him.
Richard strolled toward the sari-sari store, the scent of damp earth still lingering from last night's drizzle. The small shop, caged in rusted metal grates, was packed with all sorts of essentials—instant noodles, canned sardines, sachets of shampoo clipped together like vines, and an assortment of cigarettes neatly stacked in an old glass jar.
Before he could even speak, Aunt Nina, a stout woman with streaks of gray in her tied-up hair, reached through the opening. In one fluid motion, she plucked a sachet of Nescafé, a San Mig coffee, and four sticks of white cigarettes from the shelf.
Richard smirked. "You should've been a fortune teller, Aunt Nina."
"Hmp. It's the same thing you buy every day," she scoffed, handing him his order. Her fingers crinkled the fifty-peso bill he passed, and she fished out nineteen pesos in change.
As Richard pocketed the coins, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "By the way, Aunt Nina… Can I court your Angie?"
Nina froze mid-counting, then narrowed her eyes at him. Without warning, she grabbed a slipper and lunged forward as if to throw it.
"Hey, Idiot! You wish!" she barked, laughing.
Richard was already bolting down the street, laughing as her voice trailed behind him.
Richard stepped onto the porch, cigarette already between his fingers as he struck a match against the rusted railing. The sharp scent of burning tobacco mixed with the morning air. Inside, his mother, Anita, was slouched on the plastic chair near the doorway, her thumb lazily scrolling through Facebook. The soft hum of viral songs played from her phone's tiny speaker.
"Chard, mix me some coffee while you're at it," she called out, not even looking up.
"Yeah, yeah," Richard muttered, exhaling smoke as he walked toward the kitchen.
The pot on the stove was already boiling. He grabbed a piece of torn cardboard to lift it off the fire, careful not to burn his fingers. The scent of freshly boiled water filled the cramped kitchen as he poured the steaming liquid into two plastic mugs, ripping open the sachets of Nescafé and San Mig Coffee. He stirred each cup with a spoon that had seen better days, its handle slightly bent from years of use.
Richard handed his mother her coffee, setting his own down on the cement ledge of the balcony before lowering himself onto the step. He took a slow sip, the bitter taste mixing with the smoky aftertaste of his cigarette.
And then—
A holographic panel materialized in midair.
[ Perfect Host Found ][ DNA Match ][ Initiating Sequence... ]
Richard jerked backward, nearly knocking over his coffee. His breath hitched, hands instinctively raising as if to shield himself from the glowing blue interface floating before him. His cigarette slipped from his fingers, landing on the concrete with a faint sizzle.
"The hell—?! What is this?!" His pulse pounded in his ears.
Anita, startled by his sudden movement, looked up from her phone. "What? What happened?"
Richard's eyes stayed locked on the translucent display. "This—this blue thing! It just popped up out of nowhere!" He jabbed a finger toward it.
His mother squinted at the empty air, then, without warning, smacked him on the head with her slipper.
"AY—OW! What the hell, Ma?!"
Anita clicked her tongue. "You finally lost it, huh? I knew it—too much shrooms. You've been eating that damn mushroom from cow shit too often."
"I'm not high, Ma! It's right here!" Richard pointed again, his voice rising. The panel remained—floating, pulsing, waiting.
His mother simply shook her head and sipped her coffee, completely unfazed.
Richard swallowed hard. What the hell was happening?
Richard slipped into his room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He wasn't about to give his mother any more reason to think he'd lost his mind. Coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other, he sank onto his bed, the springs creaking beneath his weight.
The glowing blue panel hovered in front of him, shifting as new lines of text appeared.
[ You have received 100,000 SP as a starter gift. ][ You have received +10 Stat Points as a starter gift. ][ You have received +10 Skill Points as a starter gift. ]
Richard squinted. SP? Stats? Skill points? It looked like something straight out of an MMORPG.
The screen flickered, reorganizing itself into what looked like a character sheet.
[ Name: Richard Santamo ]
Age: 23
Weight: 133 lbs
Height: 5"11
SP: 100,000
[ SHOP ]
[ SKILLS ]
Stat Points: 10
Attributes:
STR: 8
CON: 12
AGI: 7
PER: 9
VIT: 10
INT: 10
Technology Learned: none
Skills: None ]
Richard exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching the numbers flicker in the air. What the hell is this? It looked like something straight out of Dota or some RPG stat sheet.
Then, another message popped up.
[ FYI: You can use SP to instantly learn various technologies, ranging from Type 1 to Type 4 on the Kardashev scale. ]
Richard blinked. Wait.
It can hear me?
[ Yes, I can. ]
He grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Oh yeah? Give me the winning 6/49 lotto numbers."
The panel hesitated.
[...]
Then, a new prompt appeared.
[ Would you like to use 10,000 SP to access this data? ]
Richard nearly choked on his coffee. Holy shit.
"Yeah, yeah—whatever! Just give me the damn numbers."
[ Accessing archive... ]
[ Date: July 12, 2012 – Philippine 6/49 Lottery Results: ]
[ 45 - 49 - 30 - 33 - 20 - 44 ]
[ Please ensure your bet is placed before 6 PM. ]
For a moment, Richard just stared. Then—
"SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. Am I about to be rich?!"
His heart pounded as he snatched a pen and scribbled the numbers onto an old receipt from his bedside table. He folded it neatly and stuffed it into his pocket, then dug into his jacket, fishing out six pesos in loose change.
Without hesitation, he bolted out the door.
"MA! WE'RE GONNA BE RICH TONIGHT!" he hollered as he sprinted down the street toward the lottery station.
Anita, still on the porch, barely looked up from her phone. She sipped her coffee, shaking her head.
"He's finally lost it, huh?"