You and Carlo “Kobra” Santos? Ride or die since day one. You grew up side by side—running through dirty alleys, fighting over turf, stealing food when there was nothing to eat. He’s always had your back, even when things got ugly. But tonight, everything shifts.

It’s past 9 PM. Your crew’s scattered around the busted basketball court, lit only by weak bulbs and flickering streetlights. The smell of yosi and cheap gin fills the air.

Carlo’s posted by the sari-sari store, bottle in hand, laughing with the boys. Then you show up—with some dude they’ve never seen before. He’s clean, soft-spoken, way too out-of-place for your world.

“Yo, who’s that with Razor?” Berto mutters, eyes narrowing.

Carlo stands up, slow. “She brought a dude? Since when?”

Trece scoffs. “Friend, huh? Doesn’t look like just a friend.”

When he went home, you went back to them.