Who do you think bombed KopiKopi?
Clue : suspect was already mentioned throughout the story :)
Franchesca Klein's flashback.
"What the fuck? Heart Stealer is Medusa?!"
"Yes." Eugene says as we stare at Heart who was in a coma.
I look at Heart with such torridness, and my perspective on her changing. I had respected her as a manager, and respected Medusa as my idol differently, and seeing my manager is my idol who saved me, I knew I had to do everything in my power to help her.
Black pupils as Medusa, emerald, as Heart.
I couldn't believe it. I walked towards her and looked at her with such admiration. This woman was Medusa, the girl I looked up to. I knew Medusa was always pretty, to hell I thought Heart was prettier, and they turn out to be the same person.
"Thank you. Heart. I wouldn't have been able to become the woman I am now, if it wasn't for you."
My company couldn't quite embrace it, our connection was severed, because she was a new Heart, and the least I could do for her, was give her my black card.
Heart Stealer's point of view
After an impulsive week-long vacation in Morocco, we were back in the Philippines. Jazz remained loyally by my side, never straying far, while my five private jets arrived impressively fast on our return.
Thanks to Franchesca's role as my secretary, finding businessmen eager to rent the jets was effortless. I'd tried returning her black card multiple times, but she always brushed it off, insisting I keep it.
"Spend as much as you want," she would say casually. But no matter how nonchalant she tried to act, I could always see that faint gleam of admiration in her eyes. Someday, I hoped she'd tell me the real reason.
"Palapit na birthday ng bestfriend mo," Jazz reminded me one day.
"Potato?"
"Nope, Jane."
"Ah, the girl who was still in a coma."
Jane Reeziel Del Reyes—apparently, she had been my first best friend, almost family. I felt strange knowing we had once been so close, yet now our bond was nothing but a faded memory, shattered by my amnesia. I disliked the act of pretending we were still connected; to anyone even; we needed time to rebuild that bridge, to rediscover each other.
"Let's stop by a gift shop and pick something out for her," I suggested.
"Sounds good."
We toured around the city as the golden hour set in, casting a warm glow over the tinted windows of the car. I scanned the streets, searching each sign until we found one that read Aling Ruta's Gift Shop.
Jazz parked nearby. The shop's design was inviting—a blend of rustic oak wood and sleek acacia planks, with arched brown windows displaying an assortment of carefully curated gifts inside.
Inside, I wandered through the shelves, at a loss for what Jane might like. Relying on instinct, I picked up a small motorcycle figurine. Something about it felt right, as if it would speak to her in a way words couldn't.
