The Rebel’s Masterclass (Tagalog)

Chapter 5

Hindi na yata matatapos ang kamalasan ni Nabiya sa school na iyon. Pagpasok na pagpasok niya pa lang sa main gate ng San Castores Christian University kinaumagahan, ramdam niya na agad ang mga matang nakatutok sa likod niya. The whispers followed her like a shadow—mula sa registration windows hanggang sa pila sa locker area ng College of Architecture.

“Siya ba ’yung scholar na inaway ni Golda?”

“Grabe, gusto pumatol kay Rakan? Ang lakas ng loob.”

“Mukhang gold digger naman talaga galing District 4.”

Nabiya clenched her jaw, keeping her eyes fixed on the concrete floor. Masakit ang ulo niya dahil buong gabi siyang walang tulog sa pag-aalala. Her history plate was completely ruined, and her old laptop was still refusing to turn on, completely fried by Golda’s sticky frapuccino.

Nang buksan niya ang locker niya para kunin ang kaniyang drafting tools, muntik na siyang mapasinghap. Isang malaki at mabigat na unmarked box ang nakalagay sa loob. Walang pangalan ng sender, pero may maliit na sticky note na nakadikit sa gilid:

Use this. Don't complain. - R

Inside the box was a brand-new, top-of-the-line Asus ROG laptop—isang unit na kahit limang taon siyang mag-ipon mula sa kakarampot na allowance ng scholarship niya ay hinding-hindi niya mabibili.

“Gago talaga,” bulong ni Nabiya at mabilis na isinara ang locker habang lumilingon sa paligid. Nilamon siya ng matinding halo ng hiya at inis. True to his word, binilhan nga siya ni Rakan ng bagong gamit, pero ang bigat sa pride na tanggapin ang ganito kalaking bagay mula sa isang katulad niya.

Buong araw naman niyang hinahanap ang pamilyar na black Ducati sa parking lot para komprontahin ang lalaki, pero walang Rakan Velasco na nagpakita sa campus. Kahit sa mga klase nito sa kabilang building, balita ng mga blockmates niya na nag-cut ito ng klase.

Nang sumapit ang alas-sais ng gabi, wala nang nagawa si Nabiya kundi sumakay ng traysikel patungo sa abandonadong talyer sa District 2.

The heavy metal rolling door was half-open nang makarating siya. Pumasok si Nabiya nang walang katok at ang mabigat na bagong laptop ay yakap-yakap niya sa dibdib niya na parang tanging panangga.

"Velasco?" tawag niya sa kawalan.

The garage was quiet, lit only by a single industrial lamp hanging over a dismantled motorbike. Rakan was sitting on a low stool, his hands covered in black engine grease as he turned a wrench. The familiar, strong scent of tobacco greeted her, and Nabiya immediately coughed, waving her hand in front of her face.

“Putcha, Velasco! Patayin mo nga ’yang hawak mo. Amoy sunog na gulong na naman ’tong talyer mo eh,” reklamo niya habang marahas na itinuturo ang sigarilyong nakasubo sa gilid ng labi nito.

Rakan blinked, his eyes tracking her arrival. Without a single word or an argument, he pulled the newly lit cigarette from his mouth and crushed it directly onto the metal tray beside him, completely putting it out.

Nabiya was caught off guard by his sudden compliance. Nasanay siyang makita si Rakan na walang pakialam sa utos ng kahit sino—kahit pa ng mga professor o ng kaniyang sariling girlfriend—pero sa tuwing magrereklamo siya tungkol sa usok, kusa itong sumusuko.

“O, bakit ganyan ka makatingin?” untag ni Nabiya at ibinaba ang kahon ng laptop sa kaniyang desk. “At anong ibig sabihin nito? I told you, ayokong umasa sa pera mo.”

Rakan stood up, wiping his greasy hands with a dark rag. He walked slowly toward her, his tall frame blocking the light of the lamp. “It’s not a gift, Torillo. It’s an investment. You can’t do my blueprints if your machine is dead. At huwag kang mag-alala, hindi ko hiningi sa tatay ko ang perang pambayad diyan. Sweldo ko ’yan sa karera.”

Nabiya sat down on the leather chair, pulling the laptop out. “Investment... para sa pagnanakaw?” bulong niya. Ang boses niya ay biglang bumaba habang naaalala ang pinag-usapan nila noong nakaraang gabi tungkol sa kaniyang tatay na Senator. “Seryoso ka ba talaga roon, Rakan? To destroy Senator Velasco? Yung sarili mong tatay?”

It was the first time she used his first name without hesitating, and she noticed how Rakan’s shoulders subtly relaxed upon hearing it.

He leaned against the edge of her table, looking down at her with a heavy, serious gaze. “Seryoso ako, Nabiya. I already told you that my father killed my mother and labeled it a heart attack to protect his political campaign. He is running for President, and the moment he wins, the truth will be buried forever. I have less than six months to find his real autopsy reports and the encrypted ledger of his offshore accounts.”

Nabiya felt a cold chill run down her spine. “Pero bakit ako? I mean... shoplifter lang ako dahil nagugutom kami, Rakan. I steal cans of tuna and vitamins. Hindi ako spy. Hindi ako marunong mag-bypass ng security ng isang Senator.”

Rakan leaned closer, the faint scent of his clean cologne replacing the smell of tobacco. “Because you’re invisible, Nabiya. In a world where everyone is trying to be noticed, you know exactly how to fade into the background. And your hands... I watched you inside that convenience store. You have a precise, calculated touch. Physical security systems rely on human error. You don't make errors when you're desperate.”

Nabiya stared at him and the intense honesty in his eyes were making her throat tight. Nobody had ever looked at her flaws—her desperate survival instincts—and called it a strength.

“Hindi ka ba nandidiri sa akin?” Nabiya asked in a very quiet voice, looking at her calloused fingers. “Buong buhay ko sa university, parang basura ang tingin sa akin ng mga katulad nina Golda dahil mahirap ako. Pero ikaw... gagamitin mo pa ang pagiging magnanakaw ko.”

Rakan let out a low, dry chuckle, his expression turning deeply cynical. “Look at me, Nabiya. I live in a literal mansion in Aura Ridge, but every single cent in my bank account is stained with the blood of taxpayers. My father steals from millions of people every single day just to fund his greed. You steal because you want your brother to breathe. If anyone is disgusting here, it's the Velascos. Not you.”

The garage fell into a heavy, quiet silence. Nabiya felt a strange warmth blooming in her chest—the comfort of being understood by the most dangerous boy on campus.

Rakan stood up and walked toward a locked wooden cabinet at the back. When he opened it, he didn't pull out the blueprints of the estate. Instead, he brought out a simple, standard brass padlock and a set of basic metallic tension wrenches.

He placed them gently on the desk right next to her new laptop.

“We have a long way to go, Nabiya,” Rakan said, his voice dropping into a calm, steady tone. “Hindi tayo pupunta sa target area hanggang sa hindi ka handa. For the next few weeks, your training starts with this. Matututo kang magbukas ng kandado gamit ang pandinig at pakiramdam habang ginagawa mo ang plates mo. Step by step.”

Nabiya looked at the padlock, then up at Rakan’s determined face. A small, matching smile slowly appeared on her lips. “Sige. Hamon ba ’yan, Rakan? Titingnan natin kung gaano kabilis matuto ang isang scholar.”