MISSION: To End this Battle

KABANATA ANIM

Nagising ako bago pa tumunog ang alarm.

Hindi dahil excited ako sa school—hindi ko alam kung paano maging excited sa ganun—kundi dahil nasanay ang katawan ko na gumising kapag tahimik pa ang mundo. Sa lugar na pinanggalingan ko, kapag narinig mo ang unang ingay, kadalasan huli na.

Tahimik ang bahay.

Naririnig ko lang ang mahina at steady na tunog ng electric fan, at ang halos hindi marinig na pag-iyak ng kahoy tuwing may humahampas na hangin sa bintana. May amoy pa ng groceries na binili namin kagabi—bigas, noodles, sabon, at ‘yung vegetable na pinilit ni Selena na bilhin kahit sinabi kong okay na canned food.

I stared at the ceiling for a while.

Hindi ko alam kung anong klaseng buhay ang aasahan ko dito. “Normal,” sabi nila. “School,” sabi nila. “Friends,” sabi nila.

Sa isip ko, those words were like foreign language.

In America, when Captain Limuel talked about “home,” he always said it like it was salvation. Like it was a clean place that could wash off the blood. But I knew better.

No place washes off anything.

You just learn how to hide it.

Bumangon ako at tahimik na pumunta sa banyo. Paghilamos ko, tiningnan ko ang sarili ko sa salamin.

Shun Gray Williams.

Uniform. Bag. ID.

Ang kulit pakinggan ng “student.”

I tightened my tie slowly. Not too tight—enough to look neat, not enough to choke. Old habit.

Sa kamay ko, napahawak ako sa wrist ko—where there used to be bruises that came from rope, from training, from being dragged out of vehicles. Wala na sila ngayon. But memory stays.

I took a deep breath.

Today is about acting.

“Kuya!”

Narinig ko ang boses ni Selena mula sa labas ng kwarto ko. Sinundan ng katok, light pero excited.

“Gising ka na?” tanong niya.

“Yeah,” sagot ko.

Pumasok siya nang hindi na naghintay ng permission—typical Selena. Nakasuot na siya ng uniform niya, buhok nakatali, at may bitbit na extra ribbon.

“Kuya, anong oras ka natulog?” usisa niya habang tinatali ang ribbon niya sa harap ng salamin ko, parang bahay niya talaga kwarto ko.

“Early,” sagot ko.

“Sinungaling,” sabi niya agad, then smirked. “Kasi ikaw ’yung tipo na nag-ooverthink.”

I didn’t deny.

She turned to me, eyes sparkling, parang ako pa ang mas bata sa aming dalawa. “Excited ako para sayo.”

“I’m not,” sagot ko.

“Okay lang,” she said quickly, then approached me like she’s inspecting a project. “Buti na lang bagay sayo uniform.”

“Uniform is uniform,” I said.

“Edi wow,” she teased. Then biglang lumambot ang tono niya. “Kuya… okay ka lang ba?”

I paused.

Sa dami ng beses na tinanong sakin ‘yan ng mga tao noon, lagi kong sinasagot ng “yes” without thinking. Kasi “okay” was expected. “Okay” meant you can still fight, still run, still shoot.

Pero ngayon, iba.

I looked at Selena. “I’m fine.”

She nodded, like she accepted it… but her eyes said otherwise. “Kuya, kapag may nangyari… ha? Wag ka bigla…”

“Fight?” I finished her sentence.

She bit her lip and nodded.

I sighed. “I told you. I’ll try.”

“Try harder,” she said, half-joke, half-plea.

I reached out and lightly tapped her forehead. “I’ll behave.”

“Promise?” she asked.

“Promise,” I replied—knowing full well promises are the easiest things to break when someone pushes the right button.

Selena’s face brightened again. “Good! Tara na! Breakfast!”

Ang breakfast namin simple: itlog, kanin, at hotdog na binili niya kahapon. Siya nagluto. I offered to help, but she refused like it was her mission.

“Kuya,” she said habang nakaupo kami sa mesa, “kapag may nagtanong sayo, sabihin mo lang transfer student ka galing abroad.”

“I am,” sagot ko.

“Yeah pero…” she hesitated, “wag mo masyado ikwento kung saan exactly.”

I glanced at her. “Why?”

Selena’s fingers tightened around her spoon. “Kasi… people here like gossip. Tapos baka mag-assume sila ng kung anu-ano.”

I nodded. That was reasonable.

In my head, I added: And if they know too much, they might get curious. Curiosity leads to trouble.

“Also,” Selena continued, suddenly serious, “kapag may nang-bully sayo…”

“I will not fight,” I said again.

She relaxed slightly. “Good.”

“But—” I added calmly, “if they bully you…”

Selena froze.

I stared into my rice like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I will make sure it stops.”

“Kuya…” she whispered.

I looked up. “I know. I’ll try to do it your way.”

Selena nodded slowly. “Okay.”

But the worry didn’t fully disappear.

After breakfast, we walked together.

The sun was already up. Streets were noisy. Tricycles. Jeepneys. Vendors shouting. Kids laughing.

It felt like I was walking in a world I didn’t belong to.

Selena kept talking—small stories, school updates, teachers she likes, classmates na “ang ingay,” and “yung crush ni ganito.” She was trying to fill the silence so I wouldn’t drown in my own head.

I let her.

Because if I speak too much, I might say something that doesn’t sound human.

Pagdating namin sa gate ng school, maraming students. I could smell perfume, sweat, chalk dust, and cheap cologne. The noise was constant—like insects buzzing.

Selena walked slightly ahead, then turned back. “Kuya, dito tayo.”

I nodded and followed.

People glanced at me.

I knew that look.

The “sino ‘to?” look. The “bago” look. The “pwede ba ‘to?” look.

I kept my expression neutral. Not cold. Not smiling. Just… blank.

Selena introduced me to a few students near the entrance—two girls and one boy. They greeted me politely.

“Hi, kuya ni Selena!” one of the girls said, smiling wide.

“Hello,” I replied.

The boy, probably trying to be “cool,” offered a fist bump. I stared at it for a second, then copied what I’ve seen in movies and bumped lightly.

They laughed, not mocking, but amused. “Ang stiff mo, kuya,” the boy said.

“I’m not used to it,” I answered honestly.

Selena elbowed him playfully. “Tigil mo nga.”

They continued talking, but my attention shifted.

Sa gilid ng gate, may apat na lalaki. Halatang older than the others. Their uniform looked worn out, untucked, collars slightly open. Their eyes scanned the crowd like hunters.

One of them noticed Selena.

He smirked.

Selena stiffened.

I saw it immediately—the micro-change in her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened on her bag strap. Kagabi, ganoon din siya nung kinapitan ako ng lalaki sa grocery. That same fear.

I turned my head slightly, still pretending to listen to her friends, but my eyes locked to the group.

The leader—tall, lean, with a faint scar on his eyebrow—whispered something. Two of them laughed.

Then he started walking toward us.

Selena’s voice faltered. “Ah… kuya…”

I placed myself half a step in front of her. Subtle. Protective.

The guy stopped a few feet away, acting like he owns the place.

“Uy,” he said, voice lazy, “Selena, ‘di mo kami papansinin?”

Selena forced a smile, the kind that people use when they’re trying not to die. “Ah… hi.”

The guy’s eyes moved to me. “Sino ‘to?”

“My brother,” Selena answered quickly.

He tilted his head. “Brother? Hmm… di ka nagkukwento na may kuya ka pala.”

I said nothing.

He walked closer, invading space. I didn’t move back.

He looked at me from head to toe, then clicked his tongue. “Mukhang mayabang. Galing ba ’to sa abroad na feeling pogi?”

The other guys laughed.

Selena’s hands trembled.

I kept my face calm. “We’re going to class,” I said.

My Tagalog was clean enough, but my tone was flat.

The leader’s smile widened. “Ay wow, nagsasalita.”

He looked at Selena again. “Mamaya ka sa likod ng building ha. Usap tayo.”

Selena’s eyes widened. “Ha? Hindi… may—”

He leaned closer. “Wag mo ko ‘di-diss. Alam mo naman—”

Before he could finish, I stepped half an inch closer, just enough for him to feel my presence like a wall.

He paused.

I didn’t glare. I didn’t threaten. I didn’t raise my voice.

I simply said, “No.”

One word.

His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“No,” I repeated. “She won’t go.”

The guy stared at me, then laughed like I said a joke. “Bro, hindi ka taga-dito, no? Hindi mo alam kung sino ako.”

I nodded slightly. “I don’t care who you are.”

The laughter behind him stopped.

Selena whispered, “Kuya…”

I knew what she meant: please don’t start.

So I stayed still.

The leader’s eyes narrowed, trying to measure me. He looked at my posture, my shoulders, the way my feet were positioned.

People who fight recognize fighters.

Even if they’re sloppy.

He grinned again, but it wasn’t confident now. It was forced. “Sige,” he said slowly. “Later, kuya. Kita tayo.”

Then he backed away—backed away, not turned. Another sign.

His group followed him, still trying to laugh like nothing happened, but I saw their unease.

Selena exhaled shakily.

One of her friends whispered, “Grabe, kuya mo…”

Selena forced a laugh. “Ah… protective lang.”

I turned to Selena. “Who are they?”

Selena looked away. “Wala. Basta… senior.”

I didn’t believe her.

“Selena,” I said quietly.

She swallowed. “Kuya… later na. Please.”

I nodded.

Not because I agreed, but because I understood she’s embarrassed. People like that—bullies—make victims feel ashamed for being victims.

I didn’t push further.

But I remembered the leader’s face.

I memorized his distance, his stance, his weak points.

Just in case.

I stared outside the window.

The school grounds were wide. Basketball court. Trees. A small canteen. A building at the back—probably the “likod ng building” the bully mentioned earlier.

My fingers tightened on my pen.

Don’t fight.

Captain Limuel’s voice.

But then Selena’s trembling hands.

I closed my eyes for a second, then opened them again.

I’ll do it your way, Selena.

I repeated it like a prayer.

Recess came.

The noise got louder. Students rushed out like they were freed.

I walked out too, but not to mingle. I wanted to find Selena.

I walked through corridors, scanning faces, until I saw her near the stairs with her friends. She smiled when she saw me, but it was a shaky smile.

“Kuya!” she called, waving.

I approached. “Are you okay?”

Selena nodded too fast. “Oo naman!”

But her eyes avoided mine.

Her friends chatted, but then gradually left, as if they sensed we needed space.

When we were alone, I lowered my voice. “Selena. Tell me.”

She sighed, shoulders dropping. “Kuya… don’t get mad.”

“I’m not mad,” I said. “Just tell me.”

She hesitated, then spoke. “Yung lalaki kanina… si Jairo.”

I repeated the name in my head.

“Senior siya,” Selena continued. “And… he’s kind of… known.”

“For what?” I asked.

Selena’s hands twisted her bag strap. “For… pang-aasar. Pangha-harass. He targets girls. Like… he thinks it’s funny.”

My jaw tightened.

“Selena,” I said carefully, “has he touched you?”

She flinched. That flinch was an answer.