"Why do we breathe?"
"For us to live."
"Why do I need to live?"
"To live your life."
As simple as that...
"No scientific explanation needed and no philosophical enlightenment involved. Just as simple as that," I remembered her saying with a bright smile.
"But for what reason?"
"Is it okay not to breathe when I don't want to live anymore?"
"Just why?"
I don't know. I still don't know. I remembered it again—a day with heavy rain, no bright light, a day that made me question everything. A day I wish hadn't happened.
But then, I also remembered her asking, "Instead of looking for purpose, why not be the purpose yourself?"
I want to forget it, yet I always think of it. It's been ten years. Do I miss her? I don't think so. I avoided her for years—until she gave up. Even she, gave up.
Well, I made her give up—the only person closest to being a friend to me.
"Closest? So we didn't become friends?"
Another question. I'm tired. She really can make me question everything—still, today.
"Roy! They want to talk to you!"
I turned around and saw Bert.
A man in his early 30s, with tousled brown hair and a cheerful smile—you might mistake him for a teenager.
"Why do they need me? Just talk to them, alright?" I asked, disgruntled.
Bert scratched his head and said, "They need to confirm something. Just go talk to them—what's so difficult?"
Tsk. Damn it.
"Okay," I said, walking past him without looking back.
"Look at this bastard!" Bert said, annoyed.
I looked at him and smiled but didn't respond.
I opened the door to the room where the clients are staying.
Click.
"Roy! There you are!" A middle-aged man in a black tweed suit stood up with open arms and greeted me.
"Mr. Medici." I nodded.
"Oh boy! Same as ever!" Mr. Medici said, laughing.
He gestured for me to sit at the round table in the center of the room. I sat, nodding to the two large men in black cotton suits—they looked at me and nodded back.
Mr. Medici smiled and gestured to his secretary to bring drinks.
"Did Bert tell you anything about the job?" he asked, smiling.
"Just the essentials. Guarding and escorting a VIP from France," I replied.
He nodded.
"A few days, maybe a week. Ensure the VIP's safety," I added, glancing at him.
He lightly tapped my shoulder. "Good, good. Do you know why you?"
I pondered. "No."
"Look at this! No fun talking to you," he said, laughing.
His secretary arrived with two glasses of brandy. He took one.
"Well, I don't know either. You were requested," he said.
I was about to take the other glass when I heard him.
I paused and asked, "Requested?"
Although I work for one of the top protection agencies in the country, I seldom take jobs for fame or reputation. The only reason I know a big shot like Mr. Medici is because of an event years ago. Most of our meetings are not strictly business.
"Did you perhaps recommend me, Mr. Medici?" I asked, considering possible reasons.
"No. I was surprised too. I know how you handle things. When it comes to work, I only reach out to you if the task is dangerous or critical—you have my full trust then," he said, giving a slight shake of his head.
After a moment, he stood. "Well, it is what it is. We'll give Bert the files, and our visitor arrives next week. Your team will have enough time to prepare."
"Got it. Thank you." I stood up and nodded.
After the meeting, Bert and I headed to our office to discuss the job.
"Roy! Bert!" A young man with green hair called us.
"Ards! We've got a new assignment!" Bert said happily.
"Why green?" I asked, frowning.
"Why not? We haven't seen each other in a month. That's what you ask? No "How are you? Are we friends?" Huh?" Ards replied cheerfully.
I didn't respond, only offering a light smile.
Our team is composed of just five members.
Bert is the acting team leader—no, he's the actual team leader. Ards handles communication and coordination. The other members serve as backup and guides.
My role? I'm the main guard and escort, depending on the task—I can be the one to retrieve and secure, or to guard and escort.
We're the smallest team in our agency, but we maintain this because we get sponsors and recommendations from big clients, like Mr. Medici.
Some of those clients I knew before joining the agency. I was once a mercenary for a few years before quitting.
"So what now? Why don't we drink? We got a bonus for accepting the task!" Bert asked excitedly.
"A task bonus?! Is that real?!" Ards jumped and hugged Bert.
I didn't know we received such a bonus, but they were exaggerating—it's true that bonuses exist, but it's been a while since we got one.
"How much?" I asked, sitting on a round sofa.
"Eighty thousand—US dollars." Bert said confidently.
"Wow, Bert! Not just drinks! We can get expensive drinks with that!" Ards said, excited.
Not bad for an acceptance bonus. But what about the mission itself? I wondered.
"In US dollars," Bert added.
"No way!" Ards exclaimed, shocked.
I was surprised. "Give me the detailed report, Bert."
"Yeah, the files. I'll double-check the ones you sent earlier," Ards said, heading to his desk.
Big bonuses are nice, but in our line of work, too much can mean danger.
"Hold your horses! Relax! I know it's a big bonus," Bert said, raising his hands. "But I'm confident it's not a dangerous mission."
"Are you sure, boss?" Ards asked, stopping his review.
"Of course!" Bert puffed out his chest and smiled.
"Then... we hit the jackpot!" Ards said happily, hugging Bert as they danced in joy.
I smiled, then picked up my phone and called Elle.
She's part of our team—an expert in guidance. She secures routes, creates escape plans, and is skilled in espionage.
"Hello, Elle."
"Hey! What's up?"
"Where are you?"
"Working."
"Working?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Certainly! Here's a revised version where Roy hears someone calling Elle's attention, not in his head:
The call was interrupted by a voice calling out to Elle:
"Councillor! Sister Claribel is here!"
"Hey, Roy! I know we have a new assignment, but I'll talk later, okay? I'm working. Bye!"
The phone fell silent after that.
Maybe another charity event? I thought.
I remembered that Elle is one of the city councillors where she lives.
And like me, she's also Filipino—half, actually, because her mother is Japanese.
While Bert and Ards planned where to celebrate, I decided to visit the agency chief.
I took the elevator to his floor. Just as I was about to press the close button, I heard someone calling.
"Wait! Wait!" a woman yelled.
She hurried into the elevator, dropping some documents she was holding.
"Sorry! I was in a rush!" she said, worried.
I wasn't paying attention—until I saw a logo on one of her documents: a golden sparrow with a laurel crown.
"That sparrow from before," I muttered, looking at it.