Chapter 8: The Lighter Frenzy and a Taste of Home
People rose outrageously early in Sarimanook. When I arrived at our market spot—what felt like seven in the freaking morning—the air was still cool, tinged with woodsmoke and damp earth. Marikit was already there, a small, determined silhouette waiting patiently beside our empty patch of ground.
"Good morning, Kuya Pepito!" she chirped, her face lighting up like a sunrise.
"Morning, Marie. You're here bright and early," I said, grinning. I slung my canvas rucksack off my shoulder—it held a few personal things, but the real treasure was stored safely in my phone.
"People were already asking about your lighters!" she said, then twirled dramatically and pointed behind me. "Anyway, you've got customers! Lots of them, po!"
I followed her finger… and felt my jaw swing open. A long, snaking line stretched out from our stall and deep into the bustling marketplace. Some folks at the front held little numbered pieces of slate. Marie had somehow improvised a ticketing system. The girl was born for logistics.
"So many people!" she exclaimed, bouncing with excitement. "Let's work really hard today, po, Kuya Pepito!"
I stood frozen for a beat, stunned. My Pocket Infernos were a hit. No—more than a hit—they were a straight-up frenzy. Then the adrenaline kicked in.
"All right. No time for chill setup. Mari, battle stations!"
We dropped our picnic blanket and I tapped my phone. A few shimmering boxes of lighters whooshed into existence on the mat. The crowd gasped like I'd just conjured treasure.
"Okay, Marie," I whispered, crouching beside her. "Quick code: 'S' for small, 'L' for large, and 'X' for the new rugged ones—eXtreme, get it?"
She nodded solemnly, like a general accepting classified orders.
"I'll call out the orders. You bag them. Ready?" I handed her a stack of brown paper bags from Pasig.
"Yes, sir! Leave it to me, po!"
I stepped forward, raised my voice, and declared to the growing horde, "Sorry for the delay, everyone! Pepito's Wonders & Wares is now officially open!"
And just like that, the morning exploded. Voices shouted, coins clinked, and lighters practically flew from our hands.
"Marie! Three S, two L!"
"Okay po!" she said, her hands moving at lightning speed. "Here you go! Thank you for waiting po!" she chirped at a burly adventurer.
"One X, one L!"
"Five S, please!"
I took payments, hands working on instinct. The coins made a happy metallic clatter into our wooden cash box. Marie, a tiny whirlwind of precision, kept pace like she'd been doing this her whole life. We weren't just a boy and a girl—we were a battle-tested sales duo, a two-person economic typhoon.
Three sweaty, glorious hours later, we were hoarse, drained, and sitting on a nearly empty blanket.
"I'm very sorry, everyone, but we are completely sold out for today!" I announced.
A collective groan rolled through the crowd like thunder.
Mari and I collapsed onto the ground, exhausted and exhilarated. Her cheeks were streaked with dust, and she looked like a soot-smeared warrior straight out of a fairy tale.
"We did it, partner," I said, a wave of triumphant disbelief washing over me.
As I sorted the hefty pile of coins, I did the math. We'd sold every single one of our 400 lighters. Total haul: 15,000 Tanso. That translated to 150 Pilak or 1.5 Ginto—about ₱15,000. After subtracting yesterday's ₱5,000 restocking run, our profit for the day came to a glorious, glowing ₱10,000.
"Damn," I breathed, low and slow. A shiver ran down my spine, part awe, part suspicion. Was this sustainable… or was the universe just fattening me up for some cosmic punchline?
Then my stomach made a dramatic entrance into the conversation—a growl loud enough to scare off small animals. Marie's head whipped up; her own belly joined in with a hungry squeak. She turned beet red.
"Hey, hey," I chuckled, reaching over to pat her head. She flinched for half a second, then leaned into it like a sleepy cat. "You earned your meal, champ."
I pulled out our reward from my personal stash: a ham sandwich and a plastic cup of champorado, both carefully wrapped. The scent of sweet chocolate rice porridge rose into the air like a childhood memory.
"Here. Lunch is served. Thought you might want to try a taste of my home."
She pointed at the sandwich, eyes wide. "Is that… bread? It's so white po!"
"Yup. Ham sandwich. Classic city-kid lunch."
She studied the soft, fluffy bread like it was an alien artifact. "I've never seen bread like that. Ours is always brown and kinda crusty po…"
"Try it. And the champorado too. Good for energy."
"I can really have it po?"
"Of course. We're partners, right? Partners share the loot."
"Thank you po!" she said, reverently accepting the food.
One giant bite later, her eyes went full sparkle. "Oh! It's so good po!" she mumbled, still chewing. Then she tasted the champorado. "And this is like… dessert soup! I love it po!"
I watched her eat, feeling something warm bloom in my chest. Not just pride, not just relief. It was the quiet, deep joy of sharing something real—something personal—with someone who appreciated it.
Once our lunch was over, I leaned back and said, "Alright, Marie. For today's heroic effort, how does two Pilak sound for your pay?"
Her jaw nearly hit the ground. "Two… two Pilak, Kuya Pepito? That's even more than yesterday po! Are you sure po?"
"Completely sure," I said, firm. "You're worth every Tanso. You've got the heart and hustle of a true partner."
Her smile, when it came, lit up the entire street. Honestly, I think that moment right there?
It was worth more than all the coins we made