The security guards at the village gate recognized Jun-Jun immediately this time. The lead guard from the previous night stepped out, a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing Jun-Jun arriving on foot, accompanied only by Migs, rather than via taxi convoy, party bus, or potentially helicopter.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Dela Cruz! Sir Migs!" the guard greeted, quickly raising the barrier. "Smooth entry today, sir?"
"Very smooth, Officer!" Jun-Jun replied cheerfully. "Enjoyed a lovely stroll through the park. Highly recommend it!" He fished in his pocket, found another P5,000 bill (apparently his standard 'gate guard appreciation' denomination), and handed it over. "For keeping the peace!"
The guard accepted the tip with a grateful nod, already less stunned than the previous night. Perhaps astronomical tips were becoming normalized when dealing with Mr. Dela Cruz.
They walked the short distance down the quiet, tree-lined street to Jun-Jun's house. The contrast between the bustling Ayala Triangle park they'd just left and the serene, almost unnervingly silent, luxury of the village was palpable. High walls shielded magnificent houses, and the only sounds were the chirping of birds and the distant hum of expensive air conditioning units.
"See, Migs?" Jun-Jun remarked, gesturing around. "Walking allows you to appreciate the... architectural nuances."
"It also allows you to get sweaty and notice how quiet it is right before something inevitably explodes," Migs countered, though less sharply than before. The walk had been surprisingly pleasant, almost resetting his stress levels back to 'mildly concerned' instead of 'imminent aneurysm'.
Mang George met them at the door, holding a tray with two tall glasses of iced calamansi juice. "Welcome back, sirs. Hydration after your walk?"
"Perfect timing, Mang George!" Jun-Jun took a glass gratefully. Migs did the same. The cool, tart juice was instantly refreshing.
They settled back into the den, the scene of their post-halo-halo debriefing just hours earlier. It felt like days ago.
"So," Jun-Jun began, swirling his drink. "Verdict on pedestrianism?"
"It was... nice," Migs admitted. "Good to stretch the legs. Good to not be actively fleeing authorities or causing city-wide alerts."
"True," Jun-Jun conceded. "Lower adrenaline, but perhaps less efficient for time-sensitive dessert acquisition." He considered. "Maybe walking is good for... non-urgent situations? Leisurely strolls? Reconnaissance?"
"Or just getting from Point A to Point B when they're relatively close, Jun-Jun?" Migs suggested.
"Hmm. Possible." Jun-Jun didn't sound entirely convinced that efficiency wasn't paramount even for leisure.
Mang George appeared at the doorway again. "Sir, a brief update, if I may?"
"Fire away, Mang George!"
"Our legal team reports preliminary discussions with the MMDA's legal department are...'progressing'. They anticipate a resolution involving substantial fines and possibly mandatory attendance at a 'responsible vehicle operation seminar' for you, sir." Mang George delivered this last part without a hint of irony.
Jun-Jun choked slightly on his calamansi juice. "Responsible vehicle operation seminar? Me?" He started laughing. "Oh, that's rich! Tell the lawyers to accept! But also tell them I want to sponsor the seminar! Upgrade their facilities! Provide gourmet catering! Maybe hire celebrity guest speakers?"
"I shall relay your... enthusiastic acceptance and sponsorship offer, sir," Mang George replied smoothly. "Regarding Captain Reyes, he declined the opera tickets but indicated a willingness to accept the fruit-and-chocolate basket as 'evidence related to potential undue influence attempts'."
"Progress!" Jun-Jun declared. "He's engaging! Keep the consultancy offer open!"
"And the aerospace brokers, sir. Two have confirmed receipt of the feasibility funding and are assembling research teams for the 'Zero-G Halo-Halo Culinary Experiment'. They estimate initial reports within six to eight months."
"Excellent!" Jun-Jun beamed. "Something to look forward to!"
"Finally, sir," Mang George concluded, "Mateo has returned with the Mercedes and confirms a smooth, uneventful trip for Sir Migs' Grab driver, who expressed extreme, almost tearful, gratitude for the tip."
"Wonderful!" Jun-Jun clapped his hands together. "See, Migs? Everything handled! Problems solved!"
Migs just shook his head, sipping his juice. Only Jun-Jun could view potential criminal charges, declined bribes, and multi-million dollar zero-G research funding as 'everything handled'.
"Okay," Migs said, putting his glass down. "Well, I'm glad today was relatively calm. Thanks for brunch, Jun-Jun. Even the Swiss ice was... memorable." He stood up. "I should really head off now."
"Leaving again?" Jun-Jun looked genuinely crestfallen. "But we just got back! We haven't even planned our afternoon!"
"Jun-Jun, my plan for the afternoon is a nap. A long, deep nap. To recover from yesterday."
"Nonsense! We just had a relaxing walk! We're invigorated!" Jun-Jun insisted. "We should do another 'normal' activity! Something domestic!" His eyes lit up. "I know! Let's cook!"
Migs froze halfway to the door. "Cook?" he repeated cautiously. "You want to... cook? Here?" He looked around the pristine, minimalist house, trying to imagine Jun-Jun actually using a kitchen.
"Yeah! Like normal people do!" Jun-Jun enthused. "What should we make? Adobo? Sinigang? Maybe something simple first... like... cookies?"
The idea of baking cookies seemed so incongruously wholesome, so jarringly normal, that Migs almost relaxed. Maybe Jun-Jun was finally winding down. "Cookies," Migs echoed. "Okay. I guess we could bake some cookies. Do you even have, like, flour and sugar?"
"Mang George!" Jun-Jun called out, already heading towards what Migs assumed was the kitchen wing. "We're baking cookies! Do we have ingredients?"
"We have a fully stocked pantry and state-of-the-art kitchen facilities, sir," Mang George confirmed, appearing instantly. "Chef normally handles all culinary preparations, but the equipment is available."
"Excellent!" Jun-Jun declared, pushing through a sleek, hidden door into a kitchen that looked like it belonged on a spaceship – all gleaming chrome, induction cooktops, and touch-screen interfaces. "Forget Chef! Migs and I are baking! It'll be fun!"
He looked around the vast, intimidatingly clean kitchen. "Okay! First step: preheat the oven! Which one is the oven?" He started randomly poking at touch screens.
Migs watched him, a familiar sense of dread creeping back in. This seemed simple enough. How could Jun-Jun possibly turn baking cookies into an exercise in chaos and absurd expense?
"Right!" Jun-Jun announced, having accidentally turned on the overhead extractor fan to hurricane levels before finding the oven controls. "Ingredients! Mang George, we need the best! Source organic butter churned by Himalayan monks, find me fair-trade chocolate harvested only under a full moon, procure flour milled by wind power in the Netherlands, and are Tahitian vanilla beans really the best or should we try cultivating a new hybrid?" He was already pulling out his phone again. "I'll need to fund a vanilla R&D project..."
Migs closed his eyes and leaned against a ridiculously expensive-looking chrome refrigerator. Normalcy, it seemed, was destined to remain a theoretical concept. The great cookie bake-off was about to begin.