Chapter 10: Strange Afternoon

Teacher Greg and Steffy stopped at a small barbecue stand near the barangay hall—the scent of grilled meat mingled with the salty sea breeze.

The ocean view should have calmed Steffy's turbulent mood, but her irritation persisted.

"Good afternoon, Sir Greg, and to the beautiful lady beside you!" the vendor and bystanders greeted cheerfully.

Steffy only scowled in response, earning amused glances from the teacher. "What a charming companion I have," he teased.

The vendor, a stout woman in a grease-stained apron, beamed as they approached. "Sir Greg! Your usual Betamax or chicken feet?"

"What the hell is Betamax?" Steffy muttered loud enough to be heard.

Mrs. Reyes chuckled and lifted a stick, skewering something black and rectangular. "This is Betamax, dear. It's coagulated blood from pigs or chickens, shaped like a cassette tape. You dip it in spicy vinegar—it's delicious!"

Steffy grimaced, stepping back instinctively. "Blood? What am I, a vampire?"

"It doesn't taste like blood, I promise," Teacher Greg interjected, already placing an order. "Six sticks, please, Mrs. Reyes."

"No way. I'm not eating that!" Steffy declared, turning to leave, but Greg caught her wrist with practiced ease.

"You're not going anywhere," he said, grinning. "No judgments until you've tried it."

"Let go of me, sir! You're acting like a kidnapper!" she snapped, though she begrudgingly let herself be led back.

"And you're acting like a brat," he replied lightly, releasing her. "Relax. Consider this a lesson in culture."

"I didn't ask for a lesson, you predator," she muttered, but she stayed put, crossing her arms as Greg motioned toward the other offerings on the grill.

"Language, Miss Rivera," he said sternly.

Steffy stood still, shocked by this man's brief, eerie demeanor.

"So… this is isaw—chicken or pork intestines—and over here, we have fish balls and kwek-kwek," Greg explained as if he had instantly returned to his goofy self.

"I know what street food is," Steffy huffed. "I've just never eaten it."

"Tragic," he replied, smirking. "Allow me to educate you then. Isaw is one of the most beloved street foods in the Philippines, especially in the countryside. And yes, it's clean. Vendors purge the intestines thoroughly before grilling. The dish gained popularity in the 1970s when economic hardships made scrap cuts of meat valuable—"

"Ugh, you and your history lessons," Steffy groaned, cutting him off.

"Shh, I'm not finished," he continued, undeterred. "Fish balls are ground fish mixed with flour, and kwek-kwek are quail eggs coated in bright orange batter. You'll find these all over the city you came from."

"Great. Bright orange food. Very appetizing," she said sarcastically.

Mrs. Reyes chimed in, holding up a stick of kwek-kwek. "You'll love it! The sauce is what makes it special. Every vendor has their secret recipe."

"Thank you, suki. We'll take a dozen of your fish balls and six sticks of isaw, and another six sticks of Betamax," Greg said, ignoring Steffy's apparent reluctance as he guided her to a nearby table.

"I don't think my stomach will survive this," she muttered, sinking into her chair.

"Save your judgment until after you eat," Greg teased, grinning as he leaned back.

Steffy sat stiffly, her eyes wandering to avoid his gaze. Nearby, an older man and a boy dressed in tattered clothes walked past, asking for alms. The man looked frail, and the child was malnourished.

On the other side of the street, a young girl, no older than Steffy, stood with a visibly pregnant belly.

"Teenage pregnancy," Greg said, breaking the silence. "It's rampant here. Poverty drives it. Young girls forced into early motherhood."

"They did that to themselves," Steffy replied, her tone cold.

Greg raised an eyebrow, his voice turning sharp. "Do you really think that? Poverty doesn't just knock on their doors—it traps them. It strips away choices."

"People make their own choices," Steffy shot back. "The rich are rich because they work for it. If the poor want better lives, they should work harder."

Greg leaned forward, his eyes darkening. "The poor do work hard, Steffy. Harder than you'll ever understand. They break their backs for scraps while the rich hoard opportunities and resources. If people like you, born with a silver spoon, shared even a fraction of your privilege—education, financial knowledge—maybe they'd have a fighting chance."

Steffy clenched her fists, unsure why his words unsettled her so much. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

Greg's expression softened, though his gaze lingered with a hint of sadness. "Because you need to hear it."

Before she could respond, Mrs. Reyes approached with their orders, breaking the tension.

Greg's demeanor instantly shifted, his seriousness replaced with playful enthusiasm. "Ah, finally! Let's dig in," he said, sliding the platter of isaw toward Steffy.

She stared at the skewered intestines like they might bite her first. "This better not kill me," she muttered, reluctantly picking up a stick.

"It won't. Promise," Greg said, grinning.

Steffy took a tentative bite, her face scrunching as she chewed. To her surprise, it wasn't bad.

"Well?" Greg asked, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

"It's… okay," she admitted begrudgingly.

"I told you so!" he declared, laughing.

Steffy rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. For once, she let herself relax, the strange man across from her not seeming quite so irritating—for now.