Chapter 1

The rooster crowed in the distance as the sun gently broke over the hills of the Philippine countryside. Dew clung to the grass like little gems, and the faint aroma of coffee drifted from a modest home on the edge of a sleepy town. Inside that small but well-kept house, a young man stirred awake — not because of an alarm, but simply because his body had grown used to the rhythm of peace.

Sean Reyes.

He was 26 years old, far younger than the air of contentment that clung to his every motion. Tall, lean, and refined in manner, Sean was a man who had tasted the frenzy of the high life but had chosen otherwise. In the city, he had been a star — the son of a billionaire tycoon, a valedictorian from one of the country's top law schools, a licensed attorney with powerful firms eager to snap him up. But Sean didn't want that life.

He wanted peace.

So he left.

He moved to the province of his mother's birth — a place so far removed from the buzz of Manila it felt like stepping into another world. There, he opened a small convenience store — the kind with rows of canned goods, packs of instant noodles, and a loyal stream of villagers who appreciated his gentle smile and warm conversation. The townsfolk loved him. "That city boy's got an old soul," they'd say.

Every morning was simple: wake up, bathe, brew coffee, feed the chickens out back, open the store by 7 a.m., and watch life pass like the slow, sweet turning of a page. Sean didn't need much — just the sky, the trees, the breeze, and the joy of watching children run by with scraped knees and wide grins.

He was living the dream he had promised himself. No pressure. No headlines. No expectations.

But fate, as it always does, crept in quietly.

One morning, Sean noticed a strange weariness in his bones. He brushed it off at first — maybe it was the change in weather or a bad night's sleep. But the fatigue didn't go away. It worsened. Then came the pain. Subtle at first, like a whisper in his ribs. Later, it turned into a steady, stabbing reminder that something was wrong.

Sean didn't want to alarm anyone, so he traveled to the city in secret. He told no one, not even his father who had been trying to get him to return to the family estate. He walked into the hospital alone, his name unrecognized by the receptionist despite his family's fame.

The tests took a few hours. The results? Even faster.

Cancer. Late-stage. Incurable unless treated aggressively with chemotherapy. Even then, no promises.

Sean sat silently in the doctor's office, watching the man's lips move but not really hearing the words. All he could think of was how this world, which had finally offered him peace, was now taking it away.

"Chemo?" he asked, more to himself than the doctor. "No… I left that life for a reason."

He returned home, saying nothing. That evening, he sat alone under the starlit sky, the scent of the river on the wind, the soft chirps of crickets playing like background music to his thoughts. The same thoughts that had driven him here years ago.

"You really can't be greedy in life."

That was all he said aloud.

And then, slowly but surely, he began to fade.

His body weakened, but he kept the store running for as long as he could. People noticed his weight loss, the paleness of his skin, the tired look in his eyes — but Sean just smiled. "Pagod lang," he'd say. "Just tired."

Eventually, the day came when he didn't open the store. A few curious villagers knocked, and when there was no answer, they entered gently — and found him in his chair, a book in hand, eyes closed, a faint smile on his lips. He looked peaceful.

Because he was.

He had lived as he wanted — quietly, humbly, far from the pressure of wealth and legacy. And though the cancer had taken his life, it hadn't taken his peace.