NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 189: Date Part 1
It wasn't a press event. It wasn't a boardroom meeting. It wasn't a site inspection, summit, or groundbreaking.
It was just lunch.
And that—more than anything—made it strange for Angel.
She stood by the main fountain near the SM North EDSA Sky Dome, hands in the pockets of her slate-gray jacket, watching children toss coins into the water while an elderly couple took selfies under the paper lanterns still hanging from Chinese New Year. Around her, the city buzzed with weekend energy. Families filled the air with chatter, delivery riders clustered at the entrance, and the faint scent of fried chicken and freshly brewed milk tea drifted through the breeze.
Then came the familiar voice.
"You waited long?" Matthew asked as he appeared from the escalator crowd, dressed casually in a black polo and jeans—an odd contrast to his usual steel-gray slacks and collared power presence.
Angel turned with a faint smile. "Only long enough to forget this place has too many exits."
He grinned. "That's SM North for you. You can enter at lunchtime and end up in Trinoma by dinner."
She laughed, more relaxed now. "So. This is really happening?"
He glanced around. "No helmets. No drones. No city maps on screens. Just… us."
Angel tilted her head playfully. "Weird."
"Good weird?" he offered.
She shrugged, the corner of her lip tugging upward. "We'll see."
—
12:30 PM — The Block, SM North | Nabe Japanese Hot Pot + Grill
The smell of sizzling meat and seaweed broth greeted them as they stepped into the warm lighting of the restaurant. A waitress guided them to a window booth tucked slightly away from the rest of the diners.
They sat across from each other as the menus unfolded.
"I can't remember the last time I ate somewhere that didn't come with a construction update," Angel said, running her finger down the sukiyaki set options.
Matthew chuckled. "Pretty sure the last time we dined out, it was on a folding table in a Cavite tunnel site."
"Don't knock that tunnel food. The beef adobo there was excellent."
"I'll put it in the Michelin Guide: 'Best adobo under 100 meters of bedrock.'"
Angel laughed, and for a moment, it felt like they weren't architects of a national transit overhaul—but just two people enjoying a meal.
They ordered a two-broth hot pot set, Wagyu slices, gyoza, and salmon belly. A server brought a small tray of sauces and veggies.
"You mix your own dip?" Angel asked, raising a brow.
"I usually just wing it," Matthew said, grabbing chili oil and ponzu. "Live dangerously."
"You build a multibillion-peso subway with precision and redundancy, but sauce is where you gamble?"
He shrugged. "Gotta keep life spicy."
Their conversation drifted—about school memories, favorite cities, terrible takeout stories. The hot pot bubbled between them, steam rising in fragrant plumes. At one point, Angel tried to fish out a slice of tofu and dropped it.
Matthew stifled a laugh. "You almost launched that like TBM Bonifacio."
"Shut up," she said with mock annoyance, cheeks pink from the broth and laughter.
She hadn't smiled this much in weeks.
Neither had he.
—
1:50 PM — Cyberzone Arcade, SM North Main
They wandered into the buzzing neon chaos of the arcade after lunch—drawn in more out of curiosity than plan. The air inside was pure sensory overload: bright LED lights, rapid-fire 8-bit music, the mechanical clunk of tickets dispensing.
"Don't tell me you're the kind of guy who plays claw machines," Angel teased as Matthew eyed one near the entrance.
"I'm more of a time crisis and racing sim kind of guy," he replied.
"Sure. Until you see the stuffed Pikachu and suddenly become competitive."
He smirked. "Care to challenge me?"
They loaded ₱500 worth of game credits and started with the classics: basketball hoops, where Angel wiped the floor with him.
"Who's the infrastructure queen now?" she teased as her final shot swished perfectly at the buzzer.
Matthew shook his head. "I build subway tunnels, not three-pointers."
Then came air hockey. He won. Barely.
Dance pads? Draw.
Shooting gallery? Matthew.
Rhythm drumming game? Angel. By a landslide.
She pulled him toward the racing seats next. "Winner picks the dessert spot."
"Fine," he said, sliding into the seat, "but I don't go easy."
They both picked Tokyo Drift as the map. Matthew took an early lead, but Angel's controlled cornering kept pace. In the final stretch, she nosed past him on the inside.
"Victory!" she shouted, arms in the air.
He blinked. "You brake-drifted through that chicane."
"Maybe you should go easy next time," she said smugly. "Now, I'm thinking milk tea."
—
2:45 PM — Gong Cha, SM Annex
Seated near the railing on the second level, Angel sipped her Wintermelon with pudding while Matthew stirred his brown sugar drink.
Across from them, the arcade still hummed in the distance. Below, shoppers passed by in slow waves. No one stared. No one pointed. To everyone else, they were just another couple in the crowd.
"I don't get to do this much," Angel admitted softly.
"Me neither," Matthew replied.
She swirled her drink. "It's always go, pitch, launch, coordinate. Sometimes I wonder if we skipped the part where we're just… people."
He looked at her then, and for once, there was no fire of ambition in his eyes—only calm.
"I didn't forget," he said. "And I don't want to."
Angel smiled, her voice lighter. "Good. Because next, we're going to walk off all this food."
"And then?"
"We go book hunting."
"SM North really has it all, huh?"
She leaned back. "Subways. Strategies. And now… a slice of our own lives."
They finished their drinks, stood, and slipped into the crowd—just two people, lost not in deadlines, but in each other's quiet company.
3:20 PM — National Book Store, SM North Main
The scent of printed paper and aging shelves welcomed them like an old friend. Fluorescent lights bathed rows of novels, journals, and technical manuals in a soft white glow. Students clustered in the review section, parents browsed school supplies, and at the far end, a quiet reading corner gave the place a calm heart.
Angel drifted toward the fiction aisle while Matthew veered off toward architecture and engineering. It wasn't long before they met again halfway—she holding a paperback with a starry cover, him leafing through a monograph on underground transit hubs.
"You're reading space opera?" he asked, amused.
"Only if there's a romance arc," she shot back. "What about you? Can't escape the job even here?"
He shrugged, holding up the book. "Research for future tunnels."
She rolled her eyes and nudged his shoulder. "You need more imagination."
"And you," he said, tapping her book, "need fewer planets."