Castillian #1: Sinner's Formula

Scarlet Fuentabella was now officially "the girl who slapped Clarisse Santiago with words."

According to the university gossips, she was the soft-spoken savage — looked like she didn't know how to multitask but apparently could multiverse her rage. Everyone had their own version of what happened in the hallway. Everyone had their own theory.

"Wow, she's so powerful!"

"And the way she said it? Like it was scripted!"

"Clarisse? She's been quiet lately. Probably traumatized."

"You know, she gives main character energy."

"Whoever's writing Scarlet's life? Genius!"

And while everyone thought Scarlet was now entering her boss era...

She was currently... stuck in the middle of the hallway. Facing a vending machine. Crying. Because the Royal soda she ordered didn't drop.

"Why is this happening…" she sniffled. "...I just want vitamin C."

Kathryn arrived first. "Girl. Why are you crying?"

"The orange soda… it didn't drop…"

"Wait. Is this the queen of engineering that people are talking about in the anonymous campus confessions?"

Liza arrived next. "Oh no, what now? Scar, what—oh my god. It's the vending machine drama again."

Scarlet turned to them with teary eyes. "Can I use your coins? I just want a Royal…"

Kathryn blinked.

Liza blinked.

And then they both said at the same time:

"Yup. She's still the same."

12:10 PM – Engineering Lounge

"Scarlet, where's my pen?"

"I used it to poke at the coins inside the vending machine—oh wait, sorry!"

"Scarlet, where's our output?"

"I thought we were only submitting the outline…"

"Scarlet, how many times do we have to tell you that Tesla didn't invent the light bulb—"

"Oh sorry! I thought… because Thomas Edison has a 'T' in his name…"

Even the new transferees who had only heard of "The Scarlet Showdown" were surprised.

"That's her?"

"Yup."

"She's just… vibing?"

"One time I was in line with her at the printing station. The only shortcut she knows is copy-paste."

"Baby, is this barbecue good?" Scarlet asked while gnawing on the stick. "Feels like it's undercooked."

Mico looked at her, smiled, and wiped the smudge of sauce from the corner of her lips.

"You don't always have to be strong, Scarlet."

Scarlet blinked. "Huh?"

"It's okay to be like this. Sickly, always hungry, cute, clumsy, kind of… slow."

Scarlet frowned. "Just kind of?"

Mico laughed. "Yeah. Just kind of. Because even if you're like this…"

He leaned closer, eyes locked on hers.

"… I'd still choose you."

Scarlet felt her heart do ten backflips and a cartwheel.

She looked at him, teary-eyed.

"Damn you. It's just one barbecue and now you've made me cry."

Mico kissed her forehead. "Next time, let's go with fishball."

- 🏀 -

It was supposed to be just another night for the Castillian Five — a night of loud music, overflowing drinks, and inside jokes only they could understand.

But tonight, Mico Cein Esguerra walked into the bar with something — or rather, someone — new.

Scarlet.

In her black cropped cardigan and denim skirt, Scarlet looked like she didn't belong in that world of bass drops, flashing strobe lights, and flirty glances. She was clearly out of her comfort zone, but Mico's hand never left hers. He tugged her closer as they walked past the crowd, owning the space like he always did.

"You took so long," called Uno from near the VIP table, drink already in hand. His eyes landed on Scarlet. "Oh? Ohhh?"

"Holy shit," Jairo laughed, leaning back on the couch, one brow raised. "Is this her? The Scarlet?"

Mico just smirked. "Idiots, behave. This is—Scarlet Dela Vega."

Uno was the first to approach. "Hi, I'm Uno. Take a shot for every dumb thing I say." He winked.

Next came Jairo, offering a lazy fist bump. "You must be special. First girl Mico's ever brought to one of these."

Felix, already half-drunk, raised his glass in her direction. "If she's the reason you're barely around lately, then fine. I'll allow it."

Lynx didn't say much—just nodded at Scarlet with his usual cool-kid vibe, shades on, chewing ice.

It was a whirlwind of introductions, teasing, and attempts to make Scarlet feel at ease. She smiled politely at each of them, trying her best to hide how overwhelmed she felt. But Mico? He was calm—like he planned all of this. Like he needed them to meet her.

After a while, Mico leaned close to her ear. "Come on. I have a spot in the back."

He led her past the dancing crowd to a dimly lit, secluded lounge—hidden behind velvet curtains and half walls. There was a plush couch, low table, and a view of the entire bar without being seen. Perfectly private.

Scarlet sat. Mico followed. But instead of sitting beside her… he sprawled.

He slung his arm lazily across the back of the couch, fingers just barely brushing her shoulder. His leg pressed against hers, thigh to thigh. And when she looked up at him—half warning, half questioning—he was already smirking.

"You okay?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Good," he murmured, voice dropping low, one hand sliding casually over her thigh like it belonged there. "Because here, no one gets to interfere."

Scarlet's breath hitched.

And Mico?

His hand stayed exactly where it shouldn't be.