THE FOOL-Chapter 40: Beginning of the Blight

While Lara was resting, she noticed that Damon had finally succumbed to exhaustion. Even while seated, he had dozed off into what seemed like a deep sleep. She could feel the weight of his worry for her through his tired expression and still posture.

She tried to sit up, intending to at least cover him with a blanket as a small gesture of thanks. But before she could even get up, Phoebe entered the room quietly and gently placed a comfortable-looking blanket over Damon's shoulders.

Lara saw it all. Though a subtle pang of jealousy stirred in her chest, she chose to remain silent, watching Phoebe's quiet care.

Phoebe noticed Lara awake and smiled at her. "Don't try to move too much," she said gently. "You need to rest."

She then walked over and turned on the television across from the bed, hoping to give Lara something light to watch. Phoebe sat beside her on the bed, keeping her company as the screen flickered softly in the dim room.

Even now, the news about what they're calling the "VIP Massacre"—the event where Lara was rescued—continued to dominate the media. It was still being broadcast on the television, and Phoebe noticed the fear and trauma still evident in Lara's eyes as she silently watched.

Sensing the emotional weight pressing down on her, Phoebe gently changed the channel. A lighthearted, cute anime appeared on screen.

"Let's stick with something cheerful for now," Phoebe said with a soft smile. "You don't need any more stress."

Lara smiled faintly in return. "Thank you," she said quietly.

But just as things seemed to calm down, an urgent news flash interrupted the show.

"This just in," said the news reporter. "An entire family has reportedly died under mysterious circumstances due to an unknown illness that affected one of their relatives."

The screen shifted to shaky footage showing chaos in a barangay in Pasay City.

"According to residents, many people in the neighborhood have suddenly begun vomiting blood and writhing in pain," the reporter continued, trying to maintain composure. "Authorities believe this may be a new, unidentified epidemic."

But before they could continue the coverage, the reporter herself began coughing violently. She staggered back from the scene, clearly affected by something in the air.

"We'll return with updates once it's safe," the anchor said as the broadcast abruptly cut back to the studio.

Phoebe immediately turned off the TV. "No more news for now," she said, trying to keep the atmosphere calm. "I'll just play some music instead."

But deep down, she couldn't help but wonder: What kind of sickness was that...?

Phoebe couldn't help but pause, a lingering thought crossing her mind. That strange illness on the news... it felt eerily similar to Damon's ability. But no—she was certain. Damon would never do something like that to innocent people, especially not an entire family of ordinary civilians.

Could it be... someone else has an ability like his? The possibility unsettled her.

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Shaking her head, she tried to push the thought aside. She turned on some soft music to ease the tension in the room and glanced over at Lara, who had begun to relax under the blanket.

"I'll be back in a bit," Phoebe said gently.

"I'm going to prepare something for us to eat."

With that, she stepped out of the room, leaving Lara to rest quietly with the music playing in the background.

...

---Meanwhile, inside the police headquarters---

Inside the briefing room of the city's police headquarters, an intense meeting was underway. Gathered were several high-ranking election candidates—figures of influence, power, and wealth—now unified by one shared emotion: outrage.

"What kind of incompetence is this?!" one candidate bellowed, slamming his palm against the long wooden table.

Their complaints flooded the room, all directed at the current Chief of Police, who stood quietly in front, trying to maintain his composure. Many of those who perished in the so-called "event" were apparently members of their political party or business associates—powerful connections, now gone in a single, bloody night.

"We demand answers," shouted Congressman Bobong, his voice louder than the rest. "How can someone slaughter high-ranking individuals, walk into our own secured gathering, and walk out alive—without leaving a single trace?"

The Chief struggled to respond, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "We... we're doing everything we can. We're investigating all leads—"

"Doing everything you can?!" Bobong slammed his fist on the table again, this time knocking over a pitcher of water. "It's been days! Not even a single damn clue about this person calling himself The Fool! His name is plastered all over the news, people are praising him like a hero—and yet here we are, the ones being mocked!"

The silence that followed was thick with tension.

"We're the ones looking like the fools here," Bobong added bitterly, his eyes narrowing. "And if your department can't handle this, we'll find someone who can."

The Chief clenched his jaw, knowing full well that his position—and the integrity of his entire force—was now hanging by a thread.

The current state of the police force only added fuel to the fire.

Most of the officers standing guard or seated in the room wore uniforms that seemed one size too small—bellies bulging, buttons straining, their movements sluggish and untrained. They looked more like aging security guards than trained law enforcers. Their belts clinked not with tactical tools, but with excess gear they barely knew how to use.

They were loud, yes—boasting and barking orders during peaceful days—but when real danger finally came knocking, when a force like The Fool emerged... they had no idea how to respond.

No real skill. No discipline. Just arrogance and empty bravado.

And now, with the entire nation watching, these so-called protectors of the people were exposed—useless and unprepared, a laughing stock in the eyes of the powerful... and the public.

"This..." Congressman Bobong sneered as he gestured toward one of the round-bellied officers who barely looked up, "...is who's supposed to protect us from a vigilante assassin? No wonder the people cheer for The Fool."

The room fell into sudden silence—as if time itself paused—when the heavy double doors swung open with a commanding creak.

All the bickering politicians froze. Even the puffed-up policemen, who were just moments ago arrogantly defending their incompetence, stood straight like scolded children.

Senator Julius had arrived.

Towering, sharp-dressed, and radiating undeniable authority, he entered the room with an aura that demanded obedience. And right beside him, silent and cold-eyed, was Kevin—his presence just as sharp, just as dangerous.

Senator Julius's gaze swept the room like a blade.

"Leave. All of you." His voice was calm but laced with venom, directed at the trembling officers in uniform.

"If you can't even catch a ghost like The Fool, I don't want to see your useless faces in my line of sight."

The policemen didn't protest. They simply nodded and scurried away, avoiding Kevin's piercing stare.

Then, the senator turned to the still-fuming politicians.

"And as for you," he continued, now addressing the congressmen who earlier argued among themselves, "if you're not here to contribute anything useful, then shut your mouths and let the real men take charge."

The room was quiet—eerily respectful.

Kevin remained quiet by his side, arms crossed, eyes locked onto every person in the room like a predator sizing up prey. The irritation on his face was clear, especially when his gaze landed on the lazy officers who had done nothing but sit and complain.