The flight to Singapore had been booked with surprising urgency. No flashy announcements. No long briefings. Just a message from President Novarro:
"The board wants you to present Genesis—and the next product—in person. Aerodyne is wants you to go to Singapore. Make it count. We trust you."
Elian read it three times. It wasn't a request.
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The city of Singapore shimmered like a polished circuit board, orderly and luminous. From the window of his 27th-floor suite, Elian Reyes watched the skyline as planes sliced silently across the sky and reflections danced on Marina Bay. The journey had been swift, a flight of barely three hours from Manila, yet it felt like they'd landed on another planet—one where every second was calibrated, timed, and precise.
The suite was sleek and modern, outfitted in deep grays and matte whites, trimmed with chrome and warm indirect lighting. A glass desk overlooked the skyline, and two bedrooms extended from the central living space. A full kitchen stood on one side, untouched. The scent of fresh linen and climate-controlled air hung quietly, yet something about the place already felt… lived in.
Elian tossed his jacket on the back of the designer couch and checked the wall console. Room temperature: optimal. Noise level: minimal. Network signal: full bars. He exhaled. For once, there was no dashboard to build, no server to monitor—just silence, tension, and the scent of potential.
The suite door opened again with a soft chime.
"You weren't kidding," Alexa Trinidad said, stepping in behind Cynthia Lao. "This place is a sci-fi movie set."
Cynthia nodded, wheeling in her luggage with a faint, appreciative hum. "I could get used to this."
"Don't. We're pitching tomorrow, not moving in," Elian said, though the edges of his smile betrayed his amusement. "Pick a room. Both have views."
They did, and within minutes the girls had claimed corners of the suite. Alexa wandered to the open fridge, where bottled cold brew, water, and expensive snacks waited in neat rows.
"Elian," she called from the kitchen. "You rich now or what?"
"Company tab," he replied, walking over. "I'd rather they bill Novarro directly."
She laughed, pulling out a drink. "Fair."
The mood was warm, lowkey. Not celebratory—yet—but calm in the way a team feels before the final climb. Cynthia curled up on the couch with her tablet, skimming last-minute tweaks on the pitch UI. The layout was elegant, visual-first, but deep enough for technical scrutiny. Genesis, though now licensed, had sparked interest from two other sectors—fintech and industrial agriculture. But this client, based in Singapore, was different.
They were building something that combined health logistics and wearable technology—a complete ecosystem from factory to patient. What they needed wasn't just software. They needed a design direction. A seamless interaction flow. A system that felt intuitive, invisible, human.
Which was why Alexa and Cynthia were here.
Elian joined them in the living room, setting his laptop on the coffee table. "Okay. No work after this. But first, quick rundown. We're pitching not Genesis—"
"But after Genesis," Cynthia said. "A platform for adaptive medical deployment."
"Exactly," he nodded. "They liked our backend tech from Genesis, but this is about interaction. Real-world users. Real-world constraints. Hospitals, patients, EMTs."
Alexa leaned forward, already in the zone. "We kept the tile-based UI. Primary workflows can be reached in under three taps. I made a low-light variant for night use. Cynthia added the contextual onboarding overlays."
"Also, the input model can auto-scale depending on finger pressure, for gloved users," Cynthia added. "That's based on hospital feedback."
Elian smiled. "That's the kind of detail that'll sell this. We're not just pitching features—we're pitching empathy in tech."
The girls nodded. They weren't developers, not in the traditional sense, but what they brought to the team was precision in a different language. Form, flow, behavior.
A silence settled, not awkward, but reflective.
Alexa stretched, her hoodie sliding slightly off her shoulder. "So... what's the agenda tonight? Because I'm not working anymore unless someone's bleeding."
"No work," Elian said, standing up and grabbing the remote. "But I figured—since we're in a new city and I have a working kitchen—maybe I cook something."
Cynthia looked up, surprised. "You cook?"
"He cooked once," Alexa smirked, "back in the condo. Decent pasta."
"Better than decent," Elian said, feigning offense. "I'll prove it. Go check the fridge."
They did. And they stared.
Fresh ribeye cuts. Black truffle oil. A sealed pack of premium hand-made pasta. Organic herbs. Wagyu strips. A block of aged parmesan.
Cynthia blinked. "You… brought these from Manila?"
"No. I had them delivered earlier." Elian grinned. "Wanted us to eat something proper before the war tomorrow."
"War's a strong word for a pitch," Alexa muttered, but her smile betrayed anticipation.
Within minutes, the suite filled with the soft hiss of searing meat, the rich aroma of garlic and rosemary dancing through the air. Alexa took over setting the table—modern ceramic plates, folded napkins—while Cynthia lit the small set of votive candles the hotel left as a courtesy.
It felt… intimate. Unintentionally.
Not romantic in the traditional sense, but quiet, trusting, human.
Dinner was laughter, teasing, and a few moments where someone would pause, fork in midair, eyes distant, contemplating the weight of the week that passed. The lives they'd lived in a blur of code, design, stress, and caffeine.
At one point, Alexa poured them all wine—just one glass each—and toasted wordlessly.
They didn't need speeches. Not anymore.
Later, with dishes stacked and music playing softly from Elian's phone, they gravitated to the couch. Cynthia had borrowed one of the suite's extra robes and was reviewing UI animations half-heartedly. Alexa leaned against the edge of the couch, knees tucked up, hoodie oversized. Elian sat between them, laptop closed.
He looked up suddenly. "I've been thinking…"
Cynthia arched an eyebrow. "Uh oh."
"No," he chuckled. "Just… if this deal closes tomorrow, I think I want to build something bigger."
"Another system?" Alexa asked.
"Eventually. But more than that—a real team. Permanent. Not just Core Alpha for emergencies."
Cynthia tilted her head. "You mean… a company?"
"Maybe. Or a specialized unit under NovaTech. One that doesn't just react, but builds preemptively. Tools that fix problems before anyone sees them. We have the backend now. Genesis is proof."
He glanced at them. "I need design leads for that."
The room was quiet again. Not from hesitation—but consideration.
"You trust us that much?" Alexa asked softly.
"I built Genesis because I trusted you both with the front of it. If I'm building something bigger, I'm not doing it alone."
Neither spoke right away.
Then Cynthia leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "I'll say yes if the next hotel suite has an indoor pool."
They laughed.
"Deal," Elian said.
A few moments later, Alexa rose and wandered to the window, staring out at the lit cityscape. Her reflection hovered beside the glass—a flicker of thought and feeling she didn't voice.
"I always thought I'd be designing campaign pages and startup fluff forever," she said quietly. "Didn't think I'd end up designing how a hospital saves lives."
Elian stood and joined her. "Design's not decoration. You're not making things pretty. You're making them usable. That's power."
Their eyes met, just briefly. Something unspoken lingered—but only for a second.
"I'm going to bed," Alexa said, breaking the tension. "Need to look terrifyingly competent in the morning."
She walked past, brushing his arm gently—not deliberate, but not entirely casual either.
Cynthia followed with a yawn, pausing in the hallway. "You'll wake us if you dream up another system tonight?"
"No promises," Elian said.
They both disappeared into their rooms, leaving Elian alone with the city's hum outside.
He returned to the glass desk, powered up the laptop again. Just for a few minutes.
Not to work. Not really.
But to look at the next idea slowly taking shape in his mind.
A more adaptive dispatch network for emergency services in rural areas.
An AI-powered diagnostics triage overlay.
A decentralized ledger for blood donations with traceable cold-chain tracking.
They weren't ready yet. But they would be.
And this time, he wasn't just reacting to missions.
He was building his own war map.
His own system.
Tomorrow, they'd pitch.
Tonight, he dreamed forward.