One | New CEO of IPT Guild

  Ace stood by the window, his mind torn between the woman he had just lost and the weight of the call he couldn’t ignore.

  The rain had slowed to a faint drizzle, but the streaks on the glass mirrored the haze in his thoughts. He glanced at his phone—

  [ 0992-xxx-xx98 ]

  [ VIP Chairman George Vincent Zy ]

  —flashing insistently on the screen. The name itself carried a weight he could never shrug off: Chairman George Vincent Zy, the titan who ruled over Iron Pulse Technologies and one of the most powerful men in the Philippines.

  Ace hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the elevator his wife had disappeared into moments ago. With a resigned sigh, he tapped the green button and brought the phone to his ear.

  “Hello, Chairman Zy? This is Ace. What may I help you with?”

  “Ah, Mr. De Leon!” The chairman’s voice boomed with charisma, as if the man were holding court even in a private call. “Are you busy?”

  Ace clenched his fist, his heart still aching from the scene with his wife. But he forced his voice to remain even. “Not at the moment, sir.”

  Chairman George laughed, the kind of laugh meant to remind everyone that he was in charge. “Good, good. I just wanted to congratulate you again. Thanks to your promotion and the swift implementation of your new protocols, the guild is finally stabilizing. Even the board members are quiet. You’ve done well, CEO De Leon.”

  The title felt heavy, almost mocking. “Thank you, sir,” Ace replied. “I’ll continue doing my best.”

  “And that’s what I expect from you.” There was a pause, then Chairman George’s tone shifted, casual but sharp. “Now, about the next steps... I’ve been thinking. With all this restructuring, we have the perfect opportunity to make a big splash. I’m talking about importing foreign hunters, the kind who can clear high-ranked dungeons fast and bring us quick wins. Imagine the headlines: ‘IPT Guild Dominates Gate Crises Under New Leadership.’ Doesn’t that sound good?”

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  Ace froze, his grip tightening on the phone. “Chairman, I’m not sure if that’s the best course of action...”

  “Oh?” Chairman George’s tone grew colder.

  Ace swallowed hard, knowing the risk he was about to take. “If we continue cutting salaries or letting go of our own hunters to afford importing foreigners, we’ll face severe backlash. Public opinion is already fragile after the last importing scandal and massive force restricturing. The guild’s image could take another hit. Our local hunters and engineers have been loyal to us—they’ve risked their lives for IPT. Replacing them would—”

  “Enough.” The chairman’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and unyielding. “Are you questioning me, Mr. De Leon?”

  “No, sir, I only—”

  “Do you think this is the first time we’ve replaced underperforming hunters?” Chairman George’s voice climbed in irritation. “This is business, Ace, not charity. You think loyalty pays the bills? Do you know what happens if we fail to deliver results? We lose contracts, we lose investors, and the guild collapses. I didn’t put you in this position to hear your excuses!”

  Ace opened his mouth but found no words.

  “Let me make this clear,” Chairman George continued, his voice thunderous. “You will follow my instructions. Implement the budget cuts. Import the foreign hunters. Or I’ll find someone else who can. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ace muttered, the words bitter in his mouth.

  “Good. And don’t waste my time with this nonsense again.”

  The call ended with a cold, mechanical click. Ace lowered the phone, his knuckles white from gripping it too hard.

  The glow of the digital billboard outside seemed to mock him, its bold letters flashing against the darkened sky:

  “A-Rank Hunter Hanny Ace Jimuel De Leon: New CEO of the IPT Guild.”

  Ace stared at the reflection of his own name, his jaw tightening. He had climbed every rung of the ladder, earned every accolade, and yet he felt like a puppet dancing to someone else’s tune.

  “Did I become CEO just to follow orders?” he muttered to himself, his voice filled with disdain. He turned back to the empty room, the silence pressing against him like a vice. “That bastard... He makes the decisions, and I’m left to carry the blame.”

  The rain outside began to pick up again, a steady rhythm against the glass. For a moment, Ace allowed himself to imagine what it would have been like to run after his wife, to tell her he was sorry, to tell her he wanted to be the man she needed. But now, that door felt closed.

  He looked at his phone again, scrolling through the messages he’d ignored all day. His inbox was filled with emails and notifications, most of them related to the guild’s restructuring. Words like “budget cuts,” “foreign hunter imports” and “public image concerns” jumped out at him like accusations.

  Sacrifices, he told himself, trying to silence the unease creeping into his chest. Everything I do is for the guild. For the country. For the people.

  But even as he thought it, the words felt hollow.