CHAPTER 57: STREET VENDORS BECOME INSTANT ARTISTS

The heavy rain that had been pouring down finally began to ease. A few drops still tapped against the car roof, but the sky had started to reveal a hint of lighter gray.

The road they were on was still wet, reflecting the glow of the newly lit evening streetlights. The faint scent of wet earth mixed with fallen leaves drifted in through a crack in the window.

Donny kept his hands firmly on the wheel, focused, while Alaric sat in the backseat, leaning against the cold window. His breathing was slightly heavy, but his eyes no longer carried the same darkness as earlier.

The ride home was quiet, with only the sound of the engine and the wheels slicing through puddles. Occasionally, a cool breeze slipped in when Donny cracked the window open a little.

As the car passed through the front gate, the atmosphere had grown noticeably calmer. The porch light was already on. Donny parked near the stairs by the front door, then quickly got out. He opened the back door and gently tapped Alaric’s shoulder.

"Come on, Ric. We’re home," he said, trying to rouse him.

Alaric gave a small nod without saying much. His steps were heavy, but he kept moving, climbing up to the porch. His mother was already standing there, waiting. As soon as the door opened, the familiar, calming scent of the home’s air freshener greeted Alaric’s senses.

His mother looked at him with eyes full of questions, but something held her back. Her gaze said a thousand things, yet she chose silence. She simply watched as Alaric walked past her and headed upstairs.

Without a single word to his mother, Alaric continued straight to his room. Donny, who was closing the back door, placed the car keys on the table by the entrance. For a moment, his eyes met hers.

"How is he?" she asked softly, as if not wanting her voice to reach Alaric upstairs.

Donny replied briefly, "He’s better now. He just needs some rest."

His tone was neutral, revealing no details, but enough to reassure.

Alaric’s mother let out a long breath, then nodded slowly. She didn’t press further. Perhaps she knew there are some things that can’t be spoken right away. Pushing or stalling would only make it harder for her son, who clearly needed space and rest.

Meanwhile, Alaric had already entered his room. Once the door closed, he locked it. Just before walking away, he paused and leaned down, peeking through the small peephole in the door handle.

Through it, he saw the faint silhouettes of his mother and Donny, still standing outside his room, talking quietly. They looked serious, but Alaric couldn’t make out what they were saying.

He slowly moved away from the door, his back briefly touching the wood. His breathing had steadied, though his eyes remained alert. He walked over to his desk, dropped his bag onto it, and unzipped it.

His hand reached in, searching between books and scattered items. A few seconds later, he pulled something out, a single dark green leaf, its veins glowing faintly with a pulsing light, almost alive.

Alaric stared at it for a while. The soft light from the leaf reflected in his eyes, as if summoning a memory not too far in the past.

–

That night, Alaric sat in his ergonomic chair at his desk. The warm glow of his desk lamp illuminated scattered sketch sheets, concept notes, and pages of ideas.

His computer was on, multiple tabs open. Technical diagrams, half-finished code, and product release planning documents.

He stared at the screen for a moment. In his mind, a single question kept spinning:

"What’s the next prototype or product I can build this month?"

For him, it wasn’t just about creating something cool. The brand he had built from scratch had to stay at the top of public attention. In the tech world, one successful invention could skyrocket your name. And a single year without innovation could sink you into obscurity.

He knew the formula by heart: every six months, or at the very least once a year, there had to be a bold breakthrough. Not just minor updates, but something that would leave people stunned. Something that would force competitors to sprint just to catch up.

He also knew that in this industry, it wasn’t impossible to pull off. There was always something newer and more advanced on the horizon, just waiting to steal the spotlight online and in the real world.

Alaric opened his special "future projects" notebook. On the earlier pages were dozens of ideas that had come to him but never had the time to be executed.

His fingers flipped through the pages quickly, his mind racing to find the one idea with the most potential. Finally, his eyes stopped at a short note he had written two months ago:

"Voice Scrambler + Hidden Chat AI"

He stared at the words for a long time. Instantly, his brain started spinning possibilities. A tool that could disguise a voice into any form desired. And combined with AI to secure secret conversations on any platform.

Perfect for privacy protection, covert investigations, even for journalists and activists wanting to protect their identities.

A small smile appeared on his face. "This is it..." He had found it.

The work began. In the first week, he focused on the framework: a voice modifier module with adaptive pitch shifting and neural filtering to produce hyper-realistic voices from elderly tones to children’s voices, even with specific accents.

The second week, he integrated the Hidden Chat AI system, fully end-to-end encrypted, with a feature to disguise messages on-screen. Secret messages could be masked as ordinary texts, unreadable unless unlocked with a special key.

Weeks three and four were the hardest. Testing and debugging. He spent countless nights going through the same loop: testing a feature, finding a bug, fixing it, then testing again.

There were moments when the whole system crashed, and he nearly gave up. But his determination to build something flawless kept him going, even when exhaustion crept in and his prototype still wasn’t working right.

By the end of the month, CipherVox. His new tech creation was ready for launch. Unexpectedly, within just two days after its release, his name was back in international headlines.

Articles from around the world highlighted the device as a breakthrough in digital security and a glimpse into the future of secret communication.

That morning, Alaric was on his way to campus. The sky was clear, and the streets weren’t too busy. As he passed a familiar corner he walked by often, the aroma of steamed siomay wafted from a street vendor’s cart. His empty stomach growled.

"Alright, quick stop," he muttered while glancing at the time on his phone. Still a bit of time before class.

He joined the small line. In front of him, the siomay seller was serving customers. Steam rose from the bamboo steamer, blurring the view now and then.

Suddenly, from behind... a young woman in her early twenties walked up to him. Her eyes sparkled, and a wide smile stretched across her face.

"Excuse me... you’re Alaric, right? The guy who created CipherVox?" she asked, clearly a bit starstruck.

Alaric blinked, caught off guard. Someone recognizing him like this? "Uh... yeah," he replied with a shy smile.

The woman quickly pulled out a small notebook and pen. "Can I get your autograph?"

Before he could answer, a few others in line or walking by started noticing him. "Wait, isn’t that Alaric from last night’s news?" someone exclaimed.

In seconds, a small crowd began to form. People stepped forward, holding out notebooks, paper scraps, even unopened siomay packages for signatures.

While signing here and there, Alaric glanced over at the siomay vendor, who looked both confused and delighted that his cart was suddenly swarmed. Whether for the food or for Alaric, who knew?

His order was finally ready. Alaric quickly paid and said, "Alright, one at a time, I’ll sign, no worries..." But when he glanced at the time again, he realized class was about to start.

Panic set in. "Oh man, what now...?" And like a superhero answering a silent call, he knew he had to dash. Fast, or risk being late.

But not without grabbing and paying for his siomay, which was handed over at that very moment. With a polite smile, he thanked the vendor.

Then, with a look that silently said sorry, he stepped back, turned, and.. with the agility he still had left. Sprinted away from the crowd.

"Bro! One more autograph!" someone shouted, but Alaric had already waved goodbye and disappeared into the distance.

In his mind, he muttered, "Next time, get siomay at a less crowded hour, Ric."

Fame was great and all. His brand had skyrocketed. But still... this was not what he’d expected.

He just wanted siomay, not to become a sidewalk celebrity.

Or worse... what if the vendor made him brand ambassador for the siomay cart?