Three days after the Boy Abunda interview, a formal letter arrived.
Not email. Not text. An actual, physical letter with a government seal and everything.
Glad stared at it like it might explode.
"Open it," Kim urged.
"It might be a warrant."
"For what? Being famous?"
"Creatures don't get warrants. We get... excommunications. Burnings at the stake. That sort of thing."
"That was centuries ago, Glad."
"Trauma doesn't have an expiration date."
Finally, with shaking hands, she opened it.
Department of Supernatural Affairs
Republic of the Philippines
Quezon City
Dear Ms. Samotiloy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for registration under the Supernatural Citizen Identification Program (SCIP). As the first documented Manananggal to come forward publicly, you are eligible for benefits including:
- Tax classification under "Non-Human Resident"
- Access to government-supervised blood banks
- Emergency services tailored to supernatural physiology
- Voting rights in the newly established Supernatural Council
Please report to our Dumaguete field office within 30 days for processing. Bring proof of identity and, if possible, a sample of your wing DNA for our archives.
We look forward to welcoming you as a registered supernatural citizen.
Sincerely,
Director Emilia Salvador
Department of Supernatural Affairs
Glad read it three times.
"There's a government department," she said slowly, "for supernatural creatures."
"Apparently."
"And they want me to register. Like a voter. Like a citizen."
"Technically, you ARE a citizen. You've lived here for 173 years."
"WITHOUT PAYING TAXES."
Kim's eyes widened. "Oh no. Back taxes."
"BACK TAXES FOR TWO CENTURIES?!"
Anino looked up from his nap, clearly amused by the panic.
"Okay, okay, calm down." Kim grabbed her laptop. "Let's research this department. If they've existed this long without us knowing, they must be legitimate."
What they found was astonishing.
The Department of Supernatural Affairs had been founded in 1901, shortly after the American occupation, when colonial officials kept encountering creatures they couldn't explain. Rather than hunt them (too expensive) or ignore them (too dangerous), they created a bureaucracy.
For over a century, the Department had quietly registered supernatural beings, mediated creature-human conflicts, and ensured that aswangs, kapres, duwende, and others could exist without causing panic.
And now they wanted Glad.
"Why me?" she asked. "I'm not special."
"You're the first to go public. The first to be loved by humans. You're a bridge, Glad. Between two worlds."
Glad looked at the letter again. At the benefits listed. At the promise of legitimacy.
"Thirty days," she murmured. "I have thirty days to decide if I want to be officially, governmentally, bureaucratically real."
"What's the downside?"
"If I register, I'm on their radar. Forever. They'll know where I live. What I eat. How I vote."
"If you don't register, you're still on their radar. They found you. They know you exist." Kim paused. "At least this way, you get benefits."
Glad thought about it. About Ben's blood brownies versus government-supervised blood banks. About voting in a Supernatural Council. About being official.
"Alexa," she called, "what's the weather like in Quezon City?"
"It's currently 32 degrees Celsius with a chance of afternoon thunderstorms. Would you like me to book you a flight?"
"Not yet. But... soon."
Anino jumped onto her lap, purring.
Change was coming.
But for the first time, it didn't feel like a threat.
It felt like an invitation.