LEVEL UP PRETTY LADY

Chapter 1: Unfiltered Reality

The secret to scaling a milkfish without splattering its guts across your favorite band T-shirt is all in the wrist.

One clean swipe beneath the gill.

A sharp pull against the scales.

And the fish's silver armor peels away like wet wrapping paper.

"Rhea! Turn up the treble! Queen needs more kick!"

My father's voice boomed across Stalls 12 and 13. It echoed off the wet tile walls as Another One Bites the Dust blasted from our old speaker.

Mang Tomas stood behind the counter in a faded denim vest and a tight black sleeveless shirt. He swung his butcher's knife like a conductor leading an orchestra, chopping pork ribs to the beat.

"Tomas, stop bothering the girl!" my mother shouted from the cash register. "She's trying to set up the ice!"

Aling Nora didn't even look up from her phone. She was watching an international bingo tournament, her dark bangs pinned back with two enormous pink rollers.

"And put on some shoes!" she added. "Your toes look like ginger roots growing out of the floor!"

"They're aerodynamic toes!" Dad shouted back. "They give me better grip!"

I wiped a fish scale from my cheek and grinned.

Then I lifted a fifty-pound block of crushed ice onto the stainless-steel table.

Fresh tilapia slid across the frost, shining like silver coins.

Welcome to The Hook & Chopper, the finest—and loudest—seafood and meat stall in the district.

Most girls my age spent Saturday mornings doing skincare routines. I spent mine hauling ice, gutting fish, dodging stray cats, and stopping my parents from turning the market into a rock concert.

Honestly, I preferred my life.

My name is Rhea Alcantara.

I'm seventeen, built like I could tackle a truck, cursed with a permanent collection of chin pimples, and completely unbothered by any of it.

"Here." Dad slid a stick of grilled pork toward me on a piece of banana leaf. "Eat this while you arrange the squid."

"Dad, it's barely six-thirty."

I took a huge bite anyway.

The smoky glaze melted across my tongue.

"Your marinade is a crime," I said.

"A delicious crime," he replied. "And that crime pays for your fancy school uniform."

He glanced at my oversized black hoodie and wet rubber boots.

"You look exhausted. Were you up late playing that computer game again?"

"I was strategizing," I said around the pork. "Our guild had a major arena raid."

What I didn't tell him was the rest of the truth.

After crushing high-ranked players on my livestream as Rheaper8, I stayed awake until two in the morning, hunched over my drawing tablet.

I had spent the rest of the night finishing the latest page of my hit webcomic, Bound by the Beat.

No one knew I was the artist behind it.

Not even my parents.

Online, I was PandaPen.

At school, I was just the scholarship girl who smelled like fish.

"Raid, schmaid," Dad said. "Just don't let your grades slip. You know how important that scholarship is."

"I know."

The work-study scholarship at Aethelgard Academy was the only reason a fish vendor's daughter could attend the most expensive private school in the region.

In exchange for free tuition, I worked behind the scenes at school events, helped with maintenance emergencies, and stayed out of the spotlight.

That last part was easy.

Rich kids rarely noticed people like me.

The wall clock showed 7:15 a.m.

"Crap."

I swallowed the last bite of pork and jumped to my feet.

"I have to go. The prep committee meets at eight!"

"Watch your language!" Mom called.

She finally looked up from her phone.

"And take fried fish skins for the road!"

"Thanks, Mom!"

I pulled off my plastic apron, grabbed my ink-stained backpack, and snatched the oily paper bag she held out.

"Go!" Dad yelled. He slammed a fist against his chest. "Show those rich kids what an Alcantara is made of!"

"Something that smells like fish?" I called back.

"Something built solid like a grand piano!"

I laughed and ran toward the jeepney stop.

Behind me, Bohemian Rhapsody began blasting from the speaker, drowning out the shouting vendors and squeaking carts.

I wiped my hands on my sweatshirt.

The familiar scent of saltwater clung to me.

Today, I was heading back to Aethelgard Academy.

Time to face the rich kids.