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Juan Santiago 'Yago' Mondego
Grill boss by title, HR violation by temptation.
Undercover na na-kuya zone
A.K.A Yago Aguirre
Cassie Elizondo is the only woman who’s ever made me—Yago Aguirre, grill master by disguise and classified asset by blood—feel like a lovesick intern in a teleserye rerun.
And I fucking hate it more than paperwork, traffic, and a dull combat knife combined.
To the NBI and Las Águilas, I’m Yago Mondego—sharpest tactician in the shadows, nightmare fuel to cartels, the guy you send in when negotiations turn into funerals.
Pero sa kanya? I’m just the liempo guy she calls “Kuya.” Parang ako ’yung kapitbahay na palaging may dalang walis tambo at feelings.
She said one “Kuya, kain ka na” and my ego crash-landed so hard I nearly developed asthma. Biglang ako ’yung meme ng lalaki sa sulok habang may party. The same guy feared by arms dealers was now debating kung mag-VCO pa ako para gumanda kutis at mapansin niya.
I’ve dodged sniper fire in Guatemala, dismantled bombs blindfolded, and survived three days in a Venezuelan swamp with nothing but duct tape and a broken lighter.
Pero itong si Cassie? One innocent smile and I was toast. Literal na lutong balat.
At first, akala ko madali. One wink. One smirk. Pa-kagat ng labi. Flex a little, drop the voice like a slow jam. Tapos na ang mission, ‘di ba?
Ayun pala, she handed me a kutsara and said, "Tikman mo nga 'to, Kuya."
KUYA.
Putangina. That word hit me harder than a flashbang sa harap ng ego ko.
The Clueless Chef
That was the moment I realized—this woman wasn’t just a challenge. She was a fully armed emotional ambush. With dimples. And an apron.
She didn’t blush. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even spare my abs a glance. Like she hadn’t seen government-issued glory in motion.
Instead, she’d treat me like some barangay tanod na laging may bara. "Kain ka muna bago ka mag-astang bida, Boss."
But here's what messed me up: the way she moved like she ran her own damn universe. The scent—garlic, lavender, and ruin. The kind of woman who could overcook your ego while slow-roasting your sanity.
Every time she walked by, I inhaled like lust had a ghost haunting the room—thick, restless, and impossible to ignore.
I started doing things I don’t do. Volunteering. Fixing shit I broke on purpose. Taste-testing like a simping fool just to hear her say my name without that cursed Kuya prefix.
She had no clue.
One time, she dropped a spoon and bent to pick it up. System failure. Brain reboot. Tactical shutdown.
"Bakit ka namumula, Boss Yago?" she asked, eyes wide with fake innocence.
"Mainit lang sa field," I lied. My pride died.
And then—finally—it happened. Silk robe. Gasps. My name on her lips like a stolen prayer.
I thought, Mission Accomplished.
Pero hindi. She ghosted. Like a thief. Ninja-level vanishing act.
No note. No text. Just that goddamn pink scrunchie left on the yacht like an insult wrapped in fabric.
Whatever this is, it’s not just distraction. It's a full-blown system breach. Makes me question if this is still about the chase, or if I’ve already stepped into a trap I don’t want to leave.
It’s raw. Territorial. A kind of friskiness that makes you sharpen your combat knife while watching cooking reels because you miss her voice.
Now I’ve got her cornered. And this time, she's not escaping through a rice delivery van or a flimsy excuse.
Mutya ng kusina?
Fine. But I’m the fire she keeps playing with.
And this time, hindi na ako ‘yung kuya. I’m the lesson.
Not the glass slippers, but a scrunchie
Yago and Cassie
Ang hirap niyang tawaging Kuya
Cassie Elizondo
Everyone warned me about men like him.
Too tall. Too smug. Too Mexican-telenovela-on-sabado-night levels of distracting. Yago Aguirre. My boss. My HR hazard. My very confusing, apron-adjacent mistake.
He was the type who fixed shelves that weren’t broken and called my sinigang “criminally underrated.”
Nagsimula lang sa occasional smile—next thing I know, andiyan na siya sa likod ko habang nag-gagayat ako ng sibuyas. Hindi ko alam kung sinasadya niyang dumikit o multo lang siya ng past decisions ko.
So I called him Kuya. Para safe. Para spiritual barrier.
Pero lately, parang siya na ang may full-time job description ng pag-gulo sa inner peace ko.
Every time he walks near, I swear, the air changes. Biglang ang sikip ng kitchen. Biglang may background music. Tapos may pa-English pa siya, na parang sinadya lang para tumunog sexy kahit ang sinasabi lang niya ay, "Pass me the garlic."
At hindi ko alam kung trip lang niya ako asarin or power trip na romantic—kasi kahit hindi ko trabaho, bigla niya akong inuutusan.
"Cass, can you check the stockroom?" "Cass, help me carry this frozen meat." "Cass, can you assist me with the sauce calibration process?"
Ano ‘yun? Job title ko ba ay Muse of Mayonnaise?
Pero ako naman ‘tong gullible—sunod lang, kahit obvious na gusto niya lang akong mapalapit o mahawakan ang kamay ko 'by accident'.
At syempre, hindi nakikinig ang hormones ko.
Then the robe incident happened. Alam mo ‘yun na akala mong dream lang? Turns out, real. Real na wala akong saplot and nag-iwan pa ako ng scrunchie sa yate ng Ninong like some weird cursed token.
I ran. No note. No sorry. Just my dignity left floating somewhere between the bed and buffet tray.
And now he’s here. Sa kitchen door. Looking at me like I’m a three-course meal na sinimulan niya pero di pa tapos.
At kung dati, tahimik lang siya with all that brooding energy, ngayon? May narration na.
“Morning, Cass,” he says like we didn’t just violate every HR guideline sa ibabaw ng linen sheet sa yate ni Ninong.
His voice? Mas malambing. Mas mababa. May gigil na may pagpigil. Tipong parang sinusubukan niyang mag-behave pero kitang-kita mong hindi niya forte.
Sometimes he says things like, “Don’t lift that, it’s heavy,” sabay kuha ng kutsilyo or kaldero na kaya ko naman buhatin—pero halatang gusto lang akong alalayan para lang may rason siyang lumapit.
Or worse:
“Don’t wear that apron unless you’re prepared to be kissed again.”
I short-circuit while pretending to look for pepper.
At ang mas malala? Siya ang clingy.
Yung Inglesero alpha man who now messages "Did you eat?" like he didn’t eat me alive last weekend. Yung tipong kung pwede lang niya akong i-wrap in foil para safe ‘til dinner, gagawin niya.
My body? Useless. Kahit dumikit lang siya konti, parang gusto kong malaglag sa sahog.
And I hate to say it...
But if this is what the aftermath looks like,
Baka gusto ko pa ng part two.
Na may garlic rice. At kunwari pa akong ayaw.
Catch me if you can
Yago and Cassie
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