The God 's unpaid intern

Chapter 2: The Price of a Sneaker

“Diego?” Lucía asked, her voice tight with confusion. “Is that… are those my brother’s shoes?”

Diego scrambled to his feet, his heart performing a frantic, irregular rhythm against his ribs. He felt like he’d been caught robbing a bank, which—technically, he supposed—he had. He shoved the bag behind his back, his palms slick with sweat.

“Lucía! Hey. Hi. What are you doing here?” Diego stammered, his brain racing to find a lie that didn’t sound like the frantic ramblings of a man having a mental break.

“Don’t you dare tell her the truth,” the God buzzed in his head, sounding bored. “Tell her you’re, I don’t know, training for a high-stakes scavenger hunt. Or tell her you’re a secret agent. No, that’s too cliché. Tell her you found them in the trash. People love a rags-to-riches story.”

“I found them,” Diego blurted out, his eyes darting toward the street. “In the trash. I was just... inspecting them? Because I’m trying to get into the sneaker resale market? You know, for extra cash. It’s a side hustle.”

Lucía walked closer, her brow furrowed into a sharp line of suspicion. She took in his disheveled hair, the hoodie that looked like he’d been wrestling a grizzly, and the way he was hovering near a rusted sedan like a cornered animal. “You look like you’ve been running a marathon in a garbage dump, Diego. And those aren’t just any sneakers. Those are Mark’s Limited Edition Vultures. They cost more than my car.”

“Yeah, well, someone must have ditched them,” Diego said, backing away slightly. “Found them. Saved them. Just… luck of the draw, right?”

“She thinks you’re an idiot,” the God noted. “She’s right, but don’t let her know that. Pivot. Ask her to lunch. Get her away from the gym.”

“Listen, I know how this looks,” Diego said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “But I’m actually starving. Can we go to that bistro down the street? The one with the decent espresso? My treat. I mean, after I sell these, it’ll be my treat.”

Lucía sighed, the skepticism in her eyes softening just a fraction, though her gaze remained lingering on the gym entrance. “You are the strangest person I know, Diego. Fine. Lunch. But you’re explaining why you’re sweating through your hoodie in fifty-degree weather.”

The bistro was quiet, bathed in the soft, ambient light of early afternoon. Diego sat across from Lucía, the gym bag tucked firmly under his chair like it was packed with explosives. He was doing his best to act like a normal human being, but his left eye kept twitching every time the God decided to pop a notification into his field of vision.

“Check the data flow, Diego. You’re being dull. Look at the menu. See the ‘Chaos Potential’ in the water pitcher? If you tip it, the whole table gets soaked. It’ll trigger a chain reaction involving a spilled espresso and a screaming toddler.”

“I am not tipping the water, stop it,” Diego muttered under his breath, his hands trembling as he reached for his glass.

Lucía leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “Who are you talking to? Did you say something about water?”

“What? No,” Diego said, his heart jumping. “I was just… reciting the menu. To myself. You know, making a tough decision between the salad and the panini.”

“You’ve been staring at the same corner of the table for five minutes, Diego,” Lucía said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You keep looking at your empty air like there’s a screen there. Are you okay? Is this about your job? Are you burnt out?”

“Tell her yes,” the God commanded. “It’s a perfect cover. Everyone blames the paralegal life. It’s the ultimate excuse for madness.”

“I’m just stressed,” Diego said, grabbing her hand across the table. His own felt cold. “Work has been… a lot. My brain feels like it’s glitching. I’m sorry if I’m acting weird. I just wanted to see you.”

Lucía softened, her shoulders dropping. “I get it. But you’re acting paranoid. You keep glancing at the door like you’re expecting a SWAT team.”

“She has no idea how close she is to the truth,” the God chuckled. “Speaking of the truth, look at the chandelier above her head. It’s hanging by a single, rusted bolt. A little push, a little vibration, and—boom. Chaos.”

“I don’t want to cause chaos,” Diego whispered, his gaze darting up to the ceiling.

“What?” Lucía pulled her hand back. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing! Just… the lighting. It looks… heavy.”

Suddenly, the floor beneath their feet gave a sharp, violent lurch. The glasses on the table rattled, and a cup of coffee tipped over, sending a dark, hot stream across the tablecloth toward Lucía.

“Whoa!” Lucía cried out, jumping back.

The building groaned—a deep, metallic sound that set Diego’s teeth on edge. Outside, the streetlights began to flicker, and the glass storefront rattled in its frame. It wasn't just a tremor; it felt like the earth itself had been tripped.

“Excellent timing,” the God cheered. “Now, stand up. Look confident. Act like you felt it coming. It’ll make you look like some sort of psychic genius instead of a guy who’s sweating through his hoodie.”

Diego stood up, his legs shaking, as the room settled back into a tense, eerie silence. Patrons were looking around in alarm, checking their phones for news alerts.

Lucía gripped the edge of the table, her breath hitching. “Did you feel that? That was… that was an earthquake, wasn’t it?”

Diego forced himself to stand tall, despite the fact that he felt like he was going to pass out. He looked at his watch, then back at the door with a calm, practiced detachment.

“It was just a small shift,” Diego said, his voice surprisingly steady. “It’s been building up for a while. You just have to know how to listen to the rhythm of the city.”

He looked down at her, trying to channel every ounce of cool he’d ever seen in an action movie.

“Now, the hook,”* the God whispered.

Lucía stared at him, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and a strange, dawning awe. She looked at the spilled coffee, the trembling windows, and then back at Diego’s face.

“Diego,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the panicked crowd. “That was a localized tremor. There’s nothing on the news. How… how did you know that was going to happen?”

Diego felt the cold, hard weight of the stolen sneakers under his chair and the burning, electric pressure of the God inside his mind. He looked at the woman he loved—the woman he had just lied to, manipulated, and terrified—and realized that there was no going back to his old, dull life.

“I didn't just know, Lucía,” Diego said, his voice cold and strange. “I’m the reason it started.”

He watched her face fall into a mask of pure, unadulterated confusion, and for the first time, he wondered if the "upgrade" was worth the price.