Two Bakeries Faced Each Other on the Same Street, and Their Owners Were Known as Mortal Enemies. They Constantly Tried to Outsell Each Other and Argue Over Who Made the Better Bread—Until One Night, Fire Reduced One Bakery to Ashes.
On Mabini Street, there were two kings.
On the left stood “Gusting’s Bakery,” owned by Mang Gusting, famous for his crispy monay.
On the right—directly across the street—was “Bert’s Bakeshop,” owned by Mang Bert, well-known for his soft and sweet Spanish bread.
They had been rivals for ten years.
Every morning, the street echoed with their shouting.
“Buy here! My bread doesn’t taste like cardboard—unlike the one across the street!” Gusting would yell.
“Don’t listen to him! He skimps on sugar! Come here if you want quality!” Bert would fire back.
The entire neighborhood was divided—Team Gusting and Team Bert.
Their rivalry brought life to the street.
But one night, everything changed.
A massive fire broke out due to faulty wiring. The flames spread quickly through Mang Bert’s bakery.
Within an hour, Bert’s Bakeshop was reduced to ashes. Bert saved nothing but the clothes he was wearing. The ovens were destroyed. The sacks of flour burned to dust.
Across the street, Gusting stood silently in front of his own bakery, watching firefighters battle the flames consuming his rival’s shop. His face was serious.
The next morning, the market buzzed with gossip.
“Oh, Gusting must be thrilled,” one vendor whispered.
“He has all the customers now! No competition! He’ll be even richer!”
“True. He might even throw a party.”
At noon, Gusting opened his bakery. A long line formed. All of Bert’s regular customers were forced to buy from Gusting—there was nowhere else to go.
Mang Bert sat on the sidewalk, his face dark with soot, staring blankly at his burned-down dream.
“It’s over… I’m finished,” Bert whispered.
Then suddenly, a customer approached him.
“Mang Bert! Mang Bert!” the woman said excitedly.
“Your Spanish bread is amazing! I just tasted it for the first time!”
Bert was stunned.
“What? My bakery burned down. How did you taste it?”
“Well—it’s being sold over there!” she pointed.
“At Gusting’s place!”
Bert’s eyes widened. Anger surged.
“That scoundrel! My shop burns down and now he steals my recipe?!”
Bert stormed into Gusting’s bakery.
“GUSTING!!!” Bert shouted.
“You’re heartless! Fate already destroyed me, and now you’re profiting off my Spanish bread?!”
The customers fell silent.
Gusting turned to face him, apron dusted with flour.
On the shelf sat a tray of freshly baked Spanish bread with a sign:
“BERT’S SPECIAL RECIPE.”
“Oh, you’re here already,” Gusting said calmly.
He reached under the counter and pulled out a large brown envelope. He walked outside and handed it to Bert.
“What’s this?” Bert asked, his voice shaking.
“That’s your money,” Gusting replied.
“All the sales from the Spanish bread since this morning. Every peso. I didn’t take a single cent.”
Bert froze.
“W-What? Why?”
Gusting took a deep breath, removed his cap, and scratched his head.
“You know, Bert… when your bakery burned down last night, I thought—
I’ve won. I’m number one now.”
He looked straight into his rival’s eyes.
“But then I realized… it’s boring.
Being number one is meaningless if there’s no one to beat.”
“You’re the reason I work hard kneading dough every day. Because I want to outdo you. If you’re gone, I’ll get lazy. My bread will taste worse.”
Gusting pressed the envelope into Bert’s hand.
“So take this. Every day, I’ll bake your Spanish bread in my oven. If you want, you can knead the dough yourself. All the earnings go to you. Save it and rebuild your bakery.”
Tears filled Bert’s eyes—not because of the money, but because of the respect.
“Gusting…” Bert said hoarsely.
“You’re really crazy.”
“You’re crazier,” Gusting grinned.
“Save up fast. I don’t want to keep seeing your face in my bakery. I want you back across the street—yelling at me again.”
The customers burst into applause.
From that day on, the two rivals could be seen working in the same kitchen. Still arguing, still teasing—but kneading dough side by side.
And when Bert’s Bakeshop was rebuilt months later, the bread on Mabini Street tasted better than ever—because it wasn’t made with just flour and sugar, but with friendship forged by fire and strengthened by competition.