The world was still sleeping, tucked deep in the darkest thought of the night of the 6th of August. But peace? That was a luxury not meant for students.
SCREAM.
"Jiro! Wake up!"
His mom's voice cut through the silence like a knife. It was 3:30 AM. Tuesday.
Ugh. Another Tuesday moment. Here we go again.
It was the sequel to yesterday's struggle. Another episode of Jiro vs. Gravity.
He scrambled out of bed, listening for the ominous creak of door down the hall. The Bathroom Competition. He grabbed his towel and bolted for the C.R., beating his cousin to the door by a mere second.
Victory.
He braced himself for the timba (pail) and dipper splash, expecting the liquid nitrogen shock from yesterday.
Splash.
"Huh," Jiro blinked, dripping wet. "It wasn't that cold."
Or maybe I'm just numb now.
Breakfast, at least, was a redemption arc. Gone was the lava-hot, bland disaster of yesterday. Today, his breakfast meal smelled of salt and savory grease. Luncheon meat. Fried to crispy perfection. Eating in the bedroom, again.
It was a stark contrast that almost made the ungodly hour worth it.
Almost.
There was no heavy lunch bag to pack today. His schedule was a "half-day," ending at 11:30 AM.
Thank you, scheduling gods, he thought. Long break afternoon!!!
Then came the costume change. He suffered through the Denim Struggle once again—wrestling the stiff jeans up his legs—and buttoned another fresh white polo shirt. He grabbed his fare money and hoisted the "Hulk" bag onto his shoulders. Luckily, it is lighter now, or… maybe?
By 5:10 AM, he was out the door.
The LED streetlights buzzed overhead, casting cold white pools of light on the pavement. Surprisingly, there were already elementary students walking the streets, their backpacks bouncing as they headed to school way too early.
The traffic on the main road wasn't as choking as the Monday chaos. He caught the first jeepney to the New Public Market effortlessly. Ten minutes later, he stood at the familiar transfer point along the Manila East Road (R-5), waiting for the long-haul ride.
The morning rush had already begun, a silent migration of drowsy souls. He squeezed into a jeepney bound for Morong and Tanay at 5:30 AM.
The vehicle was a capsule of sleepy ambition. Across from him sat other students from Kenkai State University, clad in their distinct blue uniforms. They looked official. Established. Like high-level players in a starter zone.
Jiro, in his plain white polo, felt like a glitch in the system. An impostor. A freshman still earning his… what? His dream? Or just his back pain?
I really look like an NPC right now, he thought.
At 5:37 AM, the engine roared to life. Jiro reached into his bag, his fingers finding the familiar texture of the red earphone pouch. He plugged in, tuned out, and hit shuffle.
The first chord struck. A female voice, strong and vibrant, filled his ears.
"Hero too..."
It was Hero Too by Kyoka Jiro. The anthem from My Hero Academia.
Okay, universe. I see what you did there.
Jiro leaned his head against the vibrating metal frame of the window. As the lyrics about becoming a hero played, he watched the province roll by—the grayish industrial suburban landscape turning slowly into green rice fields and mountain views, while the sun began to bleed into the sky.
It was a cinematic moment. A private music video where he was the protagonist on a journey to his training arc.
The Commute Arc.
The ride was smooth, the traffic surprisingly kind. By 6:42 AM, he was back at the starting line: the public hospital drop-off.
He didn't bother looking at the scenery this time. Same hospital. Same barangay hall. Same five-minute walk. He speed-ran the routine, entering the campus gate at 6:47 AM.
The student he had sat across from in the jeepney—the one near the estribo—walked a few paces ahead of him, disappearing into the crowd like a background character fading out of the scene.
The campus was already awake. It was a mess of voices and footsteps—the usual morning chaos. Jiro made his way through the crowd, heading straight for the corridor.
He hung back in the long, open concrete hallway, stepping aside whenever a wave of students rushed past him. He fished his phone from his bag and unplugged his earphones, finally letting the noise of the real world filter back in.
Time to check in with the alliance.
He opened their group chat, his thumbs tapping out a quick message: "Hey guys, where are you all now?"
The reply came almost instantly from Mina. "Oh, we are here on the bench, just in front of the main I.T. building."
"Ah, okay. Thank you! I'm coming," Jiro typed back.
He slid the phone into his pocket and didn't waste another second. He took off, weaving through the morning crowd with a light jog to rejoin his tribe.
He found them at the CIT Techno Park—a small, blue-roofed structure that served as a bench and shelter. His new "Circle of Friends" (COF) was already there: Jessa, Janna, Mina, Dana, and Shelly.
"Hey! You all here," Jiro said, dropping his bag onto the bench with a heavy thud.
"Hello! Morning, Jiro!" they chorused.
The gate to the Construction Tech building was still locked, so they settled in to wait. Jiro unzipped his bag to retrieve his schedule, and in doing so, he pulled out a rigid, blue plastic clipboard.
It clattered slightly onto the table. The girls paused.
Jessa stared at the object like it was an alien artifact. "Hala? You have one of those?!"
Jiro looked at the clipboard. "This? Eh, I put papers here."
"Wait, that implies something, you know!" Jessa teased, eyes wide, a grin spreading across her face. "Only the smart ones carry those hard blue clipboards! Oh my gosh, you really are the brain of the group!"
Jiro laughed, waving his hand dismissively. "It's just a clipboard, guys. Don't read into it. I just hate crumpled papers. My bag destroys everything."
The group laughed with him, the tension of the early morning melting away. A few minutes later, Leslie—another member of their forming circle—jogged up to them, breathless.
"Am I late? Is the gate open?" Leslie asked, panting.
"Not yet," Mina replied. "Sit down, girl."
As the circle completed, the conversation drifted to the topic that bound them all together: The Future. Or more accurately, The Escape Plan.
"So," Dana said, leaning forward, her voice dropping a little. "Next year. The plan is still on, right?"
"Maybe...?" Jiro said, his voice firm on the surface. "Just... get high grades and study well... That's it..."
"Take the transferee qualifying exam," Jessa finished the sentence, nodding vigorously. "And then we shift. We leave this place."
"Civil Engineering or Architecture," Leslie nodded. "We just have to survive this Construction course for two semesters."
"We just have to pass that transferee exam," Janna added, clutching her bag, a shadow of genuine panic crossing her face. "If we don't... I don't know. I don't want to find another school."
Jiro stared blankly at the table while they mapped out their collective future. He didn't mind their enthusiasm. He just couldn't share it.
Next year? he thought, feeling a twinge of guilt. I'm already looking at the exit door for next week.
He kept his secret locked away. They sat there, a group of Construction Technology students plotting their exit strategy, united by a clipboard, a shared breakfast time, and a dream of being somewhere else.
At 7:33 AM, the sound of keys jangling against metal signaled the start of the day. The adviser pushed the heavy gate of the Construction Technology building open.
Clang.
The students surged inside, eager to escape the rising morning humidity.
Jiro walked the familiar industrial gauntlet. To get to their classroom, they had to navigate past the sleeping giants—the massive lathes, cutters, and mixers that defined their department.
Just outside the classroom door, a welcome committee waited. The adviser stood there with the second-year officers, a casual, familial vibe radiating from them.
"Coffee?" the adviser offered, gesturing to a battered thermos. "Wake yourselves up."
Most of the freshmen, still shy and intimidated by the hierarchy, politely declined. Jiro kept his head down, intending to slip past, but his eyes caught a detail on the chest of a male officer holding a steaming mug.
It was his ID lanyard. Jiro's eyes zoomed in on the address line printed in small text: Taytay, Rizal.
Jiro froze for a split second. Taytay.
He stared at the senior. Here was living proof—a veteran. Someone who had survived the daily pilgrimage from Taytay to Morong for over a year. Jiro wanted to ask him: Which part of town? Which jeepney route? What time do you wake up? Do you ever sleep?
Introversion... ehem ehem, you beat Jiro, 1-0.
He swallowed the questions, adjusted his bag strap, and walked silently into the classroom.
He survived it, Jiro thought. So it is possible.
The room was filling up, but the professor for NSTP 1 was nowhere to be seen. The heat inside the box-like room began to rise as bodies packed in. It was stifling.
Jiro claimed his chair, dropping his bag. He reached for his sanctuary—his earphones—hoping to lose himself in another track. But before the chorus could hit, Janna appeared at his desk.
"Jiro," she beckoned, fanning herself aggressively with a notebook. " It's an oven in here! Come on, let's hang out by the faculty area. There's a fan."
Jiro sighed, pulling the earbuds out. The music would have to wait. "Alright."
He followed her out to the corridor, just in front of the faculty office. It was a makeshift lounge area within the warehouse building. A long plastic bench and a few scattered monobloc chairs were arranged in front of an oscillating industrial fan.
The group squeezed onto the bench, bodies pressed together, laughing as the fan blew their hair into their faces. The adviser joined them, leaning against the doorframe, trading jokes with the girls. The atmosphere was light, almost like a sitcom. Jiro sat on the edge, the "chill" observer, smiling faintly at the banter but keeping his thoughts inward.
"Hold on," the adviser said, interrupting a joke. "I need to grab something."
He turned and unlocked a small door right in front of where Jiro was sitting. Jiro peered inside.
It wasn't a room; it was a closet. The space was tiny—barely the size of two portable toilets combined—but it was packed floor-to-ceiling with an arsenal of construction tools. Saws, hammers, nails, pliers, and screwdrivers hung from every available surface. It was the chaotic, hidden heart of the workshop.
The adviser grabbed a tool and locked the door again.
As he walked away to attend to business, the conversation among the freshmen circled back to their favorite topic: The Escape Plan.
"So, next year," Janna said, wiping sweat from her forehead. "We shift. We just have to survive two semesters."
They looked at Jiro, the quiet strategist of the group.
"Actually," Jiro said. His voice cut through the hum of the electric fan, quieter than the wind but heavy with intent. "I'm shifting... sooner?"
Yeah, I'm here to study not to carry freaking heavy stuff!
The group went silent. The fan whirred, filling the gap.
"Sooner?" Mina asked, blinking rapidly. "Like... when?"
"This month?" Jiro admitted. He picked at a loose thread on his jeans. "Maybe... this week."
"Lah, what!" The girls gasped in unison, their mouths falling open.
"Wait, seriously?!" Jessa cried out, the joke gone from her voice. "You're leaving us? Already? Damn, Jiro! We just formed the group!"
"Yeah!" Mina chimed in, looking genuinely hurt. "Who's going to be our brain? We're doomed without a smart guy! Don't do this to us!"
Jiro leaned back against the plastic bench, staring at the heavy equipment nearby.
"Uh, just time," Jiro explained, his logical side taking over, though his chest felt tight seeing their reactions. "If I finish this year, that's one year gone. If I shift now, I start fresh immediately. I want to graduate by 2028. If I wait... I lose a year. I don't want to spend five years in college. Calculated!"
Wow, Jiro, feeling smart? Time is time, ehm.
His logic was solid. But the vibe in the air got heavy fast. He was talking about efficiency; they were talking about friendship.
"Don't leave us, please," Dana pouted, her voice small. "That's so unfair."
Jiro offered a weak smile. "I haven't decided yet. But... I'm thinking about it."
Their heavy conversation was interrupted by a classmate jogging up to their circle, looking frantic.
"Guys! Update!" the classmate panted. "The NSTP 1 professor isn't coming to the room. He messaged the GC. He said he's 'somewhere around campus' and we have to find him."
Jiro blinked. Find him?
It sounded like an adventure. In reality? It was a stressful Tuesday hunt quest.
The conversation about the future was cut short by the urgency of the present. They grabbed their bags from the classroom and prepared for the trek. A treasure hunt. Except the treasure was just a signature on an attendance sheet.
7:56 AM.
As they exited the shadowy sanctuary of the Construction Tech building, the morning sun hit them like a physical blow. It was boiling. The humidity wrapped around them instantly.
Ha. Good luck to my skin.
"Sheesh, here we go again," Jiro mumbled, squinting against the glare as they walked onto the main grounds. "Why do we need to hunt the professor like he's a rare Pokémon? Ahh..."
He didn't wait to burn. He reached into his bag and grabbed his tactical gear… just a blue umbrella.
I hate sunburns. Come forth, my protector.
Click.
As the blue canopy snapped open, it became an instant magnet. His Circle of Friends immediately swarmed him, seeking shelter from the UV rays like moths to a flame—or rather, moths running away from a flame.
"Uy, Jiro, pa-share!" Jessa ducked under before he could say yes. "Thanks, hehehe."
"Ahh, Jiro, savior!" Mina laughed, squeezing in on the other side. She reached for the handle. "Here, let me hold it. You handle it too low, the angle is wrong, hehe."
Jiro sighed, surrendering the handle but keeping his spot in the shade. I am now a walking tent.
They looped around the College of Science and Education—the imposing brutalist main building right next to the Registrar—baking like potatoes in an oven.
By the time they reached the back of the campus, near the looming structure of the Indoor Gymnasium, someone finally got a reply.
"He replied!" a classmate shouted. "He's... wait... he's by the fountain near the high school buildings."
Jiro stopped walking. The fountain? That's on the complete opposite side.
God. That is just another 200-meter walk.
Is this NSTP or a marathon?
"Let's go," Mina sighed, adjusting her grip on Jiro's umbrella handle.
Fortunately, the route to the other side offered a small mercy. They took the path shaded by thick green canopies and a metal-roofed corridor that shielded them from the angry sky.
As they walked, the vibe changed. They bypassed row after row of high school corridors. Younger students were running around, playing in the hallways, or sitting in classrooms.
Yes, Jiro noted, watching a kid sprint past in a beige uniform. There are actual high schoolers inside this big university campus. Different uniforms, same chaos.
When they finally reached the designated spot, they found the target.
He was a tall man in his forties, dressed in a navy blue polo shirt and jeans, finishing the look with sporty running shoes. He held his phone up, looking around like a lost tourist.
Quest Complete: Professor Found.
"Okay guys, you are all CT 1, right?" the professor asked, scanning the group of sweating, panting freshmen.
"Ah, yes sir," a classmate answered, wiping their forehead.
"Alright, uhm, good morning everyone!" The professor beamed, unbothered by the heat. "First of all, where is our room?"
Silence. The students looked at each other.
"Oh, sir," one brave soul spoke up. "We do not have rooms yet. We can't use the CT building for minor subjects."
The professor blinked. "Ah, okay. So, we have to find one."
He spun around on his heels, glancing at the sprawling campus behind him. "Maybe we can find an empty one nearby. Let's go, guys!"
He started walking briskly, expecting the herd to follow.
Another marathon?
Jiro felt his internal temperature rising faster than the morning sun.
Is this a normal routine here? First a Professor Hunt, now a Room Hunt?
What a piece of crap.
His thoughts boiled like magma as he forced his legs to move again.
Welcome to college. The subject isn't NSTP. It's Cardio.
The professor led them in a wide loop back toward the main building. It felt like they were walking in circles, but eventually, they reached the massive Indoor Gymnasium again.
At least there are trees here, Jiro thought, stepping gratefully into the dappled shadows. Shade. Sweet, sweet shade.
As they paused, Jiro noticed a building tucked quietly behind the main campus structure. It looked residential.
"Oh, is there a dorm here?" Jiro asked Mina, pointing it out.
"Ah, that one? Probably," Mina answered, squinting. "They say there is a dorm here, but I don't know the exact details or the fee."
"Aight, thanks," Jiro replied. He glanced at the building with a hint of longing—imagining a world where he woke up at 7 AM. "My mom doesn't allow me to use a dorm, though."
"Oh? Why?" Mina asked, looking at him with genuine concern. "It would save you so much time."
"I don't know," Jiro shrugged, adjusting his backpack straps. "Maybe she really just doesn't want it for me."
Or maybe she just wants to keep an eye on me, he thought. Asian mom things.
They walked a bit further, approaching a low-slung building nearby. It looked like an indoor cafeteria.
It was closed. Locked tight.
"Okay, class, uh, we will use this building instead," the professor announced, jiggling the locked door handles. "Let me wait here... actually, you guys wait here. I need to find the keys."
Before anyone could ask how long that would take, he jogged away again.
Level 2: The Key Hunt.
Jiro sighed, watching the professor disappear.
So, the room hunt ends at... a cafeteria?
Great. We found the location of food, but not the food itself. Just an empty hall for a one-hour lecture. Crazy.
While they waited, Jiro took in the surroundings. It gave off a distinct jungle vibe. The shade was thick, provided by massive trees and overgrown plants that blocked out the sun but trapped the humidity. It would have been peaceful if not for the local wildlife.
Red ants. Big ones. Marching across the pavement like they owned the place.
Crap.
The rest of the class and his Circle of Friends collapsed onto the concrete stairs nearby, too tired to care about the insects or the dirt. They just wanted to sit.
Jiro, however, stood his ground near the metal-roofed corridor, keeping a safe distance from the ant army. The heat was suffocating. The air didn't move. It stuck to his skin like plastic wrap.
He looked around and spotted a large decorative plant—an anahaw—with massive, fan-shaped fronds.
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.
He grabbed a large leaf and started fanning himself rhythmically. It was a ridiculous sight—a college student standing in the corner, fanning himself with a giant leaf like a bored tribal king in a tropical melodrama.
If this is college, Jiro thought, feeling the slight breeze against his face, I might need a bigger leaf.
Ten minutes later, the professor jogged back, holding up the keys like a trophy.
The building finally opened up to its life.
8:43 AM.
Inside, it was a different world. It was clean, white, and fancy—more like a hotel function hall than a school cafeteria. But the most important feature wasn't the decor. It was the air conditioning.
The cold air hit Jiro like a blessing. Finally, a relief from the relentless heat... but he knew it wouldn't last long.
The professor took the floor, introducing himself and the agenda. He explained that their NSTP 1 would focus on the CWTS program—community service, street sweeping, the works. He passed around an attendance sheet and dropped the first loot requirement: a 1/8 white index card with a 1x1 ID picture. Due Thursday.
The class in the fancy cafeteria lasted less than thirty minutes. A speedrun lecture.
They disembarked, flooding back out into the heat. As usual, Jiro was the last person to leave, savoring the final seconds of cool air. He didn't just walk out; he took his time, gently pushing the glass door shut rather than letting it swing.
Cla-dunk!
His Final Decision is yet to mix in his thoughts later.
END OF THE FINAL DECISION