The final quarter began not with the usual energy, but with a strange tension in the air.
The students returned from the outreach at Barangay San Roque carrying something heavier than their toolboxes: expectation.
They had done something extraordinary—lighting up a whole barangay center, serving a real community—and the world around them noticed. The local mayor's office reposted their photos. Some NGOs sent inquiries. Parents boasted proudly. Even students from other strands started asking if they could switch to EIM.
But instead of feeling invincible, many students felt... uncertain.
As Emman walked into the workshop on a humid Monday morning, he could feel it: the hesitation behind the hammering, the long pauses before circuits were connected.
He clapped his hands. "Alright! New week. Let's check our motor control wiring from last Friday. Then we'll preview next week's assessment."
No one moved.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's going on?"
Arvin spoke first.
"Sir… what if this is as good as it gets?"
Emman blinked. "What do you mean?"
"We peaked, Sir. At San Roque. What if we can't do better than that?"
Other students nodded.
"I've been getting calls from titos asking me to fix things. I said yes, but when I got there, I froze."
"I started dreaming of being an engineer, but then I saw my cousin's college workload. I'm scared I can't do it."
Carla added softly, "Sir, I think I want this to be my job. Like, forever. But my mom said electricians don't earn enough."
There it was.
The fallout of doing something great—the pressure to be great again.
When Purpose Meets Pressure
Sir Emman sat on the edge of the worktable, arms crossed, heart heavy.
He looked at his students. Faces once glowing now dimmed with doubt.
"You're all asking the right questions," he began. "Hard ones."
He stood and walked over to the whiteboard.
"Let me ask one in return. When we wired San Roque—was it perfect?"
Silence.
"No, Sir," Jas said. "We made changes. Errors."
"Right," he said. "Arvin had to reroute a fan. Jas rewired a faulty switch. Carla had to remeasure conduit length."
He wrote in bold letters on the board:
GREATNESS = FAILURE + RESPONSE
"You didn't freeze. You fixed. You didn't panic. You pivoted."
He turned back to them. "The pressure you feel now? It's not a problem. It's power."
A Storm Builds
But just as they began regaining focus, an unexpected blow landed.
That Friday, Emman received a memo from the division office:
Due to budget alignment, Technical-Vocational classes may face equipment funding cuts next year. Alternative teaching strategies are encouraged.
Emman sat at his small desk, the letter trembling in his hands.
How can I teach practical wiring without materials?
That evening, he visited Mrs. De Jesus in the office.
She looked tired. Overworked. But she offered a calm voice.
"Sir Emman, I've already filed an appeal. And I've spoken to a few parent volunteers. We'll find ways to fundraise."
"But we're just getting started," Emman said. "These kids are finally believing they can wire futures."
"I know," she replied. "Which is why we won't let go of the current. We just have to find a stronger transformer."
Wires and Walls
Meanwhile, at home, Emman faced his own resistance—from his younger brother, Charle, a 3rd-year engineering student.
During dinner one night, Charle rolled his eyes while Emman shared stories from the EIM class.
"You keep pouring energy into them," Charle said, "but most of them won't even finish senior high. They'll work in hardware stores or drive tricycles."
Emman slammed his fork down. "That's exactly why I teach this. So they know they don't have to stay there forever."
Charle leaned back. "You're too idealistic. You think wiring a few lights can change someone's life?"
"It already has," Emman shot back. "Ask the people in San Roque."
Charle stood, scoffing. "Not everyone can be rescued with a wire and a soldering iron."
Their mother, quiet until then, spoke gently: "Even a small spark can save a house from darkness."
Charle shook his head and left the table.
Emman looked down at his calloused hands, torn between doubt and determination.
Was he expecting too much? Was he setting his students up for disappointment?
Breaking Point
The tension peaked two weeks later.
It was the last period of the day. Emman noticed that the class was distracted. Leo was missing. Dino kept checking his phone. Even Carla, usually attentive, kept zoning out.
Finally, Emman called for a break.
That's when Jas stood and blurted out, "Sir… Leo might drop out."
Gasps followed.
"He told me he might stop school to help his father full-time. He said maybe dreams are for those who can afford them."
Emman's stomach dropped.
"He's afraid of disappointing you," Jas added. "He didn't want to tell you."
Without thinking, Emman grabbed his phone, told Mrs. De Jesus he was stepping out, and rode his motorcycle straight to Leo's barangay.
The Visit
Leo was surprised when Emman showed up at their gate.
"Sir?"
"Can I come in?"
They sat on a wooden bench in front of a small vegetable garden.
"I heard you're thinking of leaving," Emman said softly.
Leo looked away. "Sir… my dad got sick. He can't drive much anymore. My younger siblings—"
"I understand," Emman said. "Family first."
Silence.
"But Leo," Emman continued, "don't quit on your future. Not yet."
Leo's eyes filled with tears. "I feel like I'm choosing between helping now and becoming someone later."
Emman nodded. "Then we help now… so you can become someone later."
He pulled out a sealed envelope. "Mrs. De Jesus and I made a few calls. The school is offering you a conditional assistance grant—transportation support and a weekend project. You can earn a bit and still attend class."
Leo stared, stunned.
"You believed in others' homes," Emman said. "Let us believe in yours."
A Candle in the Storm
By the next week, Leo was back in class.
So were the others.
Doubt still lingered, but it no longer ruled.
Emman introduced the final project: "Design Your Future"—a capstone plan where each student would create a wiring proposal for their dream project.
Some chose houses.
Others, businesses.
Jas surprised everyone by drawing a floor plan for a women's shelter with solar power.
Even Dino, usually the prankster, designed a small barber shop with proper grounding and energy-efficient lighting.
On the whiteboard, Emman wrote:
"If you can wire it, you can live it."
Resistance as Refinement
As the quarter neared its close, Emman stood in front of his class.
"You've faced pressure. Fear. Criticism. Even poverty."
He paused.
"But you are still here."
The students nodded, quiet but solid.
"I won't promise life will always be fair. Or that work will come easy. But I'll tell you this—"
He picked up a coil of wire and held it high.
"Wires don't break when twisted. They become stronger."
Reflection
That night, Emman wrote in his journal:
"We teach to spark interest.
We stay to fuel confidence.
But we endure… to light conviction."
The waves of resistance came.
But his students stood.
Their wires didn't snap.
They flexed.
They bent.
They held.
And they were wired for more.