The cramped internet café smelled faintly of instant noodles, cigarette smoke, and the chemical scent of cheap air freshener. A dozen kids yelled at each other over the digital chaos of online games, while Rafael sat quietly in the farthest corner, his eyes locked on the screen.
He had borrowed just enough cash from his cousin—a cousin who had laughed at his grand plan—to load his trading account. A measly ₱5,000 pesos, barely a week's worth of groceries. To Rafael, it was a test. A gamble not just with money, but with destiny.
The Codex panel hovered faintly before his eyes, a secret only he could see. The AI trading bot he had coded last night was active, a silent, ravenous entity feeding on the real-time data streams pouring across the screen.
[Simulation engaged. Predictive cycle: 0.02 seconds.] [Risk Level: Low. Predicted Profit Margin: +9.3% within 24 hours.]
Rafael's throat was dry. "Alright... do it."
The moment he clicked Activate, the bot began executing trades—dozens, then hundreds, tiny, almost imperceptible movements across different currencies and cryptos. To a normal trader, it looked like noise. To the Codex, it was a symphony, every shift and fluctuation anticipated a breath before it happened.
At first, nothing seemed to change. Then, slowly, the red numbers on his screen turned a brilliant, life-giving green.
₱5,000 → ₱5,600 → ₱6,200 → ₱6,800…
By the second hour, Rafael's jaw had gone slack. His screen showed what most traders dreamed of but never achieved: consistent, compounding growth. He clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles white. "It works… it really works!"
The Codex's cold whisper echoed in his mind:
"First foundation achieved. Host now has means to acquire capital. Recommendation: Diversify into discreet physical optimizations to avoid suspicion."
"Right. Too much profit too fast will get me flagged." Rafael glanced around the café. No one cared about him, just another broke twenty-something in a sea of noise. And yet, he felt like he was carrying a treasure chest in plain sight.
By the time the café attendant, a young man with tired eyes and a perpetually bored expression, tapped his shoulder and muttered, "Boss, time's up," Rafael had more than doubled his seed money.
He logged out, heart racing, and walked out into the humid Manila night. The neon lights of the sari-sari stores flickered, jeepneys roared past, and the heavy stench of fried street food clung to the air. For everyone else, this city was the same unforgiving maze. But to Rafael… it was beginning to look different. The Codex wasn't just a cheat. It was a master key—a key to wealth, knowledge, and power.
He stopped at the small, brightly lit storefront of Aling Rosa's sari-sari. She was sitting on a stool outside, fanning herself with a magazine. Her face was a road map of tired lines, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, and her gaze held the weary resignation of someone who had seen it all.
"Oh, Rafa," she said, her voice sighing with a familiar blend of exasperation and affection. "I was just about to send my grandson, Pio, to your house. You still owe me for last week's rice and canned goods."
Rafael smiled faintly and pulled out a stack of crisp bills, far more than he owed. He handed her the full amount, plus a generous tip. Her eyes widened, the exhaustion in them replaced by a flash of surprise.
"Rafa… where'd you get money all of a sudden?" Her voice was laced with a different kind of suspicion now, the kind a mother gives a child who has suddenly acquired a new toy.
Rafael only smiled, a genuine, private smile. "Hard work, Aling Rosa." He had never felt that statement was so true before.
Back in his room, the Codex displayed a new message:
Data Pool: 0.09% (Primitive → Early Stage) New Function Unlocked: Material Synthesis (Basic).
Rafael blinked. "Material synthesis…?"
The interface showed a complex, three-dimensional holographic diagram. It detailed the atomic structure of a common plastic water bottle and showed a process for rearranging its polymer chains, strengthening its bonds, and re-forming it into a durable, heat-resistant composite material far superior to its original form.
"The Host can now deconstruct and reassemble matter on a molecular level," the Codex explained. "It requires raw feedstock and an energy source. The Codex will provide the precise schematics for a basic Fabrication Unit."
Rafael's hands trembled as he stared at the schematics. This wasn't magic. It was engineering taken to an impossible degree. He could take the endless junk of Manila—the discarded plastic, the rusty metal, the broken electronics—and turn it into something new, something perfect.
"This… this isn't just money anymore," he whispered. "This is invention."
He realized then that what he held wasn't a shortcut. It was an engine of civilization. And he, Rafael Dela Cruz, a forgotten nobody, was the only one who could wield it.