The ferry docked at Iloilo City as the sun dipped low, painting the Guimaras Strait gold. Compared to the bustle of Cebu and the tension of Davao, Iloilo felt gentler—colorful murals on walls, clean plazas filled with children, the air tinged with the aroma of batchoy simmering in roadside stalls.
Jericho stretched as they unloaded crates. "Feels different here, boss. Like people actually breathe slower."
"Don't get too comfortable," Maria said, eyes on her clipboard. "Every city has its sharks. They just smile wider here."
Their new site was an abandoned rice mill on the city's outskirts. Tall grass had crept through broken windows, and birds nested in the rafters. Rosa crossed herself at the sight. "This one's haunted for sure."
Rafael walked slowly through the dusty floor, running his hand across cracked cement. "Then let's bring it back to life."
Recruitment here was easier than Davao. Iloilo's technical schools overflowed with graduates hungry for work, and word of AquaPure's victory over HydraCorp had already spread like legend. By the second day, dozens lined up outside the rice mill, resumes in hand.
But Rafael wasn't swayed by paperwork. He set up tests—basic filter assembly, pump repair, and even improvised problem-solving with scrap materials. Most followed instructions exactly. A few improvised boldly.
One young man, Ernesto, rigged a pump using a discarded bicycle chain, grinning sheepishly when it worked better than the original. A quiet chemistry graduate, Althea, calmly explained how to refine activated carbon with locally available coconut husks—cheaper, sustainable, and effective. An older mechanic, Mang Rudy, adjusted the welding setup mid-test, muttering, "This design will break in three months unless you reinforce here."
Rafael's eyes lit with quiet satisfaction. These are the ones.
Within a week, the rice mill no longer looked abandoned. Machines roared, welders sparked, and Iloilo's first AquaPure unit stood proudly at the center of the floor. The workers clapped as clear water poured into waiting cups.
The city's mayor himself came to witness the trial, flanked by staff and reporters. Cameras flashed as he drank the first sip and declared loudly, "This is proof that innovation isn't just for Manila. Iloilo stands with AquaPure!"
The crowd cheered, but Rafael's smile was measured. He had learned enough to know every handshake carried a price.
That evening, as the team locked up, Maria leaned close. "The mayor's aide hinted at a partnership contract. Funding, storage, distribution—but only if we stamp AquaPure units with his office's seal."
Rafael's jaw tightened. "No. We've built trust because people believe AquaPure stands for them—not politicians."
Maria smirked faintly. "I told him you'd say that."
From the corner, Jericho muttered, "One day, boss, you're going to make an enemy you can't charm with clean water."
"Maybe," Rafael admitted, staring at the glowing unit still dripping into a bucket. "But by then, AquaPure will be too big to kill."
Outside, the cicadas sang as the city lights flickered on. With Cebu, Davao, and now Iloilo humming with life, AquaPure's triangle across the Philippines was complete.
Rafael looked out over the dark horizon, where foreign cargo ships passed silently in the strait. His chest tightened with both pride and unease.
The war at home was stabilizing. But he could already feel the next battle rising—one that would not stop at the shores of his country.