The morning sun glared over Manila as a battered ten-wheeler truck rumbled out of the warehouse gates. Its trailer carried the first shipment of AquaPure's Modular Filtration Units—sturdy canisters painted white and blue, each stamped with the new logo.
Children from the neighborhood chased the truck as it left, chanting, "AquaPure! AquaPure!" Rosa wiped her eyes with her apron and muttered, "Ay, para tayong artista."
Inside the cab, Rafael sat with Jericho, who insisted on riding shotgun. The boy's grin was wide, but his hands tapped nervously against his knees.
"You think they'll like it, Boss?" he asked. "I mean… what if it breaks? What if the water comes out dirty?"
Rafael kept his eyes on the road. "Then we fix it. That's what trials are for."
The Codex whispered in the back of his mind:"Reminder: Unit calibration variance detected in 3 out of 50 filters. Probability of clogging under high turbidity: 21%. Recommendation: bring spare cartridges."
He tapped the side of the truck, signaling Maria in the chase van. She nodded; extra cartridges had already been loaded. To the team, he looked like a man who never missed a detail.
By late afternoon, the convoy reached Cotabato, where monsoon rains had turned half the roads into rivers of mud. Families gathered at the barangay hall, their water buckets lined up. Some clutched plastic bottles filled with cloudy, brown floodwater.
The local mayor, a thin man in a worn barong, greeted them with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "We've seen promises before," he said flatly. "Foreign machines, fancy tech. They never last. You're sure this works?"
Rafael motioned to Arnel and Lolo Ed, who rolled one of the canisters forward. "See for yourself."
The mayor folded his arms as Rafael poured murky water from a nearby ditch into the unit. A hush fell over the crowd. Seconds later, clear water flowed steadily into a plastic pitcher. Rosa, standing with the women, gasped aloud.
The mayor's aide took a sip first, his eyebrows shooting up. "It's… it's clean!" He passed it to a mother holding a child. She tasted, then gave the glass to her daughter. The little girl drank greedily, then laughed.
The cheer that erupted nearly shook the roof.
Jericho muttered, grinning from ear to ear, "We actually did it…"
But Rafael stayed calm, watching the flow gauge flicker. The Codex overlaid faint red text in his vision:"Warning: filter pressure rising. Sediment density high. Clogging expected in 40 minutes."
He smiled outwardly, hiding his concern. "We'll set up multiple units," he told the mayor. "Each one can serve fifty families at a time. And if maintenance is needed—we've trained locals to swap cartridges."
Maria directed the team with sharp efficiency. Arnel showed the barangay youth how to replace a cartridge. Rosa laughed as she poured fresh water for elders, while Jericho strutted like a soldier on parade.
But Rafael's mind was on the Codex's whisper. The first field trial had succeeded—but only barely. If the clogging hit during the demonstration, they would have been humiliated.
That night, after the cheers died down and the last of the children had run home with full bottles, Rafael sat outside the barangay hall. Rain pattered on the tin roof, and the Codex pulsed softly:"Data gathered. Design flaw confirmed. Cartridge lifespan shorter than projected in high-silt environments. Recommend: next iteration with dual-stage filtration."
Rafael rubbed his temples, staring at the flickering streetlights. "So we celebrate tonight, and fix it tomorrow."
The Codex replied with something strange—words it had never used before."Correction: You celebrated. We fixed."
Rafael froze for a heartbeat. It almost sounded… proud.
He exhaled, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Codex."
But as he watched the muddy streets of Cotabato shine with the reflection of clean water in plastic jugs, he felt it: the first proof that AquaPure wasn't just an idea anymore.
It was real. And the world had seen it.