Later in the evening, Timothy was checked by a doctor who cleared him for discharge. Just like his little sister said, there was no need to pay as it is covered by a government program.
Outside the hospital, Timothy breathed in the air. He was grateful that he was alive and well. He was holding hands with his little sister, Angela. He looked to his mother who was awfully quiet, as if she was contemplating something.
Then she hailed a tricycle passing down the road, and it pulled right next to them. Timothy sat at the back of the driver while his mother and Angela squeezed inside the cab. The driver revved the engine, and the tricycle rattled along the uneven road, weaving through jeepneys and motorcycles.
He was still thinking about the system earlier. Reconstruction. He had been meaning to try it out once they got home to see if he was crazy in the head or not.
Not long after, they arrived at their house, which was located in Tondo, Manila. It was a squatter settlement, the kind where plywood walls leaned against cement blocks, rusted tin roofs creaked with every gust of wind, and the sound of karaoke from a neighbor's hut blended with the cries of babies and barking dogs. Narrow alleys crisscrossed the rows of makeshift homes, with laundry lines stretched overhead and children playing barefoot.
It wasn't much, but it was their home.
Timothy helped his mother down from the tricycle while Angela skipped ahead, greeting a few familiar neighbors. They squeezed through the narrow alleyway until they arrived at their two-storey house.
The lower floor was patched together with hollow blocks, plywood, and old tarpaulin nailed over gaps where rainwater usually leaked. A rusty electric meter hung crooked near the doorway, and the cement steps leading inside were cracked and uneven.
The first floor served as their living room, though it was more of a cramped common space. A faded sofa with torn fabric sat against the wall, beside it an old TV that sometimes worked if you smacked the side. The corner shelves were filled with worn-out appliances—an ancient rice cooker, a broken electric fan, a busted blender—things too expensive to throw out, so they were left to gather dust.
Upstairs were the bedrooms. Wooden stairs creaked dangerously whenever someone stepped on them, and the plywood walls rattled if the neighbors on either side slammed their doors too hard. But at night, when everyone was together, it was home.
Angela ran inside first and tossed her bag onto the sofa before rushing upstairs.
"Timothy, can we talk?" his mother asked with a serious tone.
"What is it ma?" Timothy tilted his head to the side. "It sounded serious."
"I know you are doing hard things for your sister and I, but the doctor said if you keep overworking yourself, you might not make it next time…" His mother's voice broke a little, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her faded blouse.
Timothy frowned. "Ma, don't worry. I'll be careful—"
"No," She cut him off firmly, but her eyes were already glistening. "Don't just brush this off. You scared me today. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you."
His mother sat down on the worn-out sofa, her shoulders slumping. "I failed you both. I failed as a mother."
"Ma…" Timothy whispered, his chest tightening.
She shook her head, tears spilling now. "As much as possible, I wanted my children to only study, to dream big, to live better lives than mine. But look at us. Because of me, you had to grow up so fast. You had to work instead of focusing on your studies. You collapsed on the street just to keep us alive."
She buried her face in her hands. "What kind of mother am I, if my son has to suffer like this?"
Timothy's heart twisted. He moved closer and sat beside her, gently placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.
"Ma, don't say that. You didn't fail us. You raised us. You kept us alive. That's more than enough."
"But I wanted more for you. Not this… not this kind of life. I wanted you to focus on school, to graduate, to have good jobs."
Her voice rose slightly at the end, filled with anger at herself rather than them.
Timothy squeezed her hand. "Ma…you don't have to apologize. I am not blaming you for our situation. This is life and we have to live with it. It's the reason why I'm determined to finish my studies so I can give you a better life. And I am not the only one working here mother, you are too, I can see your sacrifices. Don't worry ma, I will swear that I will get you and Angela a better life. I promise that."
Hearing that, his mother wrapped her arms around him tightly.
"You shouldn't have to make promises like that, anak," she whispered. "You're still so young. You should be thinking about school, about your dreams… not carrying this family on your back. That's my job. Not yours."
Timothy closed his eyes, his hand gently patting her back. "But I want to, Ma. Because this family is my dream. You and Angela—you're the reason I'm still fighting. I don't care how hard it gets, I'll never stop. One day, I'll make sure you don't have to cry like this anymore."
And then, almost like it could hear his thoughts, the blue screen of the System flickered faintly in the corner of his vision again.
[Reconstruction Available: 1]
He clenched his fist against his knee, determination hardening in his chest.
"I will go to my bedroom now and take a rest," Timothy said.
***
His bedroom was cramped, barely enough space for a single bed and a narrow study table pushed up against the wall. The ceiling fan above creaked with every rotation, doing little more than pushing the hot Manila air around. There is one window though that could help cool down his room.
It wasn't much, but it was his little sanctuary.
Timothy shut the door quietly and leaned back against it, exhaling. His chest was still tight from his conversation with his mother. The look in her eyes, the regret, the fear, burned itself into his memory. He hated it. He hated that she thought she had failed them.
That's why… if this System was real, he had to use it.
His eyes shifted to the corner of the room where a small cardboard box sat. Inside were odds and ends he'd kept over the years: an old cracked phone that no longer turned on, a busted wristwatch, even a fake diamond ring one of his classmates once joked about buying in Quiapo.
Timothy swallowed hard and sat on the edge of his bed.
"Alright… let's test this thing."
As if responding to his voice, the faint blue screen shimmered before him.
[Reconstruction System Online.]
[Available Reconstructions: 1]
He picked up the fake diamond ring.
[Reconstruction Target: Fake Diamond Ring.]
[What would you like to turn it into?]
Timothy thought for a moment. According to the ability of the system, it can reconstruct any object into anything it wants so long as it's within its mass and size, though it can still adjust for allowable parameters.
So if he could turn this fake diamond ring into a real one, he could sell it to a jewellery shop and make money out of it.
But wait…before he could reconstruct anything since he only has one try and it has a limit of one per day, he grabbed his smartphone with cracked screen and browsed the he grabbed his cracked-screen smartphone and browsed the internet.
He typed in: "Diamond ring prices Philippines 2024."
Within seconds, dozens of search results popped up. He clicked one from a local jewelry retailer.
The listings made his jaw tighten.
0.50 carat solitaire diamond ring – ₱95,000
1.00 carat engagement ring (GIA Certified) – ₱280,000
2.00 carat diamond ring (18k gold setting) – ₱700,000
5.00 carat luxury diamond ring – ₱3,200,000
10.00 carat flawless diamond ring – Price on request (estimate: ₱10M–₱15M)
Damn… just one or two carats could already change our lives. If this System can really turn this fake ring into the real deal, even a 1-carat piece would pay for Ma's medicine, Angela's schooling, and my allowance for years.
He scrolled further, opening a new tab: "Where to sell diamonds in Manila?"
A list appeared:
Pawnbrokers (e.g., Cebuana Lhuillier, Palawan Pawnshop, Villarica)
– Easy cash, but offers way below market value.
Luxury Jewelry Buyers (e.g., Lucerne Jewellers, Goldenhills Jewelry, Miladay Jewels)
– Require certification (GIA/IGI) before buying.
Auction Houses (e.g., Leon Gallery, Salcedo Auctions)
– Could fetch higher prices, but only for extremely rare pieces and with lots of paperwork.
Private Buyers (online forums, Facebook Marketplace, OLX)
– Risky, but potentially profitable. Scams everywhere.
Timothy rubbed his forehead. "So… it's not as easy as just handing it over and getting cash. They'll want papers. Certification. Proof it's legit."
Almost on cue, the blue panel flickered again.
[Reconstructed luxury items will include appropriate certification and documentation.]
Timothy froze. His eyes widened. "Wait… so if I reconstruct this ring, the System will automatically give me the paperwork?"
[Affirmative. Certified documentation is generated alongside luxury reconstructions.]
His heartbeat quickened. That meant no questions. No shady excuses. He could walk straight into a jewelry buyer with a certificate in hand and sell it legally.
For the first time, his lips curled into a shaky grin. "This… this is it. This is how we'll escape this hell."
"Okay, let's reconstruct this fake diamond ring into a real one," Timothy said, his hand tightening around the cheap piece of jewelry.
The blue panel glowed brighter.
[Warning: Be Specific.]
[Note: Broad or vague commands will be interpreted by the System. Results may differ from Host's intended outcome.]
Timothy blinked. "Wait… what do you mean?"
Lines of text scrolled before him like a machine patiently lecturing him.
[Example: If Host commands—"Turn this fake ring into a real ring," the System may reconstruct it into:
– A basic silver ring with a small natural stone.
– A plain gold wedding band.
– A low-quality real diamond of poor cut and clarity.]
[However, if Host specifies—"Turn this fake diamond ring into a 1-carat, flawless round brilliant diamond set in 18k white gold, with GIA certification," then the System will reconstruct exactly that.]
Timothy swallowed hard. His pulse quickened as he realized the implications.
So the word is in the detail. It's like coding, like writing commands for a computer. If I'm vague, I might end up with something worth a few thousand pesos at best. But if I'm precise… this fake trinket could become millions.
The System pulsed again.
[Tip: The more detailed the specification, the closer the result will align with Host's intent.]
[Reminder: The reconstructed object must still fall within size and mass allowances. Supplementation will cover small differences.]
Timothy exhaled sharply. He glanced at the listings on his cracked phone again. ₱280,000 for a 1-carat GIA-certified ring. ₱700,000 for a 2-carat. Millions for 5 or more carats.
His fingers trembled slightly as he held the fake ring in front of him. "Alright… let's do this properly."
He cleared his throat, speaking carefully, word by word.
"Reconstruct this fake diamond ring into… a 1-carat flawless round brilliant diamond ring, set in an 18k white gold band, with complete GIA certification and valuation documents. And a ring box.]
The blue panel hummed softly, then a progress bar appeared in midair.
[Processing…]
[Decomposing object…]
[Reconstructing…]
The fake ring in his palm began to glow, heat radiating from it as if it had been plucked from a forge. Timothy's eyes widened as the dull, glassy fake stone dissolved into sparkling motes of light. The cheap, brass-colored band warped, reshaped, and solidified into a polished white gleam.
In less than ten seconds, the glow faded.
A brand-new ring rested in his trembling hand.
The diamond sparkled with such brilliance it looked like it captured every light in the room. Its edges refracted rainbow hues across the peeling walls of his bedroom. The band was smooth and flawless, stamped with a tiny hallmark: 18K WG.
Beside it, two folded slips of paper, and a ring box appeared out of thin air, gently landing on his lap. His hands shook as he unfolded one.
[GIA Report: Diamond Grading Certificate]
Carat Weight: 1.00
Cut: Excellent
Color Grade: D (Colorless)
Clarity Grade: Flawless
Origin: Natural Diamond
The second was a formal appraisal, signed and stamped by a "licensed jeweler," listing the market value at ₱280,000–₱320,000.
Timothy's jaw dropped. His throat tightened. "Holy shit… it worked."
The ring gleamed between his fingers like a piece of another world, and for the first time in his life, Timothy felt like he was holding the key out of poverty.
But then another line of text appeared.
[Note: Use caution when liquidating high-value reconstructions. Sudden influxes of wealth may attract unwanted attention.]
"Okay system…I will try and sell this tomorrow."