"Juanito, wake up! You'll be late for school!"
John stirred under the thin blanket, blinking at the familiar ceiling of his small room. The morning sun crept in through the slats of the wooden window, casting golden stripes across the walls. For a moment, he almost forgot almost thought it was just another ordinary day in 1995.
Then the weight of his memories hit him. The assassination. The wasted years. The corruption he had fought and lost against.
This wasn't just another morning. This was his second chance.
The door creaked open and his grandmother stepped inside, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of fried eggs with rice. "Up, up. You're already eighteen, but still sleep like a child," she said, her voice half-scolding, half-tender.
John sat up, rubbing his eyes. The aroma of garlic fried rice filled the room. He smiled faintly this simple breakfast felt warmer, more valuable, than all the expensive meals he had eaten in his previous life.
"Thanks, Lola," he said softly, taking the plate.
She looked at him closely, noticing the sharper focus in his eyes these past few days. "You've changed, Juanito. You don't daydream so much anymore."
John chuckled, hiding the truth. "Maybe I finally grew up."
After breakfast, he put on his worn-out uniform white polo shirt with faint stains no washing could erase, navy blue slacks that had been hemmed twice to adjust for his growth. He tied his belt tighter; it was cracked and frayed, but it would do.
As he stepped out, he caught his reflection in the small mirror by the door. An ordinary 18-year-old stared back at him. Yet behind those young features was a man who had lived almost four decades.
He whispered to himself, "Let's play the part."
The streets were already alive when he left. Jeepneys rumbled past, blasting pop music. Vendors shouted prices of pandesal and fish balls. Children in slippers chased each other on the dusty road.
John walked to school, his battered bag slung over his shoulder. Every sight around him felt like history alive. These same streets, in just a few years, would change banners of politicians, malls sprouting up, internet cafés opening like mushrooms. He could already see the cracks forming in the system, and he knew where they would lead.
But for now, he had to pass as just another student.
At the school gate, a familiar voice called out.
"Juan! You're early for once."
John turned and saw Michael Cruz, his classmate since grade school. Michael was tall for his age, with an easy grin and a habit of carrying too many books under one arm. Unlike most kids, Michael loved reading about current events and business magazines his uncle sent from abroad.
In John's past life, he remembered Michael vaguely someone who had potential but faded into mediocrity after family struggles pulled him down. This time, John thought, maybe things could be different.
"Had to make a new start," John replied, adjusting his bag.
Michael laughed. "New start? You sound like some businessman giving a speech."
John smiled knowingly. "Maybe I am."
Classes began, the usual monotony of lectures and chalk squeaks on the blackboard. But John found himself analyzing everything differently. Economics class, for example, was discussing supply and demand. His classmates yawned, uninterested. John, however, was connecting it to what he had already done at the market with Lola packaging vegetables as ready-to-cook sets. A real-world application of basic principles.
At break time, Michael sat with him under the shade of a mango tree. He pulled out a worn copy of Asiaweek magazine. "My uncle mailed this from Hong Kong," he said proudly. "It says Asia's economies are booming. Even the Philippines might finally rise."
John's eyes lingered on the cover. He remembered too well the boom before the crash. The Asian financial crisis of 1997 would devastate not just economies, but ordinary lives.
"Be careful with what you read," John said carefully. "Booms don't last forever. Crises always follow."
Michael frowned. "You talk like an old man sometimes."
John smirked. "Maybe I read too much."
By the end of the day, John felt the weight of his dual life pressing in. On one hand, he had to play the role of a normal student taking notes, blending in, laughing at jokes. On the other, his mind was racing ahead by years, plotting moves that could alter his entire path.
As he walked home, Michael jogged up beside him. "Hey, Juan. Ever think about the future? Like, really think? I don't just mean college, but… bigger than that."
John slowed his pace, considering. Here was a chance to plant a seed.
"I think about it every day," he answered. "And I believe if we're smart, if we move early, we can do more than just survive. We can shape things."
Michael tilted his head, curious. "Shape… like politics?"
"Politics, business, both. They're all connected."
Michael grinned. "Now you're sounding like one of those tycoons."
John only smiled in return. He knew better than to reveal too much. But deep inside, he felt it: Michael could be more than just a friend. He could be an ally.
That night, back in his room, John opened his notepad again. He wrote down a new line:
> "Michael Cruz potential partner. Keep close."
He underlined it twice.
Because in this second life, he wouldn't just build an empire alone. He would build a network. And when the time came, he would use it to challenge not just businessmen but the very foundations of power in his country.
As the crickets sang outside and his Lola's quiet snores drifted from the next room, John closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, another small step.
But every step was leading to something far greater.