The roosters crowed before dawn, and John Smith was already awake. His room was still cloaked in shadows, the air heavy with Manila's humid summer heat. He sat at his small wooden desk, flipping through the notes he had made the night before.
"Peso at 26 to the dollar… by 1997, nearly 50," he whispered to himself. His handwriting was neat and deliberate, as if each letter carried the weight of a future empire.
From the kitchen, the faint clatter of pans echoed. Lola was up, preparing breakfast. John tucked away his notebook and stood, washing his face with the cold water drawn from their blue drum. He looked into the cracked mirror. The reflection staring back was still that of an eighteen-year-old boy but the sharpness in his gaze was decades older.
At the breakfast table, Lola slid a plate of rice and tuyo toward him. "Eat well, Juanito. You'll need energy for school."
John smiled faintly. "Thanks, Lola."
She studied him with curiosity. Ever since his "change," he had started waking earlier, eating with more focus, and asking unusual questions about money, markets, and the cost of goods. To her, it was strange. To John, it was the foundation of everything.
After eating, he left for school. On the way, he stopped briefly at a pawnshop he had scouted two days before. The sign creaked in the morning wind, and the security guard barely looked up as John entered.
He approached the counter and placed a small transistor radio on the glass. "How much?" he asked.
The clerk squinted at him, then at the radio. "Not much. Maybe 200 pesos."
"Done," John replied without hesitation.
The clerk frowned at his quick answer but handed him the bills. John pocketed the money and walked out, his pace steady. To anyone else, it was just a boy pawning junk. To John, it was a step closer to the capital he needed.
At school, he blended into the routine lectures, recitations, chatter. Michael teased him during break, "Juan, you look like you're running a secret business these days."
John smirked, deflecting. "Maybe I'm just studying harder."
But the truth was, every idle moment was spent planning. During math class, while others solved simple equations, John was calculating future exchange rates in the margins of his notebook. When history was being discussed, his mind drifted to political cycles, the rise and fall of leaders, and how corruption always left cracks for sharp men to exploit.
He had lived through it once. This time, he would be ready.
By late afternoon, classes ended. Instead of heading straight home, John made a detour into the city. He walked through the busy streets, past jeepneys belching smoke, and found the money changer tucked between a pharmacy and a bakery.
Inside, the air was cool, the walls plastered with exchange rates written in chalk. A middle-aged clerk eyed him curiously.
"You again?" the man said. "What is it with you and dollars, kid? Peso's stable. No one's buying right now."
John slid the peso bills across the counter. "I'll take them anyway."
The clerk counted the money and handed over the crisp U.S. dollar bills. John folded them carefully and slipped them into the inner pocket of his bag.
To anyone else, it was a meaningless trade. To John, it was foresight turned into insurance. He knew that when the peso collapsed during the Asian financial crisis, these dollars would double their worth. It was small now, but it was the first brick of the fortress he was building.
That evening, back home, Lola noticed the tired look on his face. "You've been going out too much, Juanito. Don't forget your studies."
John smiled gently. "I won't, Lola. Don't worry."
She sighed, shaking her head. "You always say that. But sometimes I feel like you're carrying something heavy on your shoulders."
John's smile faltered, but only for a second. "Maybe I just don't want to be poor forever."
Lola's eyes softened. She reached out and patted his hand. "Money is important, yes. But don't let it harden your heart. You're still young."
"I know," he said quietly. But in his mind, the thought was sharper: I can't afford to waste this second life on youth alone.
That night, John sat again at his desk, the flickering bulb above him buzzing faintly. He laid out his stash several U.S. dollar bills, neatly folded. It wasn't much, maybe only a hundred in total. But to him, it was proof.
Proof that he could change his future.
He opened his notebook and began outlining his next steps:
> "Step 1: Continue building small capital. Pawn unused items, save school allowance.
Step 2: Accumulate dollars quietly, steadily.
Step 3: Watch local businesses. Look for early opportunities (telecom, retail, internet cafés).
Step 4: Remain invisible until strong enough."
His pen tapped against the page. He could almost hear the ticking of a clock in his head two years until the crisis, two years to prepare.
He closed his notebook, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling.
In my past life, I fought corruption with law. This time, I'll fight it with power the kind they can't ignore.
For now, his empire was only scraps of paper, a few dollars, and the determination of a boy.
But in the silence of that night, John Smith felt the future shifting.