The night stretched long, but Rafael didn't sleep. His notebook was crammed with sketches, lists, and half-baked business plans. Between the Codex's cold projections and his own restless ambition, a single thought burned clear:
Start small. Build quietly. Expand steadily.
By dawn, he had chosen his first move.
Not the battery. Not the alloy. Too dangerous. Too loud.
Instead, the water filtration straw.
Simple. Cheap. Useful. And in the Philippines—where typhoons, floods, and dirty water were common—it would sell itself.
The next day, Rafael scoured Divisoria's chaotic stalls for materials. Vendors shouted over one another, selling everything from pirated DVDs to cheap textiles. He ignored the noise, searching for activated carbon, filter mesh, and plastic tubing.
To anyone else, it was junk. To him, it was the foundation of an empire.
That night, with the Codex guiding each cut and seal, he assembled his first prototype. The straw was plain-looking—transparent tubing, capped at both ends, faintly glowing where the Codex had reinforced the carbon mesh with synthesized alloy powder.
[Prototype Complete: Purification Straw Mk I]Efficiency: 99.1% pathogen removalDurability: 4x standard filtersCost: 12 pesos per unit
Rafael's eyes widened. Twelve pesos. Cheaper than bottled water, cheaper than almost anything on the market.
He couldn't resist. He filled a plastic jug with murky water scooped from a canal behind the boarding house. The smell alone made his stomach turn.
Hands trembling, he dipped the straw in and sucked.
The water that touched his tongue was… clean. Crisp. Cooler than bottled mineral water.
He laughed in disbelief, coughing halfway. "It works! Holy—this could change everything!"
The Codex chimed:
"Product ready for field testing. Recommend: small-scale distribution."
Three days later, Rafael stood awkwardly in a barangay community center after a flood. Volunteers handed out relief goods—rice, canned sardines, bottled water. But supplies were already running short.
He approached one of the aid workers, a tired man in his thirties. "Excuse me, kuya… would you like to test something? It's free."
The man frowned at the plastic straw. "Ano 'to? Some kind of toy?"
"Try it," Rafael urged. "From that bucket."
The worker hesitated, then shrugged. He dipped the straw, sucked cautiously, then froze. His eyes went wide. He drank again—longer this time.
"This… this is clean water!" he exclaimed. Soon, others gathered, curious. Children, mothers, even elderly flood victims—all tried the straw. Their disbelief turned into excitement.
In less than an hour, Rafael's crude prototypes were gone, snatched up by grateful hands.
That night, as he returned to his tiny room, Rafael's phone buzzed. A message from the volunteer leader:
"If you can make more of those straws, we'll buy them. Relief groups will pay good money. Call me."
Rafael collapsed on his bed, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding.
It wasn't billions yet. But it was profit. His first step.
And with the Codex's guidance, it was only the beginning.