September 6 (Friday)
7:53 AM
The skies over Rizal province remained heavily overcast. The monsoon rains, severely enhanced by Tropical Storm Yagi (formerly Enteng), had caused widespread flooding across the region. As the storm already exited the Philippine territory and rapidly intensified into a super typhoon, the local government and the KSU administration maintained a strict suspension of face-to-face classes until Monday.
The physical gates of the campus were firmly locked. The environmental hazard had successfully halted the brutal commute of the Raging Road.
But the academic portal never truly sleeps. It merely shifts its operations online.
As he already finished his ritual, Jiro Sanata stared at his glowing smartphone screen. The physical classrooms were closed, but the academic obligations remained absolute. The institution did not care about the weather. It simply extended its reach through the Wi-Fi and Mobile Data.
A notification pinged in the MMW/NSTP 1 group chat.
It was Dr. Ricky Manazaki.
He dropped a Google Meet link directly into the chat, summoning the BEEd 1-A cohort for their scheduled online class in Mathematics in the Modern World (MMW).
Jiro clicked the link, bypassing the morning commute and instantly joining the digital waiting room.
By 8:21 AM, the online class officially began.
Instead of the suffocating, humid tension of Room 406, the screens of the BEEd 1-A students flickered to life in the safety of their own homes. The red-haired idol professor didn't even require them to open their cameras today—a small mercy for their collective social battery.
"Okay so, good morning everyone. Am I audible?" Dr. Manazaki asked, his voice filtering cleanly through his tablet's microphone.
Almost automatically, the cohort spammed the heart and thumbs-up react buttons on their screens, an efficient, silent acknowledgment.
The Vice President stepped up to verbally confirm the connection. Princess Cleria unmuted her microphone.
"Yes po, Doc. You are audible po," she replied politely.
With the communication lines verified, Dr. Manazaki moved straight to the administrative protocol. He shared his screen, bringing up a massive Masterlist Excel spreadsheet.
"Before we begin, let us check the attendance first," Dr. Manazaki announced.
He began calling out their names alphabetically, his stylus hovering over the spreadsheet cells on his tablet screen.
"Present po, Doc."
Tap. Dr. Manazaki inputted a crisp 'P' into the cell.
"Absent," he muttered calmly when the silence stretched too long for a name, his stylus swiftly striking the digital keyboard to input an unforgiving 'A'.
Once the roster was fully verified, he switched his screen share. He pulled up a digital image displaying three new problems under a bold header: Translating Worded Problem into Mathematical Equation.
"Alright, uh, BEEd 1-A, so for our new topic in MMW, we will introduce the so-called worded problems," Dr. Manazaki announced. "So uh, ready? For our age problem... please read, uhh... Ms. President Hidy."
Hidy unmuted herself and read the text displayed on the screen.
Frankie is twice as old as Nami. Five years ago, Nami was three times as old as Frankie. What are their present ages?
"Okay, thanks, uh, President Hidy," Dr. Manazaki nodded. "So now, for our first worded problem, the age problem... kindly solve that. Later we will show the steps and the solution. If you are now finished, kindly post your answers on our comment section. By 8:37 AM, we will try to answer it ah."
Jiro stared at the glowing text on his phone screen.
What on earth is this... he grumbled internally, assessing the cognitive load of the task. Is this logic or math?
His core philosophy of "Energy Conservation" immediately activated. There was no need to expend mental stamina on manual calculations when a frictionless alternative existed.
Lemme just open my AI app...
But before his thumbs could even toggle between applications, the 29-year-old Lore Master beat him to it. Reo Bairo forwarded a screenshot directly into their main section group chat—an image of her own AI query. The highlighted algorithmic output was clear, F = 4 and N = 2.
Jiro, relying on his Apex Strategist mindset, didn't just blindly trust the forwarded information. He opened his own AI application to cross-reference the variables. He typed the exact phrasing of the problem.
Seconds later, the artificial intelligence confidently declared: Frankie's present age is 4 and Nami's present age is 2.
Calculated, Jiro smirked. He switched back to the Google Meet application and opened the comment section. It was already flooding with answers from his classmates. The vast majority of the cohort had utilized the exact same digital shortcut, creating an absolute echo chamber of identical sequences: F = 4, N = 2. Satisfied with the consensus, Jiro typed and entered his matching answer.
He scrolled through the rising tide of 4s and 2s until his eyes caught a sudden, glaring anomaly in the pattern.
Mekayla Sano had typed her answer: F = 20, N = 10.
A few minutes later, Gracie Masado followed suit, dropping the exact same disparate numbers: F = 20, N = 10.
Jiro stared at his screen. Hahahaha, what the hell is this? he laughed internally, highly amused by their defiance of the accepted consensus. Did their calculators break? Why isolate yourselves from the safe zone?
The digital clock hit 8:37 AM.
"Okay, time's up. What are your answers?" Dr. Manazaki announced over the audio. "Okay, lemme check... uh huh, your answers are almost all the same ah... hmmm...."
The silence stretched for a terrifying three seconds. It was the heavy, psychological tension of a high-pressure academic confrontation.
"Oh, gotcha. Very good... Mekayla Sano and Gracie Masado."
Jiro froze on his mattress. His internal monologue completely halted. Error 404.
What the hell??? How???
"Uh huh... so the correct answer is F = 20 and N = 10," Dr. Manazaki chuckled lightly, sounding genuinely entertained by the massive, collective failure rate of his students. "Eh, why is it that most of you got F = 4 and N = 2? That is incorrect eh. Alright, here it is, we will show how to solve this hehehe."
Dr. Manazaki switched his screen share, opening a completely blank digital note on his tablet. He grabbed his stylus pen, preparing to dismantle their shortcut manually.
"Oh, listen, children," Dr. Manazaki began, his tone casual but focused. "This is a confusing problem, noh, but again, this would be on your board exam. So, let's write the problem first."
His stylus scratched across the digital canvas as he noted the variables.
"And now, the first step is, let x be the present age of Nami, and 2x for Frankie," Dr. Manazaki explained, his handwriting appearing smoothly on the screen. "And then for five years ago, x - 5 is Nami's age five years ago, and 2x - 5 is Frankie's age five years ago. Eyy. So the mathematical equation is 2x - 5 = 3(x - 5)."
He paused, offering a structural alternative. "So, we are going to use the alternative solution via Table. Now draw three columns, from left to right, write the headers: Name, Present Age, Age 5 yrs ago."
He filled the table methodically on the blank note. (Nami, Frankie | x, 2x | x - 5, 2x - 5).
"Write the equation, kindly multiply 2x - 5 = 3(x - 5). The parenthesis part, 3 times x and 3 times negative 5. So arrange the equation order: 2x - 5 = 3x - 15 into 15 - 5 = 3x - 2x. Now let's solve for x. 15 - 5 = 10, and 3x - 2x is x. So, x = 10."
He circled the final variable. "And that is the present age of Nami, so Mekayla and Gracie are correct. Eyy. Now, compute Frankie's present age, which is 2x. So our x is 10, therefore 2(10) = 20. Frankie's present age is 20, that is the twice of Nami's present age."
To solidify the logic, Dr. Manazaki applied the condition.
"And now for five years ago, just simply subtract it by 5. So 10 - 5, Nami's age was 5 for 5 years ago. While Frankie was 15... so 5 to 15, that is three times. Eyy. Nami's age was thrice as Frankie's age that time... Got it? hehehehe. So that is how you solve the age worded problem... and that is only our first problem."
Jiro lay on his bed, genuinely impressed. And then, a quiet laugh escaped his lips. The sheer absurdity of the psychological trap hit him perfectly.
Even a highly advanced artificial intelligence had completely surrendered to a logical blind spot. It made absolute sense now: if the cohort strictly followed the AI's confident F = 4 and N = 2, computing the "five years ago" condition would result in their ages being -1 and -3, respectively. A biological impossibility.
Well… Human logic had outsmarted AI. Jiro realized, a newfound respect for the discipline settling in. The AI had merely processed the raw numbers without understanding the physical limitations of human age. Mekayla and Gracie hadn't broken their calculators; they had actually used their brains.
The online MMW class smoothly proceeded to the next challenge: a geometry problem calculating the perimeter of a rectangle. It seemed simple enough, but Jiro's over-reliance on digital shortcuts backfired once again. He quickly sourced a formula from Google, but the search engine provided a flawed formatting structure. Instead of applying Dr. Manazaki's clearer rule P = 2L + 2W, the formatting misled him into computing P = 2(L + W), ultimately skewing his final execution in the rush to answer.
The last hurdle was a distance problem. The most fundamental equation of them all.
Here, Jiro didn't need to consult a search engine. His rigid STEM background—the grueling years spent mastering Calculus, Physics, Chemistry, and Biology—finally triggered. He recognized the formula instantly: d = s × t. He solved it flawlessly and submitted the correct answer, reclaiming a fraction of his intellectual pride.
However, as the class drew to a close, the Apex Strategist couldn't help but acknowledge the profound irony of the morning. He had survived the complex, theoretical nightmare of Calculus in Senior High School, yet he was actively struggling with the deceptive simplicity of worded age problems designed for Elementary Education.
This math, Jiro admitted silently, staring at the screen, is insanely harder than Calculus.
Just before he could mentally clock out, Dr. Manazaki deployed the final academic obligation for the morning.
"Alright, class, for your assignment to be submitted tonight at 11:59 PM via Drice that will be provided by your class president," Dr. Manazaki announced, his stylus pulling up a new slide on the digital note. "Please write this on your yellow pad paper ah with complete solutions."
Two problems flashed on the screen. The first was a geometry problem asking for the length of two specific line segments. The second was a complex mixture problem: finding the total liters of an 85% alcohol solution by combining an 80% alcohol solution and a 90% alcohol solution.
Jiro didn't reach for a notebook or a pen. He simply pressed the volume and power buttons on his phone simultaneously.
Click.
A screenshot saved directly to his gallery. Zero manual labor required.
What are these problems. Jiro sighed heavily, staring at the saved image. What the hell do you mean Mixture??? So… here we go, Chemistry?
The MMW online torture finally came to an end at exactly 10:12 AM.
"Okay, that is all for our math subject," Dr. Manazaki concluded, his tone shifting into administrative mode. "Class dismissed for now, but you all must join this exact same Google Meet link again later by 1:30 PM ah. We will have our NSTP 1 lecture. See you later."
The moment they disconnected from the Google Meet, the digital silence was shattered. The MMW (F - Falcon) group chat buzzed to life. The Class Treasurer initiated the post-class reality check, her message radiating pure academic panic.
Lindsey Soliko: "Did you understand anything 😭"
A few moments later, Niewi delivered the brutal, unfiltered truth of the cohort.
Niewi Voeliè: "None 😔😔"
As she found comfort in their mutual confusion, Lindsey confessed her dilemma. The online setup was a massive barrier to comprehension, yet the comfort of staying home during the suspension was too good to give up. The collective relief, however, was incredibly short-lived. The timeline was rapidly closing in. The preliminary examinations were looming ominously on the academic calendar—September 16 and 17, just over a week away.
Mekayla, the class secretary, joined in to validate the academic despair.
Mekayla Sano: "Earlier I understood it, but for the assignment, none 😭"
Windy quickly joined the complaints, echoing the exact same problem with the mixture assignment. But then, Mekayla noticed a bizarre, seemingly random detail. The timing of the topic was deeply ironic.
Mekayla Sano: "Yeah, we kept talking about alcohol last night eh, now it is included in our worded problem 😭"
The chat devolved into a string of laughing emojis. It was a surreal coincidence. The mundane task of buying cleaning alcohol for their upcoming 'Adopt-A-Place' Gymnasium cleaning and organizing activity had somehow bled right into Dr. Manazaki's complex mixture problem. It felt as if the institution was directly mocking their real-world chores through mathematics.
Jiro observed the digital banter and decided to drop a rare, perfectly timed cynical joke to close out the morning.
Jiro Sanata: "That's it. So even our souls can be sanitized as well HAHAHHAHA."
As lunchtime rolled in, Mekayla seemed too stressed to figure out the second mixture problem on her own. Trying to find a quick way out, she searched the exact question online. Bingo. She found the exact same problem—logged as question 719586—complete with the final answer and a long explanation. But even with a literal cheat sheet right in front of her, she still had a hard time understanding the actual steps.
She took a screenshot and sent the digital rescue to the group.
Mekayla Sano: "I found the exact question online guys, and then there's an explanation that I don't understand."
Nica Rosa: "That is also my answer but I still don't get it huhu."
Windy Viyago: "I think we do not need the explanation, ay hihi."
Jiro watched the panic unfold in the chat over a simple formatting issue. He finally intervened. His past years in the STEM strand had already wired his brain to focus only on raw numbers instead of long paragraphs. He typed a straightforward answer to cut the dilemma.
Jiro Sanata: "Just the solution beh."
With that minor crisis solved, Jiro shifted his attention to Lindsey. He quickly dropped a message to officially assign her a role for their upcoming group task.
Jiro Sanata: "@Lindsey Soliko you have to lead first for our documentation in NSTP like donation, well you are already in the picture eh HAHAHAHAA so the other group members will be included in the documentation as well."
As expected, Lindsey didn't complain. She just left a heart reaction on his message, silently accepting her temporary administrative role for Group Falcon.
The lunch hour finally arrived, with the cohort still busy trying to decode their MMW assignment while waiting for their NSTP class later in the afternoon.
1:21 PM.
Jiro clicked the Google Meet link, re-entering the digital classroom. The interface loaded, displaying the familiar grid of muted microphones and static profile pictures of his classmates.
Dr. Manazaki was already stationed at the front.
"Good afternoon again, 1 BEEd," Dr. Manazaki greeted, immediately bypassing any small talk. "Let us proceed directly to our NSTP 1 orientation."
The presentation shifted from complex mathematical formulas to strict bureaucratic laws. Dr. Manazaki systematically laid out the foundational framework of the National Service Training Program.
"The NSTP is governed by Republic Act 9163," Dr. Manazaki articulated smoothly, highlighting the specific legal clauses on his digital presentation. "It was designed to enhance civic consciousness and defense preparedness in the youth by developing the ethics of service and patriotism."
Jiro listened passively, his phone resting lightly in his hand as he lay flat on his mattress.
The professor moved forward, formally breaking down the three major components of the program: ROTC (Reserve Officers' Training Corps), CWTS (Civic Welfare Training Service), and finally, LTS (Literacy Training Service).
"Now, why is LTS the only component mandated for you?" Dr. Manazaki asked rhetorically, letting the question hang in the digital audio. "Because you are all future educators. LTS is specifically designed to train students to become teachers of literacy and numeracy skills to school children, out-of-school youth, and other segments of society in need of their service. It is only relevant that you focus your civic duties entirely on your actual field of expertise ah."
Jiro nodded slowly, absorbing the structural logic of the curriculum. The administration wasn't just throwing random community service at them; they were actively narrowing the scope to enforce their academic progression.
Dr. Manazaki continued, tackling the importance, the long-term benefits, and the overarching goals of the NSTP. The lecture was surprisingly straightforward. There were no confusing worded problems, no logical traps—just a clear, bureaucratic delivery of national educational policies.
The class was short... but the academic debt continued to stack.
"Alright, that covers the introduction for our LTS component," Dr. Manazaki concluded. "However... please ensure you study everything we discussed today ah. This entire NSTP lesson will be included in our upcoming long quiz next week. Be prepared. Also, I have a task for you all, a group assignment. Kindly create a presentation summarizing the topic we have discussed today, ah. Until 11:59 PM tonight is the submission, so kindly submit your output to our president, Hidy. Okay, children?"
Jiro let out a sharp, cynical exhale.
Ah... okay... As usual.
The meeting officially disbanded. Jiro closed the app, leaving the heavy lifting of Dr. Manazaki's dual subjects behind for the week.
Now, there was only one remaining academic obligation on their Friday schedule.
UTS (Understanding the Self).
According to their erratic portal schedule, the block was set from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM. But administratively, there was a massive, unsettling disconnect. They hadn't even met the assigned instructor, Mrs. Giany Talashiro, yet.
As the clock struck 3:00 PM, the main group chat remained entirely silent. No links were dropped. No announcements were made. The class president, Hidy, didn't have any intel to share.
The waiting game had officially suspended.
4:03 PM
The silence was finally broken. The MMW (F - Falcon) group chat made some noise once again. The squad was actively grappling with their double trouble tasks: solving the two MMW problems to submit via picture upload on a drive before 11:59 PM, and finishing their NSTP group presentation summarizing the afternoon's lesson, also due before 11:59 PM.
The Class Treasurer sparked the fire first, and the panic spread instantly.
Lindsey Soliko: "Guys. Beh. @everyone. What is our task in NSTP again? And when is the submission?"
Jiro was completely unbothered. He lay flat on his back, lazily scrolling on his phone while the energetic beat of Where the Lines Overlap by Paramore blasted into his ears. He read the message and casually acknowledged his own internal operating system. It was time to deploy the first principle of his academic survival.
Principle 1 of The Sanata's Taxonomy: Energy Conservation.
This foundational principle defined why Jiro absolutely hated writing in notebooks. Managing multiple notebooks was far too inefficient and physically exhausting for his heavy bag. Instead, he relied strictly on his phone to capture presentations on the spot via screenshots or photos. He didn't even own a single proper notebook—just a massive supply of yellow pads (one whole, 1/2 crosswise, and 1/4 sheets) that were frequently depleted by his relentless "charity" mode during quizzes. His entire physical inventory consisted of those yellow papers, a few pencils, two pens, and a tiny wooden notepad used exclusively for stacking his index cards.
To conserve energy and prevent a prolonged, panicked conversation, he replied to Lindsey as quickly as he could.
Jiro Sanata: "Just like what we did in MMW, create a ppt summarizing the lesson until 11:59 PM."
As expected, the Class Secretary chimed in shortly after, trying to catch up with the sudden rush of deadlines.
Mekayla Sano: "11:59 PM... Ay, it's okay now."
The squad decided to speedrun the task. They couldn't afford to cram at the eleventh hour. Niewi, Windy, and Nica quickly coordinated to split the summarizing parts among themselves.
While the girls handled the text, Jiro physically shifted his position. He pushed himself off his mattress, grabbed his iconic hard blue clipboard, and prepared his yellow pad to answer the two complex MMW problems. For the first time all day, he actually booted up his desktop computer. He needed a wider screen to flawlessly edit their Canva presentation template while simultaneously calculating the mixture and geometry variables on paper.
9:38 PM
As the night deepened, Jiro officially cleared his quest log. He had polished and locked in his parts for the NSTP presentation, captured a clean photo of his MMW assignment, and directly uploaded it into the designated Google Drive folder.
He checked the group chat. His groupmates... well... they were still struggling. The presentation was far from finished, and some members were still stuck on their assigned parts.
Jiro just sighed, shaking his head at the screen. He had already executed his second survival protocol.
Principle 2 of The Sanata's Taxonomy: Temporal Displacement.
While his classmates operated on standard Philippine Time, Jiro secretly utilized his own personal timezone. He dubbed it JST (Jiro Sanata Time, or Jiro Standard Time—he never judged anyone for what they called it). His internal clock was strictly set to GMT+9. He deliberately lived exactly one hour ahead of everyone else. By quietly existing in the future, he completely bypassed the crippling anxiety of a deadline. When the submission portal threatened to close at 11:59 PM, his internal clock was already registering 12:59 AM. It was a calculated psychological trick to ensure he was never, ever late.
He just vibed on his mattress, watching the others slowly drown as the 11:59 PM deadline approached.
11:02 PM
Group Falcon finally clutched it. They submitted their presentation with less than an hour to spare. The digital panic subsidized, and the squad rested peacefully, mentally preparing for another early morning grind with Mr. Shono tomorrow.
But before the clock officially struck midnight, Jiro lay in the dark, unpacking the rest of his psychological framework. The environment was quiet, allowing his Apex Strategist mind to fully map out his remaining classifications.
Principle 3 of The Sanata's Taxonomy: The Administrative Anomaly.
This classification defined his very existence in the Taytay campus. It explained why his student number, KSU M2024-06519, permanently carried the 'M' for Morong. He wasn't just a transferee; he was a walking bureaucratic glitch, an anomaly allowed to exist within the system without correction.
Principle 4 of The Sanata's Taxonomy: Inventory Accumulation.
This principle explained the sheer absurdity of his massive "Hulk" blue-green backpack. Even though he refused to bring textbooks or notebooks, his bag was consistently the heaviest in the class. He hoarded unnecessary weight—crumpled scratch papers, old candy wrappers, and scattered coins that had fallen to the bottom of the bag. He refused to clean them out, justifying that the loose change was there "for luck" and ensuring he would never run out of emergency coins.
And finally, the absolute, overarching rule of his survival.
Principle 5 of The Sanata's Taxonomy: Absolute Observation.
He rarely spoke, but he watched everything. He stared at the campus layouts, the commuter routes, and the behaviors of his professors. He built intricate, flawless mental maps. If he ever got lost in the wild, his brain would simply calculate a new route based on pure visual data.
With his taxonomy fully defined and his academic debts cleared, Jiro closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
The rest of the BEEd 1-A cohort were also deep in their slumber, resting their exhausted bodies for the Saturday classes.
But the night wasn't entirely silent. Across the sprawling urban landscape of Metro Manila, the reality of the college struggle continued for a select few. The working students.
September 7 (Saturday)
12:42 AM
Pasig City Market
The air was damp and carried the distinct, mixed scent of dried grains, fresh vegetables, and dusted concrete. Mona Patori sat on a small wooden stool, guarding her assigned 24/7 market stall lined with sacks of rice, stacked bundles of vegetables, and rows of cooking essentials—eggs, bottles of cooking oil, canned goods, and packets of seasoning powder.
Her employer—the actual owner of the stall—was sitting nearby, watching the inventory and casually keeping an eye on her performance.
Uhh, I'm getting tired here, Mona sighed, her internal monologue heavy with exhaustion. Her shoulders slumped forward as she fought the urge to close her eyes.
To survive the grueling night shift, she utilized her own energy-conservation tactic. She discreetly plugged in her earphones. She didn't listen to acoustic indie tracks; she played upbeat, high-energy budots and heavy remix OPM songs. She gatekept her favorite genre fiercely, keeping the volume just low enough so she could instantly pull out an earbud and assist any midnight buyers that approached the stall. She needed the job. It was the only way she could sustain her education and her life, currently living with her sister's family while her parents were stationed far away in the province.
1:15 AM
Ortigas, Pasig
Kilometers away from the damp market, inside a brightly lit, heavily air-conditioned high-rise building, Cosma Ibana was glued to a computer monitor.
She was grinding through her graveyard shift at the BPO call center. She adjusted her headset, her eyes scanning the complex client data on her screen. She worked through the night to sustain her living expenses and build a future with her partner, Sam.
The headset beeped. A call connected.
Cosma straightened her posture, instantly dropping her exhaustion to deploy a bright, perfectly modulated customer service voice.
"Thank you for calling customer support, my name is Cosma. How can I help you today?" she greeted fluently.
She listened intently as the irate voice on the other end of the line began to complain.
"Yes, sir, I completely understand your concern," Cosma replied smoothly, her fingers flying across her mechanical keyboard. "Let me pull up your account right now so we can get this resolved for you."
While Jiro and the rest of the cohort slept soundly, preparing for their morning lectures, Mona and Cosma were actively fighting their own battles in the dark. The academic epic was not just confined to the four walls of Room 406. For some, surviving the system meant sacrificing the night.
END OF THE SANATA'S TAXONOMY