September 13 (Friday)
3:11 PM
The chaotic hum of Room 407 was instantly muted.
Mrs. Giany Talashiro stepped through the open doorway. She walked with purpose, her heels clicking against the bare concrete floor, carrying a professional laptop bag. She didn't look like a veteran, seasoned professor; she radiated an early Millennial or older Gen Z vibe—young, pretty, and effortlessly stylish.
She walked straight to the teacher's table, set her laptop bag down, and took a slow, sweeping glance across the room. Her eyes locked onto the student sitting in the front row, specifically Zherel Diman, who was occupying the aisle seat in the Window-Backyard section.
"Uhh, is this 1 BEEd right?" Mrs. Talashiro asked, her voice cutting through the humid air.
Zherel sat up a little straighter. "Yes po, Ma'am."
"Oookay... Anyway." Mrs. Talashiro nodded, adjusting her posture to face the entire cohort. "Uh... Uhmm... Good afternoon, 1 BEEd. So.. uhh... I will introduce myself first and uhh... you all no need to introduce yourselves... Well.. uhh... I can recognize you all by a few next meetings."
The BEEd 1-A cohort nodded in quiet agreement.
Thank goodness, Jiro sighed internally from his seat in the second row. No more ritual speeches. I am so done standing up and announcing my age.
But the relief was incredibly short-lived. The physical appearance of their new instructor was highly deceptive. She looked young and approachable, but the moment she began to speak, her tone was razor-sharp, cold, and dripping with absolute authority.
She didn't waste time on pleasantries. She immediately began setting the parameters of her domain.
"Uhh... so, I am Mrs. Giany Talashiro, uhh... a part-timer instructor," she announced, leaning slightly against the table. "So it means, there are some instances and days that I am not in the campus. Okay. Understand?"
She paused, making sure the reality of her schedule sank in.
"So, once... uhh... I give a deadline for your task... that is the final deadline, okay?" Her voice grew firmer, echoing off the concrete walls. "No extension. I don't accept extension or late submission. But fine, I will accept it, but your grade would be cinco (5.0). Did you understand me?"
The class froze. A cinco. The ultimate failing grade, handed out just for being late.
"If you are always late or absent in my class," Mrs. Talashiro continued, her eyes scanning the terrified freshmen, "you have two choices: drop my subject or get a cinco (5.0). Understood?"
The BEEd 1-A cohort responded in a passive, terrified unison. "Opo, Ma'am."
Jiro kept his face perfectly neutral, but his internal strategist was rapidly recalibrating his initial assessment.
Oh... I didn't expect that... Jiro observed carefully. She looks young, kind, and pretty... but her voice is so sharp, cold, and strict... or maybe... she just wants to establish dominance early. We will see.
Mrs. Talashiro didn't give them a moment to recover. She moved straight into the academic execution.
"So... our subject is Understanding the Self, right?" she asked rhetorically while unzipping her laptop bag. "Okay... get your 1/8 yellow sheet of paper... write your name."
Jiro's internal monologue screamed in absolute confusion.
WHAT?!
His brain buffered. He leaned forward, trying to process the instruction. That was too sudden... but wait, I didn't hear it clearly. 1/4 sheet of paper???
He wasn't the only one experiencing a cognitive misfire. The entire class was frantically digging into their bags, pulling out yellow pads and looking at each other in pure panic. 1/8 size?
That paper dimension technically didn't even exist in a standard college starter pack.
From the front row, Cristel Basha raised her hand, her Business Manager instincts kicking in to clarify the absurd requirement.
"Ma'am, how can we get 1/8 size po?" Cristel asked politely.
Mrs. Talashiro, busy setting up and opening her laptop, didn't even look up. She simply delivered the crafting instructions.
"Uh.. get 1/4 yellow pad, and then uhh, fold it to half. 1/8," she explained casually. She gestured toward the front row. "Uhh, can I get one sheet of 1/4?"
Jachie Marello immediately pulled a 1/4 sheet from her stash and handed it over to the professor.
"Thanks..." Mrs. Talashiro muttered.
She held the small rectangular paper up for the class to see.
"Oh, listen 1 BEEd. This is how you create 1/8," she instructed, demonstrating the physical mechanics. "So... kindly fold this into half, horizontal, crosswise ah. And then that's it, cut it."
Back in the second row, Jiro was facing a severe hearing comprehension dilemma. The acoustics of the room and his own internal panic had completely jumbled the numbers. He turned to his seatmate, Princess Cleria, to verify the intel.
But before he could even ask, Princess was already launching a requisition request.
"Beh, do you have 1/4? Give me please... Windy and I will just share the half," Princess demanded smoothly.
Jiro blinked. "Uhh... 1/4?? Right??"
Princess stared at him, her eyebrows knitting together in pure disbelief. "Ay... no.. beh. 1/2... Are you deaf?"
Jiro winced. "Oops... fine, fine..."
He reached into his bag, grabbed his pre-cut stack of 1/4 yellow pads, and handed one sheet over to Princess.
"Yayy... Thank you beh!" Princess smiled, immediately taking the loot.
Jiro just sighed at them. The charity mode is inescapable, even under strict supervision.
He pulled out another 1/4 sheet for himself. Now came the execution phase. He followed the professor's rule to create the 1/8 size, folding the paper perfectly in half horizontally.
But to cut it? He didn't have scissors. He didn't have a ruler.
So, he resorted to the ultimate, primal student survival technique. He brought the folded edge to his mouth and ran his tongue along the crease, applying a generous amount of intimidating saliva to soften the paper fibers.
Princess Cleria paused her own crafting process, staring at him in utter horror while she was simply folding and pressing her paper repeatedly against the desk to tear it perfectly—no scissors or bodily fluids needed.
"Beh, you're so disgusting..." Princess cringed, her face twisting in disgust.
Jiro just smiled at her, completely unbothered by the judgment as he cleanly tore the moistened paper apart.
"Hehehe..." Jiro smirked dryly. "At least I cut it!"
With their absurdly small 1/8 sheets of paper finally crafted, the cohort quickly scribbled their names across the tiny surfaces.
While the class was busy writing, Mrs. Talashiro shifted her attention to the hardware. She stared intently at her laptop screen, clicking through her files. She grabbed the Smart T.V. remote from the teacher's table, aiming it at the wall-mounted Smart T.V.
She executed the connection sequence. Within seconds, she successfully initiated the screencast, linking her laptop directly to the large display.
Connection successful.
But the visual output was highly unconventional. Instead of a title slide, a syllabus, or a structured PowerPoint presentation, the Smart T.V. simply displayed a plain, solid white screen. No text. No images. Just a massive rectangle of pure white light illuminating the front of Room 407.
Leaving the blank presentation hovering over them, Mrs. Talashiro looked away from the screen and turned her sharp gaze back to the class.
"Alright, uh, who is your class president?" she asked, her voice echoing against the concrete walls.
From her seat right beside Jiro, the Vice President immediately stepped up to answer the call.
"Ma'am, Hidy Medona po," Princess Cleria answered clearly.
Mrs. Talashiro nodded slightly. "Okay, uh, where is she?"
Princess didn't hesitate, delivering the unfortunate health update of their Commander.
"Ma'am, she is in the clinic po. She feels sick eh."
A brief flicker of empathy crossed Mrs. Talashiro's strict features, temporarily softening her sharp aura.
"Ohh, I hope she's okay," Mrs. Talashiro replied genuinely. Then, she refocused, looking directly at Princess. "Anyway, are you a vice president?"
"Yes po, Ma'am," Princess confirmed, sitting up a bit straighter.
"Alright, uhh," Mrs. Talashiro continued, switching back into her authoritative, administrative mode.
"Kindly send to me your masterlist and by the way... uh.. create a group chat. Class secretary, kindly note it as well as the attendance today. Okay?"
The Vice President nodded.
Back down in the clinic, Hidy Medona was sitting on the edge of the examination bed, actively scrolling through her phone. The rest had done its job, and the Commander felt her stamina slowly returning. She pocketed her phone and looked at the male nurse on duty.
"I will go up now po, I am feeling a bit fine na eh," Hidy informed him.
The nurse looked up from his desk, assessing her condition briefly. "Can you really go up na?"
"I can po," Hidy nodded firmly.
But before she could exit the sanctuary, the institution demanded its bureaucratic toll. The nurse slid the heavy logbook across the counter.
Hidy was mandated to secure her attendance first: name, time in, time out, and her official signature for the records.
After scribbling her details into the logbook, she stepped out of the clinic and immediately took flight toward the UP ONLY stairs situated right in front of the door.
She was traveling extremely light—holding only her smartphone, carrying her insulated tumbler, and keeping her wallet secured in her skirt pocket, having left her heavy bag back in the classroom hours ago.
She began her ascent, but she had to move carefully. She gripped the handrails tightly, battling the treacherous environmental hazard of the stairwell. Because of the heavy afternoon rain and the leaking ceiling above, the concrete steps were slick and hazardous. The light waterfall stairs were fully active.
The hazard escalated severely when she hit the half-landing between the third and fourth floors.
This was ground zero for the leak, and a sizable, muddy puddle had formed across the concrete.
Hidy navigated the flooded section with extreme caution, finally pushing through the final flight and reaching the fourth floor.
She walked down the open corridor, passing the active lectures in Rooms 402 and 403, until she finally reached her designated base: Room 407.
She stepped through the open doorway, keeping her head slightly bowed to minimize her disruption. Her journey was mercifully short since her designated chair was right in the front row, aisle seat, directly in the door-hallway section.
As she quickly slid into her seat, Mrs. Talashiro spotted the late arrival.
"Uh, Hidy, right?" Mrs. Talashiro asked, her sharp gaze locking onto the Commander.
Hidy sat up straight, instantly responding to the authority. "Yes po, Ma'am."
"Are you feeling well now?"
"Yes po," Hidy replied respectfully.
With the health check cleared, Mrs. Talashiro's tone shifted, softening slightly into a lighter, more casual register. She instructed Hidy to prepare her 1/8 sheet of paper and write her name on it.
Beside her, Jachie Marello immediately initiated a support action, handing Hidy a 1/4 sheet of yellow paper so she wouldn't have to rummage for supplies.
With the entire class now fully equipped with their absurdly tiny pieces of paper, Mrs. Talashiro finally revealed the purpose of the crafting session.
"Okay, uh," she announced smoothly, looking across the room. "Recitation today. Do not lose your papers, because I will sign there. If you lose it, no points for that recitation."
The entire class practically vibrated with shock. It was another sudden, completely unannounced challenge.
What??? Jiro's internal strategist reeled, staring blankly at his tiny paper. Well... I already had a glimpse of UTS lessons back then when I was in Morong... Thanks Mrs. Rosita hehehehe.
Mrs. Talashiro then dropped another administrative requirement for the inventory log.
"By next meeting, uh, kindly prepare a 1/4 blue index card with a 2x2 picture on the right side and your name."
Then, she turned her attention back to her laptop.
The plain white, blank presentation was still hovering on the Smart T.V. screen. She tapped a key.
"Okay, let's start our recitation," Mrs. Talashiro declared.
A heavy, synchronized groan echoed through BEEd 1-A. Their cognitive stamina was already critically low, having been thoroughly drained by Dr. Manazaki's MMW torture earlier that afternoon. A pop recitation was the absolute last thing they wanted.
Hearing their collective despair, Mrs. Talashiro actually smiled, letting out a bright, genuine laugh that completely shattered her previous cold aura.
"Guys, just chill ah hahaha," she reassured them playfully. "Don't take this seriously."
She pressed the next slide.
The very first question flashed onto the large screen. It wasn't a deep philosophical inquiry about the nature of the self or the psychological foundations of human behavior. It was a completely random, highly informal question packed with the latest trending internet slang and a popular Filipino wordplay pun. (e.g., "Kung ang aso ay dog, at ang pusa ay cat, bakit ako ang laging iniiwan?")
The atmosphere in Room 407 flipped instantly.
The heavy, exhausted dread evaporated, replaced by a massive explosion of relief and loud, genuine laughter as the familiarity of the trend hit the room.
Multiple hands shot up into the air in a single second, eager to engage with the unexpected, comedic prompt.
Meanwhile, Jiro just sat in the second row, completely stunned and utterly shocked, his deadpan expression locked in pure disbelief at the sheer absurdity of the academic pivot.
Just right in the front row, directly ahead of Jiro's line of sight, Jesper Arufe raised his hand high.
Mrs. Talashiro immediately spotted him and stepped away from the teacher's table.
"Okay," Mrs. Talashiro said, approaching his seat. "Name?"
"Jesper Arufe po," he responded brightly.
"Okay, Arufe... uhh... your answer?"
The Class Escort's signature Mountain Comedian aura activated instantly. Jesper didn't just answer the question, he delivered a full comedic routine. He was fidgeting, laughing, and expertly weaving his punchline, completely transforming the stiff academic environment into a spontaneous comedy bar. The entire room erupted into laughter once again, thoroughly entertained by his performance.
Smiling at the delivery, Mrs. Talashiro took his tiny 1/8 sheet of paper and quickly scribbled her signature across it.
The momentum was established. Gracie Masado took the floor next, followed smoothly by Cicille Masha, and then Deanne Parina. They each delivered their own witty takes on the trending prompt.
Jiro, however, remained rooted to his seat. He was still too stunned to recite, practically face-palming at the absolute absurdity of the situation. He just watched the room vibing along with the unconventional syllabus.
Then, Mrs. Talashiro clicked to the next slide.
Another meme-styled question flashed on the screen: Would you pick your crush or yourself?
The relatable nature of the prompt triggered another massive wave of engagement. Hands shot up across the room. Cristel Basha, Niewi Voeliè, and Aprille Bolente quickly secured their turns, delivering their own highly calculated or comedic responses.
Finally, realizing that securing the signature was basically free participation points, the Apex Strategist decided to break his silence. Jiro raised his hand.
Mrs. Talashiro walked over to his territory in the second row. "Name?"
"Jiro Sanata po," he answered, his voice steady.
"Okay, Sanata. What is your answer?"
Jiro kept his face perfectly neutral, delivering his deadpan logic with a completely straight face.
"Uhh... I would pick myself po," Jiro stated calmly. "At least I can easily fall in love with myself, hehehe."
A chorus of dramatic cheering instantly exploded from the fourth row.
"Weeehhhh!" his Circle of Friends yelled, teasing him loudly for his sudden burst of narcissistic confidence.
The rest of the class chuckled, highly amused by his dry, self-assured delivery. Mrs. Talashiro smiled slightly, took his tiny 1/8 yellow paper, and smoothly signed her name across it. Right beside her signature, she scribbled a specific numeric value: 1.3.
The fun recitation continued as more comedic answers were thrown out into the air. The class felt incredibly short, bypassing the usual heavy academic exhaustion, and officially ended around 3:53 PM.
Mrs. Talashiro walked back to the front of the room, raising a hand to settle the noise.
"Okay, uh, guys, until 6 PM us right?" she asked.
"Yes po, Ma'am," the class responded in unison.
"Okay..." Mrs. Talashiro nodded, adjusting her laptop. "By the way, uh, class dismiss. And next meeting, we will start our lesson in UTS, understand? Maybe until 5 PM us, I won't make you stay until 6 PM anymore."
The entire class practically gasped in awe. The brutal 6:00 PM zombie dismissal had just been magically shortened. The realization that they no longer needed to fight the absolute peak of the evening rush hour commute was a massive, unexpected boost to their morale.
Nice nice, Jiro thought, a satisfied smirk appearing on his face. Less hours, less energy consumed.
Mrs. Talashiro swiftly disconnected her laptop, closed it, and slid it back into her professional bag.
"Alright, goodbye 1 BEEd," she announced, before turning on her heel and smoothly exiting the room.
The moment she stepped out into the hallway, the noise in Room 407 exploded back to life.
"Guys! Group Alpha!!!" Anila Bakuda's loud, authoritative voice immediately cut through the chatter. "We are cleaners today ah."
While the designated sweepers mobilized, the rest of the BEEd 1-A cohort wasted absolutely no time. They grabbed their bags and initiated a mass exodus, eager to go home as early as possible. Jiro joined the escaping crowd, navigating the treacherous DOWN ONLY staircase. The light waterfall hazard was still fully active, forcing the descending students to step carefully over the wet, slippery concrete.
They finally reached the ground floor, safe and dry, and piled into the waiting tricycles outside the campus gate.
Meanwhile, back up on the fourth floor, Group Alpha was still busy.
Cristel, Alpha, Reo, Brittany, Jesper, and Anila methodically swept the dusty floor and dragged the heavy armchairs back into perfectly aligned rows. They closed the casement windows to secure the room against the afternoon humidity, locked the front door, and erased the whiteboard.
Out in the hallway, Deanne Parina, Sherline Reyna, and Jerline Rama were leaning against the corridor fence, patiently waiting for Anila to finish her duties.
As the cleaning operation wrapped up, the remaining students finally began their own descent.
However, the slippery and wet conditions on the DOWN ONLY stairs still persisted. The ceiling leak continued to drip, keeping the concrete dangerously slick. The group took it slow, stepping down with extreme caution.
They were making steady progress until they hit a particularly bad patch near the landing.
Anila Bakuda suddenly lost her footing. Her shoes slid out from under her, and she slipped, tumbling down two concrete steps.
She recovered almost instantly, catching herself on the handrail and standing back up before the damage could register.
From a few steps above, Deanne Parina burst into laughter before she even processed the fall.
"Oh! Beh hahaha, are you okay?" Deanne asked between giggles, the absolute pinnacle of Filipino friendship dynamics.
The duo immediately began laughing together, throwing dark, sarcastic jokes at each other about the sheer absurdity of the campus infrastructure. Anila brushed herself off, noting that the back of her skirt was just a bit wet from the puddle.
Laughing off the architectural betrayal of the waterfall stairs, they safely reached the ground floor and finally headed out to the gate to conquer the commute home.
6:03 PM
Binangonan, Hidy's House
After a long, agonizing commute through the Raging Road from Taytay back to Binangonan, the Commander finally reached her sanctuary.
Hidy Medona stepped into her bedroom, her usual composed aura completely shattered by sheer physical exhaustion. She unceremoniously hung her heavy bag on the hook behind her door and immediately began to change out of her uniform as quickly as her shaking hands would allow.
She wasn't just tired; her body was actively breaking down. The fatigue had seeped deep into her bones, accompanied by a pounding headache, a rising fever, and the lingering, nauseating effects of suspected food poisoning.
She tried to collapse onto her bed, her fingers still instinctively gripping her smartphone. The screen was dark, but the phantom weight of dozens of unread messages pressed heavily on her mind.
She wanted to just shut her eyes and sleep, but she couldn't rest smoothly. The anxiety of her responsibilities kept her half-awake, tossing and turning in the quiet room.
By 7:06 PM, her physical limit was officially breached. She had to delegate the command.
She opened her phone and tapped into their restricted BEEd 1 Officers group chat.
Hidy Medona: "Guys, I cannot attend classes tomorrow. I am really sick eh. Kindly take charge of the class first for me ah."
With the inner circle informed of her impending absence, she navigated to the newly created, announcement-only channel: BEED 1 UPDATES.
She needed to address the entire cohort without causing a panic or explicitly stating that she wouldn't be there for the Saturday marathon.
Hidy Medona: "Good evening po. I am kindly requesting you all to please remind one another tonight about the things we need to do, comply with, bring, and the pointers to review po ah."
Hidy Medona: "As much as I want to accommodate all your concerns po, I don't think I am in the right headspace to respond right now since my body is extremely exhausted today eh 🥺. Officers, kindly assist them po. Thank you so much po, goodnight 🤍"
She hit send.
She locked her phone, placed it face down on her bedside table, and finally pulled the blanket over her shivering shoulders.
The digital notifications would undoubtedly continue to pile up, the chaotic questions and the endless administrative demands of the academic system flooding her inbox. But for tonight, the room was silent. The relentless pressure of leading thirty-four struggling freshmen had finally taken its toll.
The Saturday marathon was waiting just hours away, but the Commander of BEEd 1-A had officially fallen.
END OF THE SHARP VOICE