Chapter 3: Brimming Anticipation

The alarm on his phone blared, pulling Timothy out of sleep. He groaned and groped blindly on the side of his bed until his fingers found the cracked screen."Ugh... shut up..." he muttered, swiping it off.

It was September 20, 2024. Friday. No classes for him today. A chance to sleep in, maybe—

Then his mind clicked awake.

The ring.

His eyes widened as he sat up abruptly, heart hammering. For a second, doubt clawed at him. What if that whole thing was just some hallucination from heatstroke? What if the "System" was just my brain short-circuiting yesterday?

He scrambled toward the small study table at the corner of the room. On it sat the plain cardboard box where he’d left the fake diamond ring.

His breath caught.

The box wasn’t empty.

His hands shook as he opened it. Inside, cushioned neatly against a velvet lining that hadn’t been there before, was the diamond ring. The same one from last night.

And beside it, folded neatly, were the two documents.

Timothy’s throat went dry. He picked them up with trembling fingers.

[GIA Report: Diamond Grading Certificate]

[Genuine Valuation Certificate – ₱280,000–₱320,000]

It wasn’t a dream. It was real.

He slumped back into his chair, pressing the papers against his forehead. "Oh my God..."

The room felt smaller, tighter, as if it couldn’t contain the enormity of what this meant.

We’re not doomed anymore. Ma’s medicine. Angela’s schooling. I can pay everything. We won’t starve.

Just as the wave of relief crashed over him, the familiar blue panel flickered in his vision.

[System Notice: Reconstruction count reset.]

[Reconstruction Available: 1]

[Resets every midnight.]

Timothy’s jaw clenched. His pulse quickened all over again.

"So it really... it really resets every midnight." His voice cracked, half in awe, half in disbelief. "I can do this... every single day."

The implications hit him like a freight train. That he can reconstruct anything out of value into more value.

He grabbed his cracked-screen phone again, hands trembling as he typed.

"Best place to sell diamond ring in Manila."

Search results flooded in. Timothy scrolled, his eyes darting across the names.

Cebuana Lhuillier, Palawan Pawnshop, Villarica

– Easy money, but the comments warned: "They’ll rob you blind. Offer only 30% of the real value."

Luxury Jewelry Buyers (Lucerne, Goldenhills, Miladay Jewels, MyDiamond PH)

– Official shops in malls like Greenbelt, Glorietta, SM Aura. "Require certifications, but pay close to real market value."

Auction Houses (Leon Gallery, Salcedo Auctions)

– "For rare or unique pieces. Takes time. Only for the rich crowd."

Private Buyers

– Marketplace groups, jewel forums, and sketchy listings. Easy scams, dangerous meetups.

He had researched this yesterday but since this was real now, he has to.

Timothy frowned, his thumb hovering. "Pawnshops... too lowball. Private buyers? No way, I’ll get stabbed or scammed. Auction houses? Too much time."

He tapped the second option. Luxury buyers.

"Yes... this is the safest. Big malls, CCTV, official stores. They’ll test the stone, check the GIA papers, and pay in cash or deposit. Less risky."

His heart thudded. But won’t they wonder where a broke college kid from Tondo got a flawless 1-carat GIA diamond?

As if reading his mind, the System’s panel flickered.

[Note: Reconstructed luxury items are registered with legitimate paper trails. Provenance is untraceable. No suspicion will arise unless multiple identical pieces are sold to the same buyer.]

Timothy blinked. "So... it covers even that? Damn."

For the first time in years, he felt like the weight on his chest was loosening. He wasn’t helpless anymore. He had options.

But he wasn’t stupid. He couldn’t just waltz into a shop in slippers and a faded t-shirt and expect them to take him seriously. He needed to look presentable. At least decent enough that he didn’t scream squatter kid holding millions.

He rose to his feet and checked his wardrobe—a rickety wooden cabinet that leaned slightly to one side. The hinges squeaked when he opened it, and the smell of old fabric greeted him.

Inside were only a handful of clothes: two faded polo shirts, three threadbare T-shirts, a pair of washed-out jeans, and his school uniform. None of them screamed "respectable" enough to convince a jewelry buyer he was serious.

"Damn it," Timothy muttered under his breath. "If I walk into Greenbelt wearing this, they’ll think I’m some delivery boy who picked up the wrong package."

He sat back on his bed, rubbing his chin. He needed at least a collared shirt that looked clean, maybe slacks that weren’t torn at the knees.

Almost instinctively, his eyes drifted toward the glowing blue panel still faintly hovering in his vision.

[Reconstruction Available: 1]

He blinked. "Wait... clothes count too, right? They’re non-living objects. What if..."

He rummaged through the bottom of his cabinet and pulled out his old high school uniform—a white polo shirt with yellowed armpits, frayed cuffs, and a missing button. It was useless now, too small and too worn out for Angela to even use in the future.

His lips curved into a grin. "Perfect test subject."

He held the shirt in his hands, then spoke firmly. "Reconstruct this polo shirt into a brand-new men’s business attire set: a slim-fit white long-sleeve dress shirt, black slacks, a leather belt, and polished black leather shoes, all in my size."

The panel flickered.

[Processing...]

[Decomposing object...]

[Reconstructing...]

Light swirled around the shirt, its fibers unraveling and dissolving into shimmering motes. Within seconds, the glow reformed into a neatly folded outfit resting on his bed.

Timothy’s jaw dropped. The shirt gleamed crisp white, the fabric smooth and tailored. The slacks looked like they came straight from a boutique, with a leather belt coiled neatly on top. Beside them sat a pair of glossy black leather shoes that actually smelled new.

He reached out, touching the fabric. "Holy crap...so even I can reconstruct a full set of clothes?"

The material was soft but firm, nothing like the cheap synthetic blends from Divisoria. This felt expensive.

[Note: All reconstructed clothing adapts automatically to Host’s measurements. Comfort and fit guaranteed.]

Timothy chuckled nervously "Nice."

He quickly changed into the outfit. For the first time in his life, when he looked into the cracked mirror on his wall, he didn’t see a struggling student in secondhand rags. He saw... someone else. Someone who looked like he belonged in Makati’s high-end malls. And of course, his appearance complemented his attire, he was let’s say above average when it comes to look with a height of five foot nine.

The only reason he doesn’t have a girlfriend despite his good looks was because he couldn’t sustain a relationship. For more chapters visit novelhall.com

"Okay, let’s go!"

Timothy grabbed his battered backpack, slipped the velvet ring box and documents safely inside, and headed for the door. His nerves were jittery, but excitement coursed through his veins. This was it—the moment he’d test if the System could really change his fate.

When he went downstairs, the house was strangely quiet. No clattering from the kitchen, no Angela humming while brushing her hair. He poked his head around the sala and kitchen corner. Empty.

He frowned. "Ma? Angela?"

His eyes landed on the clock nailed crookedly above the TV—7:10 AM.

Of course. Angela’s classes always started in the morning, and his mother... she would’ve already gone to her stall in the wet market by this time.

Which meant the house was his.

"Perfect timing," Timothy whispered. No need to make excuses about why he was heading out in a crisp business outfit with a suspicious little box in his bag.

He pulled out his cracked phone, unlocked it, and tapped open the Angkas app. His thumb hovered a second. His heart thudded. He had barely ₱200 left in his GCash wallet—barely enough for a one-way ride to Makati.

He exhaled sharply. "Relax, Tim. If this works, ₱200 is nothing."

He booked a rider.

Within two minutes, a notification pinged. "Your rider, is on the way."

Timothy stepped outside, locking the rickety door behind him. The morning sun beat down on the narrow alleyway, illuminating stray dogs, barefoot kids chasing each other, and neighbors sweeping their doorsteps. A few glanced curiously at him.

"Hey handsome!," one neighbor teased, eyeing his sharp outfit.

"Job interview?" another asked, raising an eyebrow.

Timothy forced a smile. "Yeah, something like that."

He ignored the whispers as he reached the main road. Soon, a motorcycle slowed to a stop in front of him. The driver, wearing the iconic green Angkas jacket and helmet, lifted the visor.

"You Timothy?"

"Yes po."

"Hop on, sir."

Timothy climbed on, slipped the spare helmet over his head, and clutched the small handle at the back of the seat.

The motorcycle roared to life, weaving into traffic.

As they sped down the streets of Tondo, Timothy’s thoughts spun faster than the wheels beneath him.

Greenbelt. A mall he had only ever seen in Facebook photos. A place of glass walls, luxury shops, and air-conditioned hallways.

He pressed a hand to his backpack, feeling the box inside. His heart thudded. "Please... let this work."

The Angkas driver merged onto Roxas Boulevard, the salty air of Manila Bay brushing against Timothy’s face. Skyscrapers began to rise in the distance, shimmering in the heat.

For the first time in his life, Timothy wasn’t heading to a minimum-wage shift. He was heading toward the possibility of freedom.