Chapter 7: Wait the System Can Do That?

It was September 23rd, 2024. Monday.Timothy woke up early in the morning with a yawn and turned off the alarm buzzing from his current smartphone.

[Available Reconstructions: 3]

He smirked. Saturday, Sunday, and now Monday—three full reconstructions waiting to be used. He hadn’t touched the System over the weekend, not out of laziness, but strategy. He wanted to build up charges, test how far he could push the limits. If he could stockpile this ability, then he had the flexibility to experiment.

But today wasn’t about experimenting. Today was school.

And unfortunately, it was exam week.

"Ah, shit," Timothy muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I haven’t studied at all."

His notes sat untouched in his bag, buried under old flyers from one of his past jobs. He was a freshman in Mechanical Engineering at the University of the Philippines Diliman, one of the hardest courses in the country. Survival required both brains and time—and Timothy had been bleeding his time dry for side jobs.

Now, he had money. But exams didn’t care about money.

"Alright... just wing it," he sighed. "Like always."

He threw on his faded jeans and a shirt after taking a bath, grabbed his bag, and checked his GCash balance. Barely enough left for a ride.

He booked an Angkas.

Minutes later, a motorcycle pulled up at the mouth of the alley. Timothy slipped his helmet on, careful not to let his bag knock against the Jollibee wrappers still sitting in the trash pile nearby. He climbed on, the driver revved the engine, and they wove out of Tondo’s tight streets.

The ride to Quezon City was long, but Timothy didn’t mind. The wind whipped against his face as they sped along Roxas Boulevard, then EDSA, weaving past traffic and jeepneys. For once, he wasn’t thinking about bills or odd jobs. His mind was on campus, on exams, and... on how much he hated what he was about to see.

By the time they reached the University Avenue, his eyes narrowed.

A parade of shiny European cars rolled past the iconic Oblation statue. BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes, a Porsche, even a Maserati idled near the curb. Chauffeurs in pressed uniforms opened doors for students dressed in designer brands. Some were laughing loudly, some scrolling on their brand-new iPhones, others chatting in English accents they probably picked up from international schools.

The so-called burgis. The children of senators, congressmen, tycoons.

Timothy clenched his jaw. He climbed off the Angkas and shouldered his worn-out bag. He stood for a moment at the entrance, watching the display of privilege.

One girl stepped out of a white BMW, her bag a Louis Vuitton that probably cost more than his mother’s yearly medicine. A group of boys in pastel polo shirts joked beside a parked Porsche.

Timothy’s lip curled.

"Burgis," he muttered under his breath.

The word carried disgust. To him, they were everything wrong with the country, pampered, careless, floating through life with safety nets made of their parents’ billions. Meanwhile, he had collapsed in a mascot costume just so he could have money to give to his mother and little sister and to support himself.


They should have enrolled somewhere private instead of here. This is a public school and there is a reason for it, not everyone can afford a quality education and they are stealing the spots.

Okay, that’s enough. Timothy shook his head and pushed the bitterness aside. Exams were waiting, and he needed his head clear.

There was still time before his first class, so he went straight to the cafeteria. Normally, he would’ve skipped breakfast—his routine was to gulp water, ignore the hunger pangs, and wait until lunch for a cheap ₱40 rice meal. But now? He had money. Plenty of it.

He stepped inside the UP Diliman cafeteria, the mix of smells instantly hitting him—fried longganisa, garlic rice, hotdogs, scrambled eggs, and cheap instant coffee. Students were already crowding the tables, some reviewing notes, others half-asleep over their trays.

Timothy got in line, scanning the menu board. Silog meals at ₱65. Pancit canton with egg, ₱40. Burger steak, ₱75. His eyes lingered on the tapsilog combo, the most expensive breakfast meal on the board—₱90. Before, that would’ve been unthinkable. He’d always stick to the cheapest option just to survive the week.

But today, he stepped up to the counter without hesitation.

"One tapsilog with extra rice," he said. "And a coffee."

The cashier glanced up, then punched the order. "₱110, sir."

Sir. Again that word. It still felt strange, but Timothy pulled out a crisp ₱500 bill from his wallet—one of the fresh bills from Goldenhills yesterday. He handed it over without flinching.

The cashier’s eyes flickered, probably noticing the unusually new bill. "Change, sir. ₱390."

Timothy pocketed it and carried his tray. The tapsilog plate was steaming, the beef tapa glistening in oil, garlic rice fragrant, and egg sunny-side-up perfectly done. For once, he didn’t wolf down his food like a starving dog. He ate slowly, savoring every bite.

So this is what breakfast feels like, huh? Sitting down with a full plate, not worrying if you’ll still have fare money later.

He leaned back with his coffee, watching the other students. Some were rich kids with their Starbucks tumblers, their MacBooks open as they scrolled through online reviewers. Others were just like him. Ordinary students in worn-out outfits, their eyes already tired from too much cramming and not enough sleep.

He may have not reviewed for the exam, but having a boosted mind due to breakfast was enough energy for him to solve basic problems. Still, he was on the risk of failing, he failed his prelim term, failing midterms meant low chances of passing the course in the finals.

"If the system also gives its user a brain enhancer, that would be best," Timothy said and then paused. He realized something. Brain enhancer?

He remembered Limitless, that movie where one pill turned a washed-up man into a genius, his brain operating at full capacity. Nootropics, cognitive enhancers—they weren’t exactly fiction anymore. Timothy had skimmed articles online about students abroad buying supplements to cram for exams. Most were just caffeine in disguise, but some scientists were working on real stuff.

But of course it’s fiction, it’s not true. But what if the system can do that? The System hadn’t spelled everything out. Sure, it gave him rules—no living beings, size and mass restrictions, one reconstruction per day—but it never said anything about time.

Was he bound by what existed in 2024? Or could he leap ahead?

Timothy’s eyes darted to the blue panel faintly hovering in the corner of his vision.

[Available Reconstructions: 3]

The System didn’t care about market shelves or release dates. It cared about detail, about specifications.

If he typed out: Reconstruct this tablet into a pharmaceutical-grade nootropic drug capable of enhancing focus, memory retention, and problem-solving ability for 12 hours without side effects... would the System follow through?

His heart hammered. If that was possible, exams wouldn’t be a problem. He could ace every subject, secure his scholarship, and never risk failing out of UP again.

But then doubt clawed in.

What if the System rejected it? What if it counted as "futuristic" or "not possible"? Worse—what if it worked but messed with his brain permanently?

He stabbed at the garlic rice with his spoon. "No... I need to test it first. Something small."

His mind churned. What’s a safe test run? Maybe reconstructing candy into a brain enhancer pill?

Timothy scraped the last of the garlic rice off his plate, drained the bitter dregs of his coffee, and stood.

If the System could create a pill like that... then today wouldn’t just be exam day. It would be proof.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and stopped at the small convenience stall tucked at the corner of the cafeteria. Colorful rows of candies lined the shelves—Flat Tops, Mentos, Skittles, the kind of sugar rush students chewed on before quizzes. Timothy grabbed ten mentos and 15 pesos.

He slipped into the nearest CR and locked himself inside one of the stalls.

He lined them up on a sheet of tissue. But another question nagged him: one reconstruction per day. Did it apply only to a single object? Or could multiple items count as one, if they were of the same kind?

He eyed the pile of candies. Ten pieces. Same material. Same purpose.

"It’s vague..." he muttered. "But who cares? Time to find out."

He steadied his breath, focusing on the faint blue panel hovering in his vision.

[Reconstruction Target: 10 assorted candies.]

[Specify desired outcome.]

His throat was dry, but he forced the words out carefully.

"Reconstruct these candies into ten futuristic pharmaceutical-grade nootropic pills. Each pill should enhance focus, memory retention, and problem-solving ability for 24 hours. Zero side effects. Tasteless and easy to swallow. Shelf stable."

The candies began to glow faintly, their bright wrappers and sugary shells melting into light. Timothy’s eyes widened as the glow condensed into a neat, transparent vial that shimmered into existence on top of the tissue. Inside were ten pale blue capsules, perfectly uniform, each the size of a multivitamin.

[Reconstruction Complete.]

[Output: 10x Cognitive Enhancement Capsules.]

[Duration of effect: 24 hours each.]

[Side Effects: None.]

Timothy’s hands trembled as he picked up the vial. They looked real. Legit. He popped the cap, tipped one into his palm, and stared.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

He didn’t even have to check the label, the System’s confirmation was enough. He had just made something that shouldn’t exist. A drug straight out of science fiction, conjured from ten pieces of candy worth less than a jeepney ride.

His mind raced. If he took one now, he’d breeze through the exam like a machine. Memorization, logic, formulas, none of it would matter. He’d have 24 hours of genius-level cognition.

But his throat tightened again. What if it backfired? The System said no side effects, but... was that really guaranteed?

"Well, there’s only one way to find out."