Chapter 200: Calls That Change Futures Part 2

12:35 PM – Negros Occidental"Hello?"

"This is Adrian from the TG Foundation," he said. "I am looking for the parent or guardian of Mark Velasco."

"This is his uncle," the man said. "His parents are in Manila. Why are you calling?"

Adrian explained. He stated the program name, its connection to TG Holdings, the details of Timothy’s public announcement, the coverage of the scholarship.

The uncle stayed quiet.


"Sir?" Adrian said.

"You are saying my nephew got a free education," the man replied. "No repayments? No work contract?"

"No repayment," Adrian said. "The only requirement is that he study, maintain his grades, and follow the rules. The foundation handles the rest."

He heard a rough exhale.

"I do not know if he can handle engineering," the uncle said. "We are simple people. Big schools might swallow him."

Adrian looked at the notes on Mark’s file. High aptitude scores. Good recommendation. Rural school, few resources.

"He will not face it alone," Adrian said. "We will set up support systems. Tutoring. Mentors. Peer groups. The point is not to drop him into a new world and walk away. The point is to bring him there and help him stay."

The uncle stayed silent for a few seconds.

"You talk like a teacher," he said.

"I have worked in schools," Adrian replied.

The uncle sighed. "All right. Tell us what to do, sir. We will support him."

Adrian gave the instructions. When he ended the call, he underlined Mark’s name twice.

2:05 PM – Different Places, Same Day

Calls reached living rooms, barangay halls, faculty rooms, and small shops.

In Bukidnon, a mother answered her son’s phone because he was in the field. She cried quietly when she heard the news, then apologized for crying.

In Palawan, a principal placed the phone on speaker so both parents and teachers could listen. When the call ended, they clapped without planning to.

In Batangas, a father kept asking the same question.

"And you are sure there is no catch?"

Each time, the staff answered the same way. "Yes, sir. No catch. Only conditions written in the agreement. You will see them before you sign."

One call reached a student in Tondo during his lunch break at a public school canteen. He stepped away, held the phone close, and leaned against a concrete wall while traffic noise roared outside.

"You are telling me... I do not have to stop studying after senior high?" he asked.

"That is what we are telling you," the staff member replied.

He did not speak again for several seconds. Then he said, "I do not know what to say, sir."

"You do not have to say anything now," came the answer. "Just prepare. We will contact your school."

4:10 PM – TG Foundation Office

By late afternoon, the whiteboard on the wall had new markings.

"Contacted and confirmed: 312.

Contacted, pending documents: 101.

Failed contact, retry: 47.

To be reached via school visit: 40."

The numbers shifted with each hour.

Hana entered data into a central file. Adrian checked the edge cases. Maria and Jerome kept calling.

At one point, the room went quiet. Not from exhaustion, but from focus that had compressed all noise into a low hum of moving work.

Hana broke it.

"Tomorrow, we start sending out the formal packets," she said. "Printed letters, agreements, schedules."

Adrian nodded. "We also need orientation materials. Some of these students have never left their province. We should not assume they know how university systems work."

"We can design a pre-college boot camp," Hana said. "Study skills. City safety. How to deal with professors."

"Add that to the list," Adrian said. "But for now, we finish these calls."

6:05 PM – One More Number

Most of the team was packing up for the night. Adrian stayed at the table with Hana. One number remained on his sheet. The notes said: "No phone. Contact through barangay office. Landline only."

He dialed. The ring tone sounded old, thin.

A man answered.

"Barangay office," he said.

"This is Adrian from the TG Foundation," Adrian replied. "We are looking for the family of a student named Liza Cruz. Do they live within your area?"

"Yes," the man said slowly. "What is this about?"

"Scholarship result," Adrian said. "She applied for support for engineering studies."

A short pause.

"Wait," the man said. "I will call them."

Adrian waited with the phone pressed to his ear. He heard muffled voices in the distance, footsteps on concrete, then the faint echo of a microphone being set down.

A woman’s voice finally came on the line. Nervous but clear.

"Hello?"

"Good evening. Are you the parent of Liza?" Adrian asked.

"Yes, sir. Is there a problem with her application?"

"No problem," he said. "I am calling to tell you that she has been selected as one of the Horizon Scholars. She will receive a full scholarship."

He heard a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

"Sir... we did not think..." She stopped to steady her breath. "My daughter will be the first in our family to reach college. I do not know how to thank you."

"Do not thank me," Adrian said. "Just let her study. That is enough."

He went through the same process. Terms. Documents. Next steps. She listened to each word as if it weighed something.

When he hung up, the office was almost empty. Only Hana remained, closing her laptop.

"How many left?" she asked.

"For today? None," he said. "For the whole program? Too many to count."

She stood and picked up her bag.

"Tomorrow," she said, "we start turning these calls into real support."

He nodded.

They left the room lights on low. Papers, lists, and headsets remained on the tables.

In towns across the country, phones sat in the quiet of small homes and barangay halls. Some lay beside plates on dinner tables. Others in the pockets of uniforms hanging on nails.

The news had gone out. It had not reached everyone yet. There were still calls to make, people to find, cases to fix.

But the first wave had landed.

Students who had planned to stop after senior high were now staring at pieces of paper with instructions for college enrollment. Parents who had assumed their children would work straight after graduation were doing rough math in their heads and watching those numbers vanish in the face of a scholarship.

The system had not changed.

Not yet.

But in five hundred homes, the future had shifted by a few degrees.

The phones in the foundation office would ring again in the morning.

And the work would continue.