From Idler to Tech Tycoon: Earth

Chapter 85: Proposals
Chapter 85: Chapter 85: ProposalsAs Richard shared a smile with the students across the room, a brave group of young diners, roughly in his earlier age bracket, approached their table hesitantly. One girl clutched her phone, her knuckles white.

”Um, Mr. Santamo? Sir? Sorry to bother you... but... could we... maybe get a selfie? We’re huge fans!”

Richard offered a reassuring smile that made his cyan eyes seem to sparkle. ”Of course. No bother at all.”

The group giggled, relaxing slightly. They quickly took a few selfies, beaming. Richard patiently leaned in for each. Just then, Mr. Reyes returned, expertly balancing two trays laden with PM1 (Paa Large) chicken inasal sets, bowls of extra chicken oil, and tall glasses of iced calamansi soda. The driver assisted him.

”Food is served! Hope you’re hungry, Mr. Santamo. Can’t go wrong with the classic.”

They began to eat. Richard savored the familiar taste of grilled chicken marinated in annatto, garlic, and lemongrass, liberally dousing his rice with chicken oil.

He tried to ignore the subtle flashes of phone cameras still going off from other tables, where diners attempted to surreptitiously capture a photo of him eating. He caught a few gazes and simply offered another polite smile and a slight nod before returning to his meal.

Ciano noticed Richard’s slight tension. ”They’re just admiring the national treasure at his most relatable, sir. Enjoying a national dish.”

Richard shot Ciano a playful glare. ”Just eat your chicken, Ciano.”

They finished their meal, the conversation light and focused on general topics, carefully steered by Mr. Reyes away from heavy politics for the moment. Richard felt genuinely satisfied, the simple meal a welcome change.

”That hit the spot, Mr. Reyes. Thank you. My compliments to Mang Inasal’s enduring quality control.”

Mr. Reyes beamed. ”The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Santamo! Glad you enjoyed it. Now, if you’re ready, Malacañang awaits.”

As they exited, a few more onlookers waved, some calling out ”Thank you, Bytebull!” Richard gave a general wave before stepping back into the cool sanctuary of the government sedan.

The government sedan navigated through the surprisingly light late-morning Manila traffic (perhaps a subtle ”green wave” courtesy of their official escort) and soon approached the imposing gates of Malacañang Palace.

The Palace complex, nestled by the Pasig River, was a sprawling expanse of colonial-era architecture, painted a distinguished off-white with green accents, its grandeur a stark contrast to the city’s modern hustle.

Members of the Presidential Security Group (PSG), in their crisp, immaculate uniforms, stood alert but not overtly hostile, their eyes sharp and constantly scanning. Their energy signatures, to Richard’s PER-enhanced senses, were disciplined, focused, and tinged with a protective aura.

The vehicle was waved through several checkpoints with practiced efficiency, the guards saluting smartly as they recognized the official vehicle and its important passenger. They finally parked near the main entrance of the Kalayaan Hall.

As Richard stepped out of the car, the sheer historical weight and architectural beauty of the Palace washed over him. It wasn’t his first encounter with such profound heritage on this trip—glimpses of Intramuros, the grandeur of San Sebastian Church seen from afar—but this was different.

This was the seat of power, a place where history was, and is, actively made. His heightened senses picked up on the echoes of the past—faint, almost imperceptible traces of countless emotions, decisions, and events imprinted on the very fabric of the place.

”It’s... breathtaking. Every time I see structures with such deep history, it’s a powerful reminder of what endures.”

Mr. Reyes nodded, a touch of pride in his voice. ”Indeed, Mr. Santamo. She has seen many Chapters of our nation’s story unfold. Shall we?”

Mr. Reyes led Richard towards the entrance. Ciano, after a brief, professional exchange with a PSG officer and a mutual nod of understanding, remained with the vehicle, his gaze sweeping the perimeter. Palace staff, impeccably dressed, greeted them with quiet deference.

The interior of Kalayaan Hall was a masterpiece of vintage elegance. Polished narra floors gleamed under ornate chandeliers. Antique furniture, heavy and dark, lined the corridors. Portraits of past presidents gazed down from the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow them. The air smelled faintly of old wood, beeswax, and the subtle, almost metallic scent of history itself.

As they were guided through a wide, receiving hall, President Noynoy Aquino himself stepped forward from a side drawing-room, extending a hand. He was dressed in a simple but perfectly tailored barong, his demeanor serious yet with a hint of a welcoming smile that reached his eyes.

”Richard, welcome. It’s good to finally put a face to the name that’s reshaping our economy. I trust Alejandro took good care of you?”

Richard returned the greeting respectfully. ”Mr. President, thank you for having me. And yes, Mr. Reyes has been an excellent host. This is quite the place you have here.”

President Aquino chuckled slightly. ”It has its moments. And its stories.”

”Even though this is my second time to visit the palace, Looking at it closely and admiring all of this... it’s another experience altogether.”

President Aquino gestured for them to walk. ”It has a way of doing that. Come, let me show you a little before we get down to business. This hall, for instance, was formerly the executive building during President Magsaysay’s time. Every corner here has witnessed something significant...”

The President led Richard on a brief, informal tour through a few of the state rooms, sharing anecdotes about historical events, art pieces, and previous occupants, his tone conversational rather than like a formal lecture. Richard listened intently, his PER-enhanced senses absorbing not just the words but the emotional resonance of the spaces.

After a few minutes, President Aquino paused before a large, intricately carved wooden door.

”Well, Richard, I believe our colleagues are ready for us. We have a rather important discussion ahead regarding the Bataan initiative and several other key technological integration projects. Quite a few department heads are eager to pick your brain.”

The President gestured, and an aide smoothly opened the double doors, revealing a large, well-appointed conference room.

Inside the conference room, a long mahogany table was surrounded by about a dozen individuals—men and women in formal business attire.

They were the representatives from the Department of Information and Communications Technology (DICT), Department of Energy (DOE), Department of Science and Technology (DOST), Department of Trade and Industry(DTI)and the National Grid Corporation of the Philippines (NGCP). Animated discussion and the rustle of papers ceased abruptly as President Aquino ushered Richard inside.

All eyes fixed on Richard. A wave of stunned silence washed over the room. It wasn’t just his reputation that preceded him; it was his sheer physical presence. The unusual height, the refined yet powerful build subtly visible even in his suit, and most arrestingly, those luminous cyan-blue eyes that seemed to scan and assess everything in an instant. These seasoned officials, experts in their fields, found themselves momentarily speechless, their pre-prepared remarks and strategies momentarily forgotten.

Showtime.

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The antique doors of the Malacañang conference chamber clicked shut, locking the world out. Crystal chandeliers above cast warm light over the long, polished table. Beside each official.

President Benigno ”Noynoy” Aquino leaned forward at the head of the table, sleeves rolled slightly above his wrists, revealing a simple watch ticking methodically. His voice cut the stillness, measured and calm.

”Gentlemen, ladies—let’s skip the ceremonial nonsense. You’ve heard the noise from the outside world. What I need from you today is clarity. What are we dealing with? Immediate concerns only. Secretary Tuazon, please start us off.”

The President’s voice may be soft, but his tone carried the weight of a man walking the edge of both hope and disaster. The formality was stripped down. This was a war room now.

DTI Secretary Regina Tuazon, stern and composed, stood. Her hair, neatly coiled at the nape, matched her voice—precise and no-nonsense.

She slid a finger across her tablet. Holographic graphs rose above the center of the table: projected GDP spikes, investment breakdowns, and one jarring red section labeled: ”Infrastructure Concerns: Critical.”

”We’re courting interest from five major manufacturers—semiconductors, advanced textiles, green batteries. Two are ready to break ground within the year. But there’s a choke point: energy.”

She tapped again. A heatmap overlays Luzon. Blinking red zones clustered around Metro Manila and CALABARZON.

”They’re concerned, Mr. President. The electricity rates we’re offering are higher than their European benchmarks. And reliability? They’ve reviewed Meralco’s last three brownouts. They’re... hesitant.”

She sat. The ERC Commissioner, an older man with tired eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, exhaled and cleared his throat.

”We’ve run the math. Meralco and EDC are already straining the grid. Any more output, and we tip into environmental non-compliance. DENR would shut us down before the courts do.”

The growth of tomorrow was chained to the rusting links of today. The system couldn’t bear the weight of what’s coming. The silent implication: This country was still catching up for a digital age.

DOE Undersecretary Reyes rubbed his temple, then gestured, pulling up a simulation. Giant wind farms swirled across a coastal projection. Tidal generators pulsed under virtual waves. He sounded hopeful, but tired.

”We’re developing three renewables projects—hydrogen test rigs, wind corridors, geothermal wells in Mindoro. But deployment will take years. And we’ve already had an incident at Cavite Hub. Control node failure.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. His PER-enhanced senses ticked. That wasn’t just a technical glitch. He could feel it—something unnatural.

DICT Secretary Ramon Vidal, lean and sleepless-looking, raised his hand like a man half-expecting to be ignored.

”We believe the failure may have been intentional.”

The room stiffened.

”We’ve caught over forty brute-force attacks within the last quarter. All targeting utilities—hydro controls, grid relays, even water purification systems. We traced IP fragments to obfuscated nodes routed through Chengdu, Nanjing, and oddly... Laos.”

He continued, more grim.

”We believe it’s a coordinated probe. Possibly state-sponsored. But we lack the cyber-forensics muscle to confirm. Not without starting a diplomatic incident.”

The battlefield was invisible now. The war was already happening—in code. And they were losing.

All eyes swung toward Richard Santamo.

The only man in the room not from a government agency. The only man under thirty. The only man who built groundbreaking technologies from such a young age.

President Aquino didn’t smile. He only gestured toward him with a subtle nod.

”And this is why I’ve called you here, Richard.”

He placed a crisp document on the table.

”Today, I’m authorizing ₱150 million in emergency research grants—jointly assigned to Bytebull and DICT. Develop new digital defense protocols. Reverse the imbalance. And if you succeed... we scale.”

He leaned back, his voice dry, almost teasing.

”I’m sure that amount is chump change to a man with your... assets.”

Polite chuckles fluttered through the room. Richard didn’t laugh. He smiled—a razor-thin arc, more calculating than amused.

”I appreciate the trust, Mr. President. But let me offer a better idea.”

He stood. Calm. Commanding.

”What about buying the rights to use the Phoenix AI.”

The words hung in the air like gunpowder. Vidal blinked. Tuazon raised a brow. Even the President leaned slightly forward.

”Phoenix AI is versatile and resilient in many area and it’s already field tested. We’ve also experienced hacking attempts multiple times.”

DICT Vidal said, ”With all due respect, what advantage does licensing it offer over the open-source version? We’ve studied the GitHub repo. It’s functional.”

Richard’s smile didn’t waver. He leaned over the table, both hands on the wood, cyan gaze scanning the room like a living sensor.

”The open-source model is a stone knife. What Bytebull has... is a multi-tool powered by nuclear sword.”

He continued, voice smooth, confident.

”The open version was Phoenix 0.9. It can sort emails. Do predictive tasks. Run smart lights. What I’m offering is Phoenix 3.7—self-morphing code, real-time behavioral analysis, predictive anomaly detection, and a core that rewrites its own logic when it sees patterns in enemy movement. You don’t defend with code. You evolve with it.”

Silence. Then subtle nods. Some impressed. Some terrified.

Richard wasn’t just selling software—he was selling a shift in how they understood security, power, technology. And maybe... sovereignty.

President Aquino looked at the others, then back to Richard. His eyes carried the weight of a thousand decisions yet to be made. But something in him shifted.

”Then let’s get serious. Prepare a technical proposal. DICT and Bytebull will coordinate directly. You’ll have a week.”