The rain had eased by Friday morning, leaving the city wrapped in a thin veil of fog. Blake stood outside the Camp 7 townhouse, hands in his pockets, watching the client sign the final inspection papers. The air smelled of wet pine and fresh paint.
"Sir Blake," the client said, handing him the signed documents, "we'll process the ₱350,000 today. Expect it by this afternoon."
Blake nodded, offering a tired but grateful smile. "Thank you, sir."
One step forward.
He walked back to his car, the cold air biting at his cheeks. He sat behind the wheel, exhaled, and closed his eyes.
₱350,000 incoming.
₱1,504,000 current.
₱1,854,000 total soon.
Still short.
Still far from the ₱3.2 million he needed.
He leaned back, letting the silence settle.
Then something flickered in his memory.
A sound.
A crowd.
A commentator's voice.
A punch landing.
A roar.
And then—
A headline.
"PACQUIAO DEFEATS MAYWEATHER IN REMATCH — UNANIMOUS DECISION!"
Blake's eyes snapped open.
The fight.
The rematch.
The one that never happened in real life—but happened in the old timeline.
He remembered it clearly.
It was one of the last normal things the world ever experienced.
The apocalypse had already begun—small outbreaks, strange disappearances, rumors of creatures in the dark—but people still clung to normalcy.
And for one night, the world stopped to watch Pacquiao fight.
He remembered the noise.
The cheers.
The tears.
The way Filipinos held onto that moment like it was the last piece of hope left.
Pacquiao won.
Unanimous decision.
Clear.
Decisive.
Undeniable.
And the odds had been insane.
Mayweather was the heavy favorite.
Betting against him paid out huge.
Blake's heart pounded.
He checked the date on his phone.
Friday.
The rematch was tomorrow.
He swallowed hard.
This was it.
This was the chance.
This was the turning point.
He could bet everything.
He could multiply his money.
He could secure the land.
He could build the shelter.
He could save everyone.
But it was a gamble.
A massive gamble.
He gripped the steering wheel.
He remembered surviving with nothing.
Running from place to place.
Hiding in ruined buildings.
Sleeping in abandoned cars.
Losing people he cared about.
Watching the world burn.
He remembered the hunger.
The cold.
The fear.
The helplessness.
He remembered wishing—begging—for a safe place.
A home.
A shelter.
Anything.
He opened his eyes.
He couldn't let that happen again.
He had to take the risk.
---
The Internal Battle
Back at the office, Blake sat at his desk, staring at the numbers again.
₱1,854,000 (after Camp 7 payment).
₱1,346,000 short.
He tapped his fingers on the table.
He could bet ₱1.5 million.
Keep ₱300,000 for emergencies.
If Pacquiao won, the payout would be massive.
He opened a betting site.
Odds:
Pacquiao: 4.75
Mayweather: 1.35
He did the math.
If he bet ₱1,500,000 on Pacquiao:
₱1,500,000 × 4.75 = ₱7,125,000
Enough to buy the land.
Enough to start construction.
Enough to secure supplies.
Enough to protect everyone.
His heart raced.
But his hands trembled.
This wasn't just money.
This was his family's savings.
This was Marie's trust.
This was the kids' future.
This was everything.
He closed his eyes.
He saw himself running through burning streets.
He saw people screaming.
He saw creatures in the dark.
He saw hunger.
He saw cold.
He saw death.
He saw his family's faces—
not dying, but unreachable.
Across the ocean.
Cut off.
Lost.
He opened his eyes.
He couldn't let that happen again.
He had to take the risk.
---
A Visit to Marie's Parents
Before making the bet, Blake drove to Bakakeng. He needed grounding. He needed clarity. He needed to see the people he was fighting for.
Marie's mother opened the door.
"Blake! Anak, come in. You look pale."
He forced a smile. "Just tired, Mom."
Marie's father sat at the table, reading the newspaper. He looked up.
"Sit, Blake. Eat."
A bowl of warm pinikpikan was placed in front of him. The aroma filled his senses—smoke, ginger, salt, tradition.
He ate quietly.
Marie's mother watched him. "You're thinking too much again."
Blake set his spoon down.
"Mom… Dad… do you believe in taking risks?"
Marie's father chuckled. "Life is risk, anak. But you take it for the right reasons."
Marie's mother nodded. "And you take it with a clear heart."
Blake swallowed.
He had his answer.
---
The Decision
That night, after the kids were asleep, Blake sat at the dining table with his laptop open. The house was quiet. The rain had returned, tapping softly against the windows.
Marie walked in, drying her hair with a towel.
"You're still awake?"
Blake nodded.
She sat beside him. "What's wrong?"
He hesitated.
Then he told her—not everything, but enough.
"There's a fight tomorrow. Pacquiao vs. Mayweather. The rematch. I… I know Pacquiao will win."
Marie raised an eyebrow. "You know?"
Blake nodded slowly. "Yes."
She studied him.
She didn't ask how.
She didn't ask why.
She didn't question his certainty.
She simply asked:
"How much are you planning to bet?"
Blake took a deep breath.
"₱1.5 million."
Marie didn't flinch.
She didn't panic.
She didn't scold him.
She placed her hand over his.
"Do it."
Blake blinked. "You're… okay with this?"
Marie smiled softly.
"You've never gambled in your life. You're not reckless. If you're this sure… then I trust you."
His throat tightened.
He didn't deserve her.
But he would protect her.
He would protect all of them.
He clicked the betting site.
He entered the amount.
₱1,500,000.
His finger hovered over the "Confirm Bet" button.
Marie squeezed his hand.
"For the family," she whispered.
Blake clicked.
Bet Confirmed.
His heart pounded.
There was no turning back.
---
The Calm Before the Storm
The next morning, the city buzzed with excitement. Posters of Pacquiao hung in sari-sari stores. Jeepney drivers argued about predictions. Students wore Pacquiao shirts. The entire country felt alive.
Blake felt the tension in the air.
He taught his morning class at SLU, but his mind was elsewhere. His students noticed.
"Sir, are you okay?"
"Just tired," he said.
But inside, he was a storm.
At 5 PM, he drove home. The streets were alive with anticipation. Every house had a TV ready. Every family prepared snacks. Every Filipino heart beat with pride.
Blake entered the house.
Marie smiled. "Ready?"
He nodded.
He wasn't.
But he had no choice.
He sat on the couch.
The fight began.
The world held its breath.
---
The Fight, The Memory, The Promise
The living room felt smaller than usual, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. The TV glowed bright against the dim evening light, casting flickers of blue across the faces of Blake's family. Marie sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his knee. Mikaela and Aer were on the floor, leaning forward with the kind of excitement only a national event could spark.
Outside, the neighborhood was alive. Cheers, laughter, radios turned up to maximum volume. Every house on the street was tuned to the same broadcast. Every Filipino heart beat in unison.
But Blake's pulse was different.
₱1.5 million.
Everything they had.
Everything they could lose.
The announcers' voices boomed as Pacquiao entered the ring. The crowd erupted. The sound filled the room like a wave.
Blake swallowed hard.
Marie leaned closer. "You okay?"
He nodded, but his hands were trembling.
The bell rang.
---
The Early Rounds
Pacquiao moved fast, sharp, confident. The commentators shouted over each other, praising his footwork. The crowd roared with every clean hit.
Mikaela cheered. Aer copied her, punching the air with tiny fists.
Blake tried to smile, but his chest felt tight. Every punch Pacquiao landed made his heart jump. Every punch Mayweather returned made his stomach twist.
He checked the betting app again. The numbers flickered. His throat dried.
Marie noticed. She didn't say anything. She simply slid her hand into his and squeezed.
---
The Trigger
Midway through the fourth round, Pacquiao landed a heavy left straight. The arena exploded in noise — a roar so loud it rattled the speakers.
And something inside Blake snapped.
The sound wasn't a cheer anymore.
It was an echo.
A memory.
The roar of thousands of voices blurred into the roar of something else — the sound of panic inside a narrow, rain‑soaked tunnel.
The living room dissolved.
The tunnel returned.
---
The Tunnel
Rain hammered the mountainside. The Sayangan half‑tunnel was packed with evacuees, their footsteps echoing in frantic rhythm. The air smelled of wet earth and fear.
Blake remembered the moment the tree fell — the crack of wood, the sudden weight slamming him against the cold concrete wall. The shock. The pain. The realization that he couldn't move.
He remembered Marie turning back toward him, her eyes wide with fear.
He remembered Aer clutching his small backpack.
He remembered Mikaela's voice — sharp, breaking, echoing through the tunnel.
"Dad!"
That voice cut deeper than any wound.
He remembered the crowd surging.
He remembered losing sight of them.
He remembered calling their names until his throat burned.
He remembered the helplessness — the kind that hollowed him out from the inside.
And he remembered the silence afterward.
The silence that told him everything.
---
Back to the Living Room
"Blake."
Marie's voice pulled him back.
He blinked. The tunnel faded. The living room returned. The TV was still blaring. The kids were still cheering. But his breathing was uneven, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
Marie cupped his face gently. "You're here. You're with us."
He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
He wasn't sure if he believed it.
---
The Final Rounds
Pacquiao surged forward in the tenth round, relentless. The commentators shouted. The crowd roared again — but this time, Blake stayed grounded. He focused on Marie's hand in his. On the sound of his children's laughter. On the present.
On the chance he had been given.
The bell rang for the final time.
Everyone in the room stood.
The announcer read the scorecards.
"Unanimous decision…"
Blake's heart stopped.
"…Pacquiao wins!"
The house erupted. The neighborhood erupted. The entire country erupted.
Blake didn't.
His knees gave out, and he sank onto the couch, covering his face with both hands. The sound that escaped him wasn't joy — it was relief so heavy it broke him open.
Marie wrapped her arms around him.
Mikaela and Aer climbed onto the couch, hugging him tightly.
He held them all, trembling.
Not because of the money.
But because he felt, for the first time, that he might be able to save them this time.
---
The Payout
The betting app chimed.
₱7,125,000 credited.
Blake stared at the number, unable to breathe for a moment.
Their total funds now exceeded ₱8 million.
Enough to buy the land.
Enough to start construction.
Enough to build the shelter he never had.
Enough to change everything.
Marie covered her mouth, tears in her eyes. "We can do it… we can really do it."
Blake nodded slowly.
"Yes," he whispered. "We can."
---
The Promise
Later that night, after the kids had fallen asleep, Blake stepped outside. The cold Baguio air wrapped around him. Fireworks cracked in the distance. The city was alive with celebration.
He looked up at the sky.
He remembered the tunnel.
He remembered the rain.
He remembered Mikaela's voice.
He remembered the guilt.
And he whispered into the night:
"Not this time."
He closed his eyes, letting the cold air steady him.
This time, he would be ready.
This time, he would build the shelter.
This time, he would protect them.
No matter what it cost.
---