How I Became Ultra Rich Using a Reconstruction System

August 14th, 2029

Forbes Park, Makati

10:40 AM

Timothy wasn't wearing a suit today.

Just a polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers. No executives around him, no engineers, no senators. Just him, his phone, a property consultant, and the quietest street he had walked on in months.

Forbes Park didn't look like Metro Manila.

No jeepneys, no loud motorcycles, no vendors shouting about cellphone load or mangoes. Wide asphalt roads, manicured trees, security vehicles passing from time to time. The air even smelled different, not construction dust or city smoke, but trimmed grass and clean pavement.

"This is Phase South," said the property consultant, a woman in her mid-thirties named Karen. She held a leather folder with property listings. "The lot you're viewing later is around 3,600 square meters. Corner lot, dual access, full perimeter fencing, landscaped entrance. One of the largest available today."

Timothy just nodded, letting her talk.

He wasn't an expert at houses. He never thought about buying one before. He always rented—condos, serviced apartments, even sleeping some nights in his office during the early TG days.

But things had changed.

His mother and his younger sister, Evelyn and Angela, were still staying at the Three-Bedroom at One Serendra. It was decent, comfortable, safe, and quiet. But it wasn't home. It felt temporary, like every other place they had stayed in before.

The driver parked near a tall iron gate. Behind it, a driveway curved around clusters of trees.

"Sir, this one," Karen said. "Pre-owned, but fully renovated last year by the owner. Asking price is… ₱1.6 billion."

Timothy raised a brow. "Pesos?"

She smiled. "Yes, sir. But negotiable. It depends on the terms."

He wasn't shocked. He expected the number. Real estate in Forbes Park wasn't about price, it was about availability. Money didn't make houses appear. They appeared when old money decided to let go.

The gate opened, and a staff member guided them inside.

There was no dramatic reveal. No mansion instantly visible. Trees blocked most of the view. The driveway was long — deliberately long, Timothy thought. Privacy was part of the land value here.

When the house finally came into view, he slowed his steps.

It wasn't flashy.

It wasn't trying to look rich.

It was just big, calm, and quietly expensive.

Two-story, beige-cream exterior, clean modern architecture with wide glass panels, a long veranda on the second floor, a yard large enough for two swimming pools, but only one was built, rectangular, minimalistic, lined with white stone.

Practical. Not celebrity-style.

"I like that it's quiet," Timothy said.

"It is," Karen nodded. "Most residents here prefer discretion. They don't host large parties. Mostly business families, diplomats, retired executives."

That made sense.

He walked further.

He could imagine his mother sitting by the veranda in the morning, drinking tea, watching the trees instead of traffic.

He could imagine Evelyn strolling barefoot on the grass, sketchbook in hand — drawing whatever she wanted, not worrying about school noise or people staring.

He could imagine Angela running around with a badminton racket, forcing everyone to play even if nobody wanted to.

That was new.

He never imagined "home" before.

Inside, the house felt even quieter.

No marble floors, no gold trim, no glass chandeliers. Just wood, smooth tile, clean lines, high ceilings.

"This was renovated by an architect who specializes in structural integration," Karen said. "Meaning minimal load-bearing columns, optimized natural lighting, maximum airflow. Energy efficient."

"You mean, it won't feel like an oven at 3 PM?"

She laughed lightly. "Exactly, sir."

They moved through the living room, kitchen, garden-side lounge, and then the second floor. Three master-type bedrooms, one intended as a home office or library, and one open space facing the garden that could be turned into anything.

Timothy stood by the glass door leading to the terrace.

His phone buzzed.

It was a message from Hana.

Hana: Sir, quick reminder, DOE coordination call at 1 PM. Also, media request asking when you'll show SMR training modules.

He replied briefly:

Timothy: Will join call. Tell media: not announcements, only schedules.

He locked his phone again.

He stayed by the glass, looking outside. The pool reflected the sky. The trees moved just slightly. No wind noise. No sirens. No endless city chaos.

He didn't realize he said it out loud:

"…It feels stable."

Karen turned to him. "It does, sir."

He looked around once more.

"No staging? No artificial decor?" he asked.

"Nothing for show," she answered. "Only what will actually be used."

He nodded.

It reminded him of the nuclear facility in Bataan.

Simple. Functional. Quietly important.

Not built to impress.

Built to last.

He didn't decide right away.

But he didn't need to think too long.

As he walked back to the driveway, he asked,

"Can we schedule a return visit? This time with my mother."

"Yes, sir," Karen answered. "Would you like me to prepare purchase documents as well?"

Timothy paused.

"Yes," he said. "Send me the breakdown."

Then he stopped again.

"And Karen?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't want a house to live in," he said. "I want a place that feels like it was meant to be lived in."

She nodded.

"That's the right way to choose," she said.

They shook hands.

He got in the car.

The door shut quietly—not like the echoing slam of city parking lots, but a soft, insulated thud. The kind that reminded him that this street, this village, this kind of life—was designed to keep noise out. Even the noise he didn't know he was carrying.

The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Sir, back to Bonifacio?"

Timothy didn't answer immediately. He looked one more time through the window. The house was mostly hidden now, trees, gates, fencing, but he remembered the feeling. Not the walls, not the view, not the price.

Just the stability.

"Let's stop somewhere first," he said finally. "Do you know a quiet café nearby?"

The driver nodded. "Yes, sir. There's one in Legazpi Village. Not crowded."

"Take me there."

As the car began to move, Makati softened into view, wide roads, slow-moving SUVs, security guards at every corner. Not noisy, still controlled. But different. Forbes Park was calm by design. Makati was calm by management.

He leaned back.