It was noon, but the classroom seemed dimly lit: a blackboard with chalk dust on the back, blue and yellow posters on the wall, and in the middle of the chairs stood Ruel—pale from being up late, wearing a yellow shirt and holding a red work hat. Behind him, Ma’am Liza had her arms folded, her gaze cold; to the right, several classmates were shoulder to shoulder—Jomar in red, Keana and Via laughing, and Martin in blue, hesitant to join in the joke.

“Hey, it smells like a fryer!” Jomar shouted, pointing at his hat. “Crew, please upsize our lunch!”

“Ruel, maybe you can scoop some gravy later during the recitation,” Via added, laughing as if to cover her nerves.

“Sit down,” Ma’am Liza interrupted, her arms still motionless. “And please, Ruel, don’t use fatigue as an excuse when you can’t answer. Work is not the reason for missing.”

Ruel was about to answer, but he chose to fold his hat and hold it like a rosary. He sat in the back, next to the broken window where the dust and noise of the yard came in. The lesson began, but Ma’am Liza’s announcement floated between the sounds: “Class, Division Innovation Fair next week. Each section will present a project that benefits the community—not a drawing, but a functioning one.”

“Ma’am,” Keana winked, “could Ruel have a ketchup dispenser? Low budget, high drama.”

Ruel closed his eyes, then breathed slowly. In between the laughter, other sounds filled his mind: the hum of the extractor fan in the kitchen, the rustle of the broom in the oil, and the click of the multimeter measuring voltage every midnight. There, in the dark, his secret work began.

After being dismissed, he went straight to work. The shoes were white, the apron red, and in the back of the warehouse that smelled of cardboard and old oil, he opened the box with masking tape: “GABI—v3.” The prototype—a red metal box with a yellow stripe that he deliberately likened to a hat—had a rubber handle, USB ports, an LED switch, a radio dial, and a small buzzer button. In his memory, the night they lost power on the edge of the estuary loomed: Mia, his little sister, was sobbing, and only the neighbor’s light saved him from the panic. “I will make a light that can be carried anywhere,” he vowed over and over.

The next day, he brought a cardboard box to class. Ma’am Liza declared: “We’re going to assign a lead to the project. Submit a proposal now.” Hands in order: Martin’s compost system, Keana’s app (even without a scanner), Jomar’s auto-bell made from a pot. No one was giving up. The teacher looked at Ruel.

“Ruel, do you have an idea?”

His voice was hesitant. “I have one. But you might laugh.”

The others laughed. “Go ahead,” Ma’am Liza said, a mix of command and plea. “Show me.”

Ruel opened the box. The red unit was taken out—NIGHT: Fully Climbed-Living Light. “It’s rechargeable, can be charged with a cheap solar panel or an outlet. It can light two LEDs for four hours, has two USBs for cellphones, a radio for news, and an emergency buzzer. It uses recycled 18650 cells from broken laptops and power banks, and parts from junk shops. If we can improve it, we can give it away to barangays that are constantly flooded or lose power.”

The LED lit up when he pressed the switch—the white was cold, solid. He pressed the buzzer—sharp, reaching the corridor. Another student peeked in; someone stopped laughing.

“How did you learn that?” asked Ma’am Liza, mixed with surprise.

“Old books from Mang Dolfo at the repair shop, YouTube, and rehearsals every night—after shift,” Ruel replied, no longer trembling.

“‘Will it work in a brownout?’” Jomar said, his eyebrows gradually lowering.

“Yes,” Ruel replied. “And if something bad happens, you press this—it will be heard on a block. If there is a barangay repeater, we can still plug it in.”

Martin looked up. “Is there a safety? Fuse? Thermal cut-off?”

“There is a fuse holder in v3. I plan to add a BMS so that the charge doesn’t overcharge,” Ruel explained quickly, handing over a simple schematic.

Keana was silent. Instead of joking, she wrote in her notebook. “I’ll do the documentation. I’ll make infographics. Red and yellow—for consistency.”

“I’ll do the casing,” Jomar interrupted, smiling shyly. “I know how to paint. Sir, sorry… I thought someone was just being cool.”

“No problem,” Ruel replied. “Help me now; that’s what’s cool.”

Ma’am Liza smiled—softly for the first time. “Class, that’s the project we’re going to bring.”

In the days that followed, the rhythm of the room changed. At recess, Martin and Jomar were mixing epoxy; Keana and Via were interviewing neighbors for a “needs assessment”; Ruel, in a corner, was testing each battery with a multimeter like weighing a spinach at the market—slowly but surely. Once, Mang Dolfo visited, carrying an old soldering station. “Don’t let the pad dry out,” he reminded. “That’s like a person—it’s easier to stick the right one when there’s heat and patience.”

The night before the fair, it suddenly started to rain. Ruel’s mother called from the market: “Son, the canal is overflowing. The road is slippery. Mia, she’s got a fever.” Ruel’s chest heaved. “Mom, I have an extra GABI unit in my bag. Turn on the lights and radio—it’ll reduce the stress. I’ll be home right after testing.”

The day of the Division Innovation Fair arrived. A gym that smelled of varnish and new shoe polish, tables with cardboard, and judges with clipboards. Ruel showed off three units: basic, outdoor, and the barangay version with a louder buzzer and a better casing courtesy of Jomar. The judges tested: “Where do you recycle the cells?”—“Partner with the junkshop and barangay MRF.” “Is there a hazard protocol?”—“There’s a TL checklist in the manual we’re looking at.” “How much does it cost?”—“₱480–₱650 depending on the part. It can go down if you buy in bulk.”

From the side, Ma’am Liza watched, no longer with her arms folded; she was already holding a copy of the manual. Ruel noticed that there was a mark left by a hand on the side—as if for the first time, the teacher was also holding onto his idea. After deliberation, the gym fell silent. The results were read: “First Place—Project GABI ng 11-Fernando.”

The class was in chaos. Those who had previously laughed hugged Ruel. “Kuya Crew, it’s you!” Via joked, but now there was admiration. Jomar waved like an emcee. “Boss Ruel, you’re free with us—we’ll take care of the painting until the barangay rollout!”

Ma’am Liza approached him. “Ruel, I’m proud of you. I made a mistake. The night is not a hindrance—that’s where you learned to make light.” He took a deep breath, then nodded. “Ma’am, if possible, the prize… let’s buy a BMS and fuse to make ten units. Let’s prioritize the ones on the side of the estuary. The poles are weak during the rain.”

“We’ll do that,” the teacher replied, and that’s when he first heard the tenderness that wasn’t there before.

The next day, they returned to the classroom: still the blackboard, still the poster, but the air was different. On Ruel’s desk sat the red hat—no longer a symbol of teasing, but a badge of dignity. While he was tidying up, someone knocked on the door—a lady in a green blouse, accompanied by a young girl holding onto her skirt.

“Who is Ruel?” the lady’s voice trembled.

“It’s me.”

“I’m Aling Lina, president of the homeowners by the river. We heard your NIGHT. When there’s a storm, the entire alley is dark. If you’ll allow it, my child, you’ll be the first to spread light there.”

The class looked at each other. “We’re together,” Jomar, Keana, Via, and Martin said in unison. “Let’s do this outreach.”

Ruel’s eyes lit up, not from fatigue, but from gratitude. “Yes, Aling Lina. We will bring three units and a manual. We will also train on proper use and recycling.”

As they left the room, Ma’am Liza patted Ruel on the shoulder. “Thank you. You taught us to change our perspective.”

Ruel smiled, looked at the red hat in his palm, and tucked it into his pocket. “Ma’am, I’m not embarrassed here. This is where the project came from.” And they went out together—his yellow polo shirt glistening in the sunlight, the helpers’ green blouses, the red and yellow lights he carried.

Although they had laughed at him for working at night, they didn’t know that in the dark he had woven the project that would bring light—not just to the school board, but to the houses that had long clung to the shadows. And now that the class had taken over the NIGHT, it was no longer a secret to Ruel—this was the light of their community.