The entire group of construction workers stood up, as if frozen in place.

“Shangri-La…?”
Joey repeated, swallowing.

“Pare, maybe I just made a mistake. Maybe you have the same name,”
Bert tried to laugh, but his hand was shaking as he held the invitation.

Mang Cardo just smiled, gentle and peaceful.
“No. My son’s debut.”

No one was silent.

The man they called “Captain Tuyo,”
the man they teased as “stingy,”
now they just stared—not knowing what to feel.

Saturday came.

For the first time in their lives,
Joey, Bert, and the other construction site colleagues were wearing ironed polo shirts.
Someone borrowed a blazer.
Someone cleaned and polished old shoes for almost an hour.

When they entered the lobby of the Shangri-La,
they stopped breathing.

The crystal chandeliers sparkled.
The marble floor was shiny.
The music playing was gentle and elegant.

“Pare…” Joey whispered,
“is this the right place?”

And there they saw Mang Cardo.

The clothes full of cement were gone.

The slippers were gone.

He was wearing a Tagalog Barong.

His hair was neat.

His posture was straight.

He was a different person.

They had not yet greeted each other when the lights suddenly went out.

“Ladies and gentlemen…”

the emcee’s voice echoed.

“Please welcome our debutante—Angel!”

All the lights were focused on the stairs.

Angel appeared.

Wearing a blue gown that sparkled like a star.

Smiling.

His eyes were shining.

Joey gaped.

“Is that his… daughter?”

Bert said softly,
“Like a princess…”

All night long, they could barely taste the food.
Every delicious dish brought back memories—

two pieces of dry,
white rice,
under the hot scaffolding.

When Angel took the microphone,
the entire ballroom fell silent.

He told his dreams.

The words: “You’re just a poor man’s child, don’t dream too much.”

And every day his father would make the dish dry.

“For three years,”

his voice trembled,

“my father hasn’t eaten anything delicious…

for tonight.”

Joey bowed.

Bert held the glass tightly.

They remembered every joke.

Every laugh.

Every time sacrifice was made into a joke.

When Angel said the last line:

“You’re my Hero, Pa.”

No one could hold back their tears.

After the feast, Joey was the first to come forward.

“Pare…”
his voice cracked.
“If only… I could replace all our teasing with respect.”

Mang Cardo simply patted his shoulder.

“You don’t know,”

he said calmly.

“The important thing is, now you know.”

Bert bowed deeply.

“Starting tomorrow, we’ll eat together.

And if your baguette is dry again—I’ll be the one to serve it.”

Mang Cardo smiled.

“Deal.”

THREE MONTHS LATER

Life continued at Site 4.

The sun was still hot.

The cement was still dusty.

The machines were still noisy.

But one thing had changed.

It was lunch time.

Mang Cardo opened the old plastic container.

There was still rice.

There was still some dry food.

But now, there was:

a piece of adobo from Joey,

a few slices of liempo from Bert,

and a bottle of cold water that someone always left behind.

No more yelling.

All silent nods—
a respect from men who had learned to understand sacrifice.

Angel entered college.

He chose the Architecture course.

When asked why, he just smiled:

“I want to design buildings where people like my Papa work—safe, dignified, and respectful.”

Every weekend, he goes home.

No more gowns.

No more spotlights.

Just a simple dinner—
where he always prioritizes the most delicious dish for his father.

Mang Cardo did not get rich.

He still wakes up early.

He still works under the sun.

His hands are still rough.

But there was peace in his heart.

One night, Angel asked him:
“Dad, the debut is over… are you going to eat something delicious?”

He smiled.
“I’m eating something delicious, son.”

“When?”

“Whenever I see you happy.”

There’s a new saying on Site 4:

“Don’t judge a father’s pocketbook.

He might be building his son’s dream.”

And every time a new worker belittles his neighbor because he’s poor,
someone will come up, tap him on the shoulder, and start telling a story—

the story of Mang Cardo.

Not everyone gets to eat steak.

Not everyone has a feast at a five-star hotel.

But there are fathers—
even if they only have dry food and rice—
who can give their son a life worth as much as gold.

And that—
is the wealth that never runs out.