The World is My Skill Tree

The silence inside the auditorium was absolute.

Elias stood backstage, the faint hum of the stage lights above and the soft rustle of judges' notes below the only sounds between breaths. His palms were still slightly damp, though he had long wiped them on the sides of his pants. He hadn't moved since stepping down from the presentation stage. The applause had been thunderous, sure—but now came the wait. The hollow, aching wait that turned minutes into hours.

One of the stage crew passed him a bottle of water without saying a word. Elias nodded his thanks. Across the curtain gap, he could see the final scores being tabulated. Names flashed on-screen—projects, schools, points from judges, color-coded criteria. His eyes darted between metrics: innovation, social impact, scalability, presentation clarity.

He didn't look for his name. Not yet.

"That was a killer pitch," said a voice behind him. Elias turned. It was the solo presenter from Mapúa—the FerroScan guy. They hadn't talked before.

Elias gave a faint smile. "Thanks. Your hardware's pretty insane. Can't believe you got GPR working on that budget."

The other boy nodded, half-grinning. "I had to cannibalize three old routers and build a Faraday cage in our bathroom. My mom thought I was making a bomb."

Elias laughed. The tension cracked slightly, just enough.

Across the curtain, the program host walked up to the podium. The house lights dimmed once again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for staying with us for this incredible day of innovation and talent. You've witnessed twelve of the most groundbreaking student-led technology initiatives this year. From infrastructure to behavioral AI, from healthcare to agriculture—we're witnessing the next wave of Philippine tech leadership."

The crowd clapped. A judge leaned forward to whisper something to the host. She nodded slightly.

"Before we announce the top three, allow me to emphasize: this wasn't just a competition. Every project presented today has potential. Every team demonstrated vision, discipline, and most importantly—heart."

A breath held collectively by the room.

"The judges have come to a unanimous decision."

A drum roll began—real, from the edge of the AV booth, where two volunteers tapped rhythmically on snare pads.

"In third place…"

Elias closed his eyes. Not mine, he thought. Doesn't have to be mine.

"…Team 04 from UST with EduNudge!"

The UST girls erupted into tears, hugging each other as they walked up to the stage. The applause was warm, admiring. A few students in the crowd even stood. They had moved hearts—and the judges had seen that.

"And in second place…"

Another pause.

"…Team 01 from Ateneo Technologica with Project Hydrosync!"

The boys in navy uniforms kept their composure but couldn't hide the glint of satisfaction in their eyes. They moved with practiced polish, shaking hands, posing with the trophy, and bowing slightly. The hall rang with respect.

Now only one slot remained.

Elias suddenly became aware of his heartbeat. Not just the pounding in his chest—but the way his body felt both heavy and electric. Every sound blurred at the edges. He could hear his breath, feel his throat drying. He had told himself it didn't matter. That building the system was the real reward.

But a voice inside whispered:

Let this be it.

"And finally…" the host's voice rose. "First place—Best in Innovation, Social Impact, and Scalable Technology…"

A screen behind her began to animate. A slow reveal of the winning entry.

"…Elias Angeles. Smart AccessEd."

For a moment, Elias didn't react.

It wasn't denial. It was suspension.

Then the curtain was pulled aside, and he was gently pushed forward.

The light hit him harder this time.

His feet felt like they had weights attached. As he walked out, something in the room shifted. Not just applause—there were murmurs, expressions of recognition, even admiration. In the front row, the judge from the Department of Education had her hand over her chest. The hospital systems director was already standing.

He accepted the trophy—not large, but heavy with meaning. An engraved base. A symbol not of victory, but validation.

Then the host leaned toward the microphone. "Please remain on stage, Elias."

Another monitor flickered to life. A virtual feed appeared—someone dialing in remotely. The man on screen was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair and the quiet intensity of someone used to shaping policy.

"This is Secretary Armando Ilagan of the Department of Science and Technology," the host announced.

Elias blinked, surprised. So were half the judges.

"Elias," the Secretary said, his voice calm but direct. "Your work has reached my office even before today. The adaptability and foresight in Smart AccessEd make it not just a tool—but a framework we've been needing."

Elias swallowed, unsure how to respond.

"I'd like to formally invite you to collaborate with the DOST on a national pilot program. The goal is to deploy your system in a select group of public schools in NCR, Calabarzon, and Central Visayas."

The auditorium gasped.

"This will include government-supported infrastructure rollout, data testing, and mentorship with our AI ethics committee. Should you accept, a formal grant and technical collaboration agreement will be drawn up within the month."

Elias's throat locked. He could barely find words.

"Yes," he managed, and then, steadier: "Yes. I would be honored."

The Secretary nodded once, approvingly. "We'll be in touch."

The screen faded to black.

Behind Elias, the judges stood.

Not just clapping now. Cheering.

The program host handed him the mic one last time.

Elias hesitated, then raised it.

"I don't know if I'll ever be on a stage like this again," he began. "But I know this—today's projects showed me what real impact looks like. I saw systems that can save lives, change schools, lift communities. I'm lucky just to be counted among them."

He glanced toward the seats where the other teams sat.

"I believe technology isn't about winning. It's about reaching people who couldn't be reached before. It's about opening doors we once thought were locked."

And with that, the lights dimmed slightly as the stage faded into slow blue.

No fanfare. No fireworks.

Just the quiet promise of a student who had built something extraordinary—and had now been asked to help change the country with it.

And Elias knew: this was not the end.

This was the beginning.