Timothy's gaze sharpened.

"And in exchange?" he asked.

"In exchange," Len said calmly, "I want your trust that when we say 'we're open to nuclear,' it's not just a talking point. I want you to be willing to build here, not just abroad. I want the first operational SMR under your portfolio to stand on Philippine soil, under a regulatory regime that doesn't make you regret it."

She paused.

"And yes. I will be direct. I want your financial support, within legal limits. And, if you're willing, a public statement—eventually—not now, but when the time is right, that you view our energy policy as aligned with your industrial plans."

There it was.

Timothy leaned back in his chair.

He thought of the HyperCore standing in the pit at Test Site Alpha. Of the Q-LM coolant, the TRISO-Alpha fuel, the efficiency numbers Reyes could barely say out loud. He thought of Meralco bills, brownouts in the provinces, factories running gensets because grid power was a joke.

He thought of the other camp—those with long records of plunder cases, bloated infrastructure budgets, and "law and order" campaigns that scared investors more than criminals.

"I despise people with bad track records," he said quietly. "You probably know that. Corruption, plunder, war on drugs theater—all of that. I don't have patience for it."

"I know," Len replied. "Your past statements weren't exactly subtle."

He smirked faintly.

"But I also hate incompetence," he went on. "People who mean well but can't manage. This country can't afford a leader who only has feelings and no execution."

"And you're wondering which one I am," Len said, not offended.

"Roughly," Timothy said.

Len smiled a little, but her eyes stayed serious.

"I'm not going to stand here and claim I've never made mistakes," she said. "I have. Public ones. Organizational ones. Tactical ones. But I learned. I built programs that actually reached people, even when I had no budget, no support from the main machinery, sometimes even active sabotage. I know how to work around bad systems without becoming part of them."

She leaned forward slightly.

"What I don't know—yet—is how to run a nuclear grid integration plan."

"That's where you come in."

Timothy glanced at Hana. She met his eyes briefly, then looked back down at her screen, neutral.

He looked at Len again.

"I don't endorse people lightly," he said. "My name moves markets. My projects pull in foreign capital. If I publicly stand behind a candidate and that candidate fails or sells out, it reflects on me. On TG."

"I understand," Len said. "I'm not asking you to declare anything today."

"Good," he said. "Because I won't."

A short silence passed.

"But," Timothy added, "I am willing to do this."

Len listened.

"I will commit funding," Timothy said. "Legally, cleanly, transparently. No under-the-table. My finance team can coordinate with your campaign's treasurer. It won't be your only lifeline, but it will be… significant."

Len exhaled, some tension leaving her shoulders. "That will help. A lot."

"In return," Timothy continued, "I want three things from you. Publicly, when the time is right."

"Name them," she said.

"One," Timothy said, raising a finger. "You go on record supporting an independent nuclear regulator and SMR framework. No vague language. No 'maybe someday if.' You commit to it."

"Done," she said, without hesitation.

"Two," he said. "You push for breaking generation cartels. Not with slogans—through actual policy. Deregulated retail choice, open grid access, protection for new entrants. I don't care if that pisses off the old families. If you cave, I pull out."

Len's expression hardened. "I've already pissed off a lot of old families just by running again. I'm not afraid of adding a few more."

"Three," Timothy said. "You don't use my projects for photo ops unless there's something concrete being signed or built. No ribbon-cutting for something my team did alone, no pretending to 'launch' something just because a politician showed up."

Len chuckled under her breath. "That one might hurt my comms team."

"That one," Timothy said, "is non-negotiable."

She nodded slowly. "Then we'll have to adjust. Fine."

Timothy drummed his fingers on the table once, then stopped.

"One more thing," he said.

"Yes?"

"If you win," Timothy said, "and you ever decide nuclear is too politically risky—if you're tempted to drag your feet, kill projects quietly, or make backroom deals with the old power players—I want you to remember this room. This line." He gestured at the factory below. "And the number of jobs, industries, and futures that will stagnate because you chose fear over progress."

Len looked out the window.

Below, another EV rolled off the line, headlights flaring briefly as it passed the final inspection bay.

"I didn't come back into this fight to be afraid," she said softly. "If I only wanted comfort, I'd stay in my NGO work and let someone else deal with the mess. I know the risk. I'm still here."

She turned back to him.

"So," she asked. "Do we have an understanding?"

Timothy held her gaze for a moment longer.

Then he nodded.

"We do."

Len smiled—not the practiced campaign smile, but something quieter. Relieved. Determined.

"Thank you, Mr. Guerrero," she said. "I'll have my team coordinate with yours for the… boring details."

Timothy stood.

"I'll have my legal and finance heads contact your campaign. Hana will be your main liaison for anything policy-related," he said. "No leaks. No grandstanding. If this goes public, it will be because we both decided it should."

"Agreed," Len said, rising as well.

They shook hands once more.

As she left the room with her security, Hana spoke softly.

"Sir, are you sure about this?"

Timothy watched the line outside, eyes following the next batch of vehicles inching forward.

"I don't trust politicians," he said. "But I trust math."

"Math?" Hana asked.

He nodded.

"Baseline scenario: we do nothing, same old people stay in power, energy stays broken, our nuclear program gets strangled in red tape," he said. "Alternate scenario: we back someone who, at minimum, is willing to say 'nuclear' without flinching and is not part of any dynasty."

He glanced at Hana.

"The expected value of that bet," Timothy said, "is higher than zero."

Hana exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips. "When you put it that way, sir…"

He looked back at the window.

Somewhere in Subic Alpha, the HyperCore was waiting. Somewhere in Manila, voters were arguing online. Somewhere between those two, the future of his entire energy strategy was being written.

"Prepare policy briefs on SMR integration," he said. "Assume we'll be asked to draft half their energy platform."

"Yes, sir," Hana replied.

Timothy's eyes hardened—not out of anger, but focus.

"If this country is finally getting serious about power," he murmured, "then we make damn sure we're the ones building the reactors."

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