Three years ago.
Freshman Orientation Week
I didn't know where I should be looking.
Westlake University was so vast, and finally, I was here. Me, Eleanora Salvacion, a full scholar from a small town in Batangas, now standing inside one of the most prestigious universities in the country. I took the map from my orientation packet and tried to understand where I was supposed to go.
"Excuse me," I needed to ask. "Where is Ferdinand Hall?"
The orientation guide looked at me, slightly surprised. "Ferdinand Hall? Are you in Political Science?"
I nodded. "First day of Pol Sci 101."
"Main quad, third building on the left," he answered, but he was already looking at newly arriving freshmen.
"Thanks," I whispered, even though he wasn't paying attention to me anymore.
I started walking, feeling my heart pounding. I can do this. I deserve this chance.
I worked four years for this scholarship. Four years of sleepless nights, part-time work, and constantly convincing myself that I could do it. There were nights I almost gave up everything because I felt like I didn't belong in this kind of world.
But here I am now.
I didn't notice the book falling in front of me, and before I could avoid it, I tripped.
"Ah!"
I dropped my papers when I lost my balance. I tried desperately to catch the orientation packet, but it was too late—all the brochures and maps were scattered on the floor.
"Sorry," said a man, bending down to help me pick up the papers.
"I didn't notice that—"
We both looked up at the same time, and in that moment, it was as if time stopped.
A man my age was looking at me. Tall, with tan skin, and he looked like he came from some international school with tuition fees as big as our entire house. Wearing a branded polo shirt and pressed khakis, and on his hand, an expensive watch hanging on his wrist as if it had no value.
"Are you okay?" he asked, handing me the papers.
"Yes," I answered shortly, taking the papers without looking at him.
"Thanks."
"No harm done," he said, with a small smile. He even had an accent—like he grew up in another country. "Who are you, by the way? Are you also a first year?"
"Eleanore," I answered, feeling my face heat up. Yes, he was handsome, but there was also something irritating about his confidence. "Political Science."
He smiled more widely—perfect teeth, probably from an expensive orthodontist too. "Same! I'm Santiago Alcaraz. But just Sanjo."
Alcaraz.
I knew that surname. My faculty advisor told me there were few scholars in the Political Science department. Most students came from wealthy families involved in politics. And the Alcaraz family? The father is a congressman. The mother is a CEO of a large company. They were already rich when they were born.
He didn't need to study hard just to get in here. He didn't need to worry about how to pay the dorm fee, or if he could afford textbooks.
Suddenly I felt some kind of feeling—I couldn't tell if it was envy or annoyance. Probably both.
"Nice meeting you," I said, averting my eyes. "But I'll be late for class."
"Wait," he said, clearly confused by the sudden change in my tone.
"Ferdinand Hall? That's where I'm headed too. We can walk together."
I really wanted to refuse, but I didn't have a good reason. I just nodded, but didn't answer.
We started walking side by side, quiet. Santiago would glance at me occasionally, obviously wondering why I suddenly became unfriendly.
"So... where are you from?" he asked again, trying to make small talk.
"Batangas," I answered, not matching his friendly tone.
"Cool. I spent most of my life abroad—London, mostly. But my family's originally from here."
Of course you did.
I became more irritated. I couldn't understand why. It wasn't his fault that he was rich. It wasn't his fault that he had privilege. But I couldn't help thinking that while I was studying under candlelight during power outages in our town, he was probably on a private jet, on the way to some luxury vacation.
"Must be nice," I said, unable to control the sarcasm in my tone.
He stopped walking, clearly sensing there was a problem.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asked, frowning.
"No," I said. I walked quickly, not looking at him. "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't do anything right either. You're probably just used to everything being easy for you."
"Excuse me?" he said, clearly confused and slightly offended now.
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough," I replied, and I noticed my voice getting louder. "I know that you didn't have to kill yourself academically just to get in here."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," I faced him, "that while some of us worked our asses off to get here, others just had to make a phone call."
He stopped. I saw how his expression changed—from shock to anger.
"You don't know me," he said, his voice low now. "And you don't know how hard I worked to get here."
"Oh please," I couldn't help but laugh. "Tell me more about your struggles, while wearing that watch that probably costs more than my entire tuition."
"So because my family has money, I have no right to study here?" he asked, clearly angry too. "That seems like an unfair perspective."
"You know what's unfair?" I said, looking straight into his eyes.
"That while I and many others like me have to prove every day that we deserve to study here, you are welcome even before you've passed a single exam."
I saw how his jaw tightened. "You know nothing about my grades or my achievements. Just because my family has money doesn't mean I didn't earn my place here."
"Sure," I said, resuming walking. "Whatever helps you sleep at night in your Egyptian cotton sheets."
"At least I don't walk around with a massive chip on my shoulder, judging people before I even know them," he shouted behind me.
I stopped. He had a point. But my irritation was too deep to admit that.
"At least I don't have to worry if my friends are fake, or if they genuinely like me," I answered, not looking back.
No one answered. And when I looked behind, I saw Santiago had stopped, staring at me as if he'd seen a ghost. Did I say something?
But I didn't wait for his answer. I continued walking until I reached Ferdinand Hall.
——
The lecture hall was full, and it took me a while to find a seat—in front, near the professor's podium. Perfect. I had almost forgotten about the encounter with Santiago earlier, and just focused on opening my notebook.
"Good morning!" the professor shouted as he entered the room. "Welcome to Political Science 101. I'm Dr. Francisco Mercado, your professor for this semester."
The professor stood in the middle of the lecture hall. He was elderly, probably about sixty years old, but had a presence and energy that commanded attention.
"Today, we'll start with a simple debate to gauge where everyone stands," he said. "The topic: Distributive justice. Should the government intervene in market outcomes to ensure more equal distribution of resources?"
I felt excitement. This was my forte. My father, a simple construction worker, always told me how despite working hard, his income was never enough for our family. While he saw how his bosses built mansion after mansion.
I immediately raised my hand.
"Yes?" the professor called. "Your name, please?"
"Eleanore Salvacion, sir."
"Ms. Salvacion, what's your take on this?"
"I believe that government intervention is necessary," I stated clearly. "Market forces alone tend to create massive inequality. Without intervention, we end up with a situation where the rich get richer while the poor..."
"That's socialist propaganda," said a familiar voice from the back of the room.
We all turned. And there, at the back of the room, stood Santiago Alcaraz, his hand raised.
"Mr...?" the professor asked.
"Alcaraz, sir. Santiago Alcaraz."
"Mr. Alcaraz," the professor nodded. "You disagree with Ms. Salvacion?"
"Absolutely," he answered, looking directly at me. "Government intervention often distorts markets, creating even more inefficiencies. True equality comes from equal opportunity, not equal outcomes."
I couldn't control myself. "That's easy to say when you're born with every opportunity handed to you."
There was a collective gasp from the class. Discussions weren't normally this personal.
"Ad hominem attacks have no place in intellectual discourse, Ms. Salvacion," Santiago replied, still looking at me. "But if we're going to make this personal, let me say that assuming someone hasn't earned their place because of where they come from is exactly the kind of prejudice you claim to fight against."
"It's not prejudice to point out that the system is rigged," I responded, not backing down. "Generational wealth creates opportunities that most people can only dream of."
"And yet here you are," he answered, clearly challenging me. "In the same university, in the same program. So clearly, the system allowed for your success despite your... disadvantages."
"Alright, alright," said the professor, clearly impressed by the intensity of the debate. "This is good energy, but let's keep it focused on the theories, not the persons."
But it was too late. I saw Santiago's eyes, and he saw mine. There was a challenge there, a silent declaration of war.
In that moment, I knew. This would be my rival for the coming years. The representation of all my frustration with the system that always favored people like him.
"Ms. Salvacion," said the professor, "you were making a point about inequality?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, but still not removing my gaze from Santiago. "As I was saying before I was interrupted, markets without regulation inevitably lead to concentration of power and resources."
"And that concentration drives innovation and progress," Santiago immediately responded, not waiting to be called.
"Mr. Alcaraz," said the professor, "please wait your turn."
"Sorry, sir," he answered, but still not removing his gaze from me.
"Continue, Ms. Salvacion," said the professor.
And as I continued with my point, I felt the heat of Santiago's stare on me. This was the beginning of everything—the first round of a battle that would last longer than I thought possible.
Because in that moment, we planted the seed of a rivalry that would take on a life of its own. A rivalry that would become emblematic of our journey at the university.
And I didn't know that someday, this rivalry would become the cause of everything changing.