CHAPTER 186: PERMISSION

September 25, 2029

East Avenue, Quezon City

9:12 AM

Timothy stepped out of the TG Atlas and closed the door quietly. No press van followed him. No camera crew trailed behind. Just him, Hana, and two staff carrying documents. The LTFRB building sat ahead—concrete façade, peeling paint, tinted windows that didn’t hide the fluorescent lights inside.

A small crowd gathered near the entrance. Not large. Maybe fifty people. Enough to make noise if they wanted to.

Some held placards:

"Electric Buses Will Kill Drivers"

"Modernization Is Just Privatization"

"No to Corporate Control of Public Transport"

A few recognized Timothy. Some glared. Some simply watched.

Hana stepped closer. "We expected this."

"Normal," Timothy said.

They walked toward the entrance. One protester raised his voice.

"Sir Guerrero! How much will you charge the public? Will this remove jobs?"

Timothy didn’t answer. Security guided them through the doors.

Inside, the hall smelled like old documents and air-conditioning that had worked too long without servicing. A guard pointed them toward the second floor.

"Conference Room A, sir."

They walked past cubicles stuffed with paper files, radios crackling in the background, clerks moving stamped folders from one desk to another. LTFRB’s machinery. Slow, procedural, essential.

At the end of the hallway, the conference room door stood open. Inside, the commissioners were already seated.

Commissioner Gatchalian.

Commissioner Yoro.

Commissioner Hernandez.

No smiles. Just polite neutrality.

"Mr. Guerrero," Gatchalian said, standing halfway before deciding not to complete the gesture. "Please take a seat."

Timothy sat. Hana placed the tablet beside him, but didn’t turn it on yet.

The room was plain. Long table. Old-style aircon in the corner. A single Philippine flag behind the commissioners. No theatrics.

"Let’s begin," Gatchalian said. "Your proposal has reached the department. Electric buses under pilot agreements with four NCR cities. Before anything else, we must clarify jurisdiction."

"No problem," Timothy said.

Gatchalian tapped the folder in front of him.

"Your buses are electric. Fine. But electric vehicles fall under both DOE and DOTR oversight. That means you need certification from both. Have you secured DOE conformity?"

"Already processed," Timothy said. "Signed last Monday."

Gatchalian nodded once.

"And DOTR?"

"Pending," Timothy said. "Secretary Valdez wants to see the prototype in person."

Commissioner Yoro leaned forward.

"Let’s get to the core issue," she said. "Legally, a vehicle is a vehicle only if it meets safety, roadworthiness, and operator compliance standards. Electric buses are not yet part of existing public utility classifications."

"That’s why we’re here," Timothy said. "We want classification. We want to follow procedure."

"Procedure takes time," Yoro reminded.

"I’m patient," Timothy said. "But the cities aren’t."

Hernandez finally spoke, voice flat.

"You’re offering pilot units to the cities for free. That alone creates suspicion. Why no procurement? Why no bidding?"

Timothy kept his expression neutral.

"Because this phase is R&D," he said. "We can’t sell a unit we haven’t tested on real routes. The cities provide real-world data. That’s all."

Hernandez tapped a pen.

"And when the pilot ends? You’ll propose citywide replacements?"

"If the data supports it," Timothy said.

Yoro sat back.

"Transport groups believe otherwise. They think you want to replace diesel fleets with a private monopoly."

"I don’t," Timothy said plainly. "This isn’t a takeover. It’s modernization. Drivers keep their jobs. Operators can be part of the transition. This isn’t the autonomous phase. Not yet."

Gatchalian looked unconvinced.

"That’s where our concern lies," he said. "We heard you plan autonomous vehicles."

"Not public transport," Timothy said. "Not yet. The bus platform is fully driver-operated. Nothing hidden."

Yoro studied him quietly.

"You’re being straightforward," she said. "But your scale isn’t small. You’re entering multiple cities within weeks. That’s unprecedented."

"Transport needs urgency," Timothy replied.

"And regulation needs caution," Hernandez countered.

Timothy didn’t look away. "Both can exist."

A staff member placed a stack of documents on the commissioners’ side. The mayor of Quezon City had endorsed the pilot. So had Pasig. Mandaluyong. Makati. Four signatures. Four seals. Four commitments.

Gatchalian skimmed the documents.

"These cities trust you," he said. "But trust from LGUs doesn’t override national law."

"I’m not asking you to ignore the law," Timothy said. "I’m asking for classification so we can operate legally while collecting pilot data."

Hernandez flipped through the attachments.

"Unit specifications," he said. "Battery specs. Weight. Turning radius. Safety systems. You included maintenance cycle charts."

He paused.

"No company has ever submitted this much detail voluntarily."

"Because no company has ever built something specifically for Manila," Timothy replied.

The commissioners glanced at each other briefly.

Then Gatchalian asked the question Timothy had expected from the beginning.

"What does TG Motors gain from this?"

Timothy didn’t rehearse the answer. He spoke plainly.

"A functioning transport ecosystem."

"That benefits the public," Yoro said.

"That benefits everyone," Timothy corrected.

He continued before they could interrupt.

"Right now, Metro Manila relies on fragmented systems—private buses operating on old models, diesel fleets burning fuel inefficiently, public frustration rising every year. If no one steps in, nothing changes."

Gatchalian narrowed his eyes.

"And you believe you’re the one who should step in."

"I believe someone must," Timothy said. "And I have the resources, engineering, and logistics to do it without asking the government for money."

Silence again.

This time, longer.

The commissioners weren’t adversaries. They were realists. They understood risk. They understood responsibility.

Finally, Yoro folded her hands.

"We are not against modernization," she said. "We’re against unregulated modernization."

"Then regulate us," Timothy said. "Tell us what you need. Data logs, safety testing, driver certification, environmental compliance. We’ll meet them."

Hernandez leaned back, studying him.

"Most companies come here asking for shortcuts," he said. "You’re asking for the long route."

"If the long route makes the system stable, then that’s the route we take."

The commissioners exchanged looks.

Gatchalian closed the folder.

"Mr. Guerrero," he said, "classification approval is not granted today. We will review your documents. We will consult with DOTR. We will hold internal technical meetings."

"I understand," Timothy said.

"But," Gatchalian added, "your proposal is viable. More viable than any we’ve seen in years."

Yoro nodded.

"You’ll receive an official notice within two weeks," she said. "In the meantime, do not deploy the buses."

"Not without clearance," Timothy said.

"Good."

Hernandez stood.

"One more thing," he said. "Expect resistance. Unions. Operators. Politicians. They will accuse you of everything imaginable."

"I already expect it," Timothy said.

"Good," Hernandez replied. "Because change that matters never arrives quietly."

The meeting adjourned.

Timothy and Hana stepped out of the room. The hallway felt the same—fluorescent lights, paper stacks, murmured conversations. Nothing visibly changed.

But something had shifted.

Outside the building, the protest crowd had thinned. A few approached as Timothy exited.

"Sir! Are you replacing us?"

Timothy met the man’s eyes.

"No," he said. "We’re trying to make the roads safer—for everyone."

No slogan. No speech. He didn’t stay long.

Inside the car, Hana exhaled deeply.

"That went better than expected," she said.

"It went the way it needed to," Timothy replied.

He leaned his head back for a moment, eyes half closed.

"We’re moving," he said quietly. "Slowly. But we’re moving."

Hana checked the time.

"So what now?"

Timothy opened his eyes.

"Now," he said, "we prepare for the next fight."