The operating room lights flickered softly in the gloom. Dawn was barely peeking over the hills of the Isthmus, and the factory was already alive: lines lit, assembly arms at rest, sensors constantly reading "OK."
Damián watched the main screen while sipping black coffee from a thermos. He was wearing the same denim shirt he'd worn for the last three days. His eyes followed the news with the calm of a sniper.
"Washington imposes 20% tariffs on all technology products from Asia, Europe, and Latin America."
"Intel and Nvidia announce global price increases for chips and GPUs. 'We can't sustain margins with the new tariffs,' says spokesperson."
"Emerging market: domestic companies seek local hardware alternatives."
Gaia projected floating data:
"Projected increase in global microprocessor prices: 27% average."
"Demand for domestic solutions: +42% estimated in 4 months."
"Opportunity detected: strategic level."
Damián didn't need further confirmation.
It was now.
But the system couldn't do everything.
"I need a human structure."
Administration. Finance. Legal. Operations.
"Profile wanted?"
"Someone who already knows me. Who doesn't have to convince me.
Who can tell me I'm crazy and then still sit down and do the math."
"Match with previous contact: Paula Romero."
The interface projected a photo.
Long, dark hair. Clear, steady gaze.
Former college classmate.
Brilliant administrator.
And for over a year, her friend with benefits.
No promises. No complaints. No future… or so they thought.
"Last registered location: Mexico City."
Damián looked around the factory.
Everything was ready. Everything… except the people.
He stood up.
"Prepare the trip."
"Destination: Mexico City.
Reason: Key recruitment."
Damián smiled faintly.
The price war had begun.
And he… was going to find his right-hand man.
The bus stopped at TAPO under a gray city sky, where the smog mingled with the fog. It was midday, but it felt like a morning without coffee.
Damián got off with a backpack on his shoulder and a whole other life in his head. The noise, the honking horn, the tumult of taxis and street vendors immediately shocked his senses.
The capital hadn't changed.
But he had.
He walked to his old apartment in the Portales neighborhood, the place where he'd once lived among notes, dirty clothes, and instant dinners. He let himself in with his old key. Everything was still there: the rusty refrigerator, the wobbly fan, the low mattress, and the crooked chair.
Only now... it wasn't "home" anymore.
It was a testament to a previous version of himself.
He took out his cell phone.
He searched for a number he hadn't dialed in months.
Paula R. – Adm+Finanzas
She typed without embellishment:
"I'm in town. I need to see you. Do you have time tomorrow?"
The response wasn't long in coming.
"Tomorrow at 5. Café Orégano, in Roma.
Be on time."
Direct. As always.
Damián sighed and put the phone on the table.
Gaia projected in her mind:
"Elevated heart rate. Emotional anticipation."
"Don't start," she murmured.
"I won't start. I'll just observe."
Café Orégano had wooden tables, warm lighting, and the smell of real coffee, not capsules. Damián arrived fifteen minutes early, something unusual for him.
Paula entered punctually. She was dressed modestly: black pants, a loose sage-colored blouse, no makeup. Her hair was tied back. She was thinner. But with the same look that cut through excuses.
"Hi," he said, sitting down without ceremony.
"Hi."
They stood for a moment in silence, looking at each other. No one smiled. No one was uncomfortable.
"I thought you were in Oaxaca?"
"I am."
"So, is this serious?"
"This... is more than serious."
Paula ordered a café con leche. Damián, a double americano.
They didn't talk about the past.
There were no "how have you been?"
Just sharp glances and a calmness that wasn't comfortable, but honest.
"What are you doing, Damián?" she finally asked.
He rested his arms on the table.
"I'm building a tech company. I already have the factory. I already have the system. Now I need what I can't program: people."
Paula narrowed her eyes.
"And you're looking for me?"
"I want you to be my vice president. Finance, structure, strategy." You know how to put together what I can only imagine.
She didn't respond immediately.
She took a long sip of her coffee.
Her face didn't change.
"Do you know what you're ordering?"
"I know."
"And you know this isn't just a business?"
"I know that too."
Paula put the cup down on the table.
Her fingers twisted the rim with mathematical precision.
"Then there's something you need to know... before you continue talking."
Damian stared at her.
And he knew, from her tone, that something was about to break.
"I'm pregnant," Paula said bluntly.
The sound of coffee boiling in the machine in the background, the clicking of spoons on other tables, the distant murmur of an indie song—it all continued. Only Damián paused.
He blinked once. He slowly lowered his gaze to his cup.
Paula didn't look down. She didn't explain. She didn't soften.
"How long ago?" he asked, without feigning surprise.
"Almost five months."
The calculation was automatic.
That last weekend together, in his apartment, after Paula had defended her audit case… when they were still nameless close friends.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Paula raised an eyebrow, not in anger. Just honesty.
"Because you weren't my partner.
Because I didn't think you'd come back."
Because I thought if I told you, you'd drop everything... or worse, pretend you wanted to stay.
"And now?"
"Now you're here, offering me an executive position as if the world were aligned. And I... I'm expecting your child."
Damián rested his elbows on the table. He didn't stir. He didn't raise his voice.
He just looked at her.
"And are you okay?"
"Yes. I decided on my own. I didn't ask for help. I wasn't expecting anything.
I just... I didn't want to hide it if you were going to drag me back into your life."
The silence stretched like a clean sheet.
The waitress passed by without interrupting.
Gaia appeared in his mind:
"Emotion detected: expansion of unanticipated personal bond."
"I knew it," Damián murmured, more to himself than to her.
Paula tilted her head.
"What did you know?"
"That it wasn't just sex." That you were smarter than all the men who rejected me for not having an MBA. That when you looked at me without saying anything, you understood what I wasn't even saying.
"I didn't know you were so poetic."
"I'm not. I'm just improvising because I'm scared."
Paula laughed for the first time. Briefly, without sarcasm.
"And now what are you going to do, Damián?"
He held her gaze with unusual calm.
It wasn't that I knew everything.
It was that for the first time, he wanted to know with her.
"I'm going to take charge.
Of you, of our son, of the company.
Not because you asked me to.
But because I want to."
Paula didn't respond immediately. Her eyes moistened, but she didn't cry.
She just lowered her head for a moment.
And she said:
"His name will be Matías."
Damián smiled.
"Perfect."
The coffee had gone cold in both cups.
It didn't matter.
Damián had his arms crossed on the table, but his body leaned slightly forward. His gaze was calm. There were no excuses. No empty promises.
"I want you to be a part of this. Really.
Not just as Matías's mother.
I want you to be the vice president of NovaCore."
Paula snorted, barely. Not mockingly. More like someone wondering if she heard correctly.
"Are you offering me that right after finding out you're going to be a dad?"
"It's not about compensation. It's not a consolation prize.
It's because you're the only person who doesn't see me as a genius or a madman.
And because if we're going to raise someone, I want them to see us creating, not surviving."
Paula leaned back in her chair. She crossed her arms.
He looked at Damián with the surgical intensity he had in college when he deconstructed hollow speeches.
"And what would you do if I said no tomorrow?"
"I'd hire someone else. And I'd keep going."
"But it would hurt. Because I know no one will understand what I'm trying to do better than you."
"What if I say yes... but with conditions?"
"I'm listening."
"I'm not going to be your assistant. You're not going to give me tasks to kill time.
I'm going to be your equal. Even if we argue. Even if you contradict me.
I'm going to set limits. And sometimes I'm going to tell you that you're not feeling well."
"Accepted."
"And I need time to organize my life. I'm not going to drop everything suddenly."
"NovaCore isn't a train that's already started without you. It's a vehicle that needs human hands. We can adjust our pace."
Paula looked at him for a few more seconds. Then she nodded.
"Then yes."
Damián didn't smile immediately. He lowered his head, relieved.
As if a weight had been lifted he didn't know he had.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. The hard part comes later."
"It always comes later."
Paula raised her empty cup. She toasted the air.
"To Matías. To the factory. And to the version of us that we still don't know will work."
Damián raised his cup too.
"Cheers."
The Centro Médico metro platform wasn't particularly crowded, but the atmosphere had that gray air that only Mexico City can produce: cold lights, mechanical noise, poorly posted announcements. People of all kinds, with headphones, backpacks, sweaters tied around their waists.
Paula and Damián walked down the stairs together.
They weren't holding hands.
But they walked as if they shared a language the others didn't speak.
"I'm going to need three weeks," she said. "I have projects in progress, things to deliver, close accounts, talk to my sister."
"I'll wait for you whatever you need."
"Don't wait for me. Start. I'll catch up."
Damián nodded. He opened his cell phone. Gaia projected a discreet interface onto his retina:
"Do you want to start a national recruitment campaign?"
"Yes."
Launch a nationwide call for applications.
No mandatory resume. No filters based on age, school, or marital status.
Let anyone who knows how to do it sign up. We'll filter the rest.
"Open format. Main channel: web + Telegram.
Expanded distribution to technical forums, autonomous universities, maker collectives, and science fairs.
Goal: 50 key candidates for the initial technical core."
Paula looked at him sideways.
"Without a resume?"
"I want people who haven't had the opportunity. Who know more than those with three master's degrees but can't solder a pin."
"And how are you going to filter?"
"With a real task. Each candidate will have to design something functional with a specific challenge. The system will evaluate the logic, not the result."
"Active campaign. First registration in 14 seconds."
"Are you going to build your army from the forgotten corners of the country?" Paula asked, crossing her arms.
"Exactly," Damián replied. "From towns without broadband. From rural universities. From forums where no one reads them." Good people. But invisible.
"Then we're going to need a very good accountant."
"We have one. Terrifying," he joked.
They both laughed. Not as friends. Not as a couple.
As partners rediscovering each other.
The train arrived with its electric roar.
They boarded. They stood facing each other.
"Matías, huh?" Damián said.
"I liked it because it's the name of the town where it all began."
"Also the name of a tropical storm that almost killed me as a child," he added.
"Then it's perfect. Let it come with force."
The city slid by the windows.
Damián took his notebook out of his coat.
He wrote three words, without showing them.
Paula. Matías. NovaCore.
"Founding core defined.
Human instance established.
Start of national talent network: in progress."
And so, without ceremony or fanfare, Mexico's most disruptive company was born not in a boardroom... but in a subway car.