The chip glowed dimly under the desk lamp. Not because it was special—it was just a board the size of a cigarette pack—but because Damián looked at it as if it were everything. And in a way, it was.
ENV-01.
Environmental sensor. Capable of measuring temperature, humidity, and CO₂ levels with decent accuracy. It used low-cost components, yes, but the circuit design, firmware architecture, and codebase were all his own. From scratch. No third-party libraries. No copy-pasting.
A working prototype. His own. Real.
"Internal OS: stable."
"Mobile connectivity: synced."
"App linked. Interface approved."
Damián tapped his phone screen.
The app displayed real-time environmental data, with a simple, grayscale interface. No logos. No embellishments. Just the data. No promises he couldn't keep.
There was something beautiful about that coldness.
He lay back for a few seconds. Gaia appeared in his mind like a gentle, almost maternal notification.
"Prototype completed."
"Do you want system validation?"
"No. I already know it works," he thought.
"So you're ready."
"Ready for what?"
Silence for a moment. Then, the answer:
"To show the world who you are."
Damián closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.
He felt a strange mix: fear and confidence, nostalgia and vertigo. He had no qualifications. He had no backing. He only had that chip, his code, and a story that hadn't yet begun.
He sat up. He sat in front of the laptop.
He opened the browser.
He typed in a name that had come to mind days ago.
One that combined the old with the new, his own with what was to come.
hongxa.tech
Open domain.
He bought it.
And he prepared to build the page that would change his life.
The template was basic. A white background, simple typography. No banners, no animations, no exaggerated phrases. Just clarity.
Damián knew nothing about marketing, but he knew what he hated about modern tech sites: the empty promises, the videos with epic music, the stock photos of hands that had never touched a soldering iron. So he did the opposite.
Title: Hongxa Project
Subtitle: Mexican Hardware. Own Design. Open Architecture.
Then, a brief description:
The ENV-01 sensor is a portable environmental module designed for urban settings. It measures temperature, humidity, and carbon dioxide levels in real time. Built with a microarchitecture designed from scratch, without external libraries. Manufactured with components available on the domestic market. Source code released. Compatible with Android.
Further down, three buttons:
[Download Technical Manual]
[Download Source Code]
[Watch Demo Video]
The video had been recorded that same morning. Cell phone camera. A single shot. Him, sitting at the desk, showing the board, explaining how to connect it, what it looks like in the app. His voice trembled at first, but then flowed. He didn't edit out the mistakes. He didn't cut off when he stuttered. It was real. It was him.
At the bottom of the site, a contact form and something even more important:
Developer: Damián García — Juchitán de Zaragoza, Oaxaca, Mexico
Direct contact: hongxatech@protonmail.com
Gaia gently interrupted him:
"Are you sure you want to sign with your real name?"
"Yes."
"Reason?"
Damián hesitated for a second. Then he thought firmly:
"Because if they're going to find me, let them find me."
He saved the site. Reviewed it one more time. Checked the links.
He took a deep breath.
And pressed "Publish."
Outside, it was already night.
The city was visible from the window like a swarm of tired lights.
It took less than ten seconds for the site to go live.
Less than ten seconds to make public what had been his alone.
Damián closed the laptop.
He turned off the light.
He lay back.
He didn't know who would read it.
He didn't know if anyone would even reply.
But for the first time, he was no longer hidden.
The next day, Damián didn't expect much.
He got up early, more out of anxiety than routine. He checked his email. Zero messages. He saw the site. Ten visits. Nothing unusual.
He drank instant coffee. He sat down in front of his laptop. Gaia remained silent, as if she understood that this part of the process was purely human.
Hours passed.
Twelve visits. Fourteen. Eighteen.
One from Monterrey. Another from Bogotá. One from UNAM.
At 11:34, the first email arrived:
Hi, I saw your ENV-01 project. Did you use ESP32? How did you manage the CO₂ module without the Bosch library?
Damián stared at the screen as if it were speaking to him in another language. Not because of the question. But because someone… had actually read it.
He answered calmly, with technical detail, without embellishment.
At 1:17 PM, another one arrived:
I'm working on something similar for my thesis. Can I cite you as the author?
And then, at 3:09 PM:
I'm a high school teacher in Puebla. Would you be up for giving a virtual talk to my students? Even if it's short, it would be amazing.
Damián leaned back in his chair, still staring at the screen.
They weren't hundreds of emails. Not thousands.
But they were real.
Real people. People on the other side of the country reading what he'd written, using what he'd built, asking about something that only existed because he chose to.
He opened the site's dashboard.
More than 300 visits in less than 24 hours.
A new link appeared in the incoming traffic: a tweet.
He searched for it.
An account with few followers had shared its website with a simple phrase:
"A man from Oaxaca is developing environmental sensors with his own architecture. And he's not in Silicon Valley. He's in Juchitán. Watch out."
Comments below.
Some enthusiastic.
Other skeptical.
One sarcastic: "And this guy thinks he's Elon Musk for measuring heat?"
Damián smiled.
Not because of the sarcasm. But because there was discussion. Movement. Noise.
"Initial reaction detected. Signs of moderate impact on networks."
"Do you want to optimize dissemination?" Gaia asked.
"No.
Let it grow as it must."
"Record updated. First cycle of public resonance: completed."
Damián closed his eyes.
And for the first time in his life, someone said his name for what he had done.
Not for what he had been allowed to do.
On Wednesday afternoon, his site's statistics page exploded.
Almost a thousand views in two hours.
Gaia notified him without his having to ask:
"External link detected. Source: YouTube. Channel: 'TecnoLocalMX'."
Damián opened it.
A guy with a calm voice and a plaid shirt explained:
"Today I want to show you something different. A Mexican project by a certain Damián García, from Oaxaca, who designed an environmental sensor without using third-party libraries. According to him, he did it all from scratch. Real? Fake? You be the judge."
The YouTuber connected the prototype. He showed the app. He reviewed the code. Then he looked at the camera.
"If this is true—and it seems to be—we're looking at someone who not only knows how to program… but also thinks differently. And that's worth more than a college paper."
The video had 5,000 views.
In the comments:
—"I built it, it works."
—"Where do I get the parts?"
—"Why aren't you working at Intel?"
—"This smells like marketing."
Damián read them all.
He didn't laugh. He didn't respond.
He just watched.
The next day, he received a message from a small media outlet, Revista Hack Latino:
We want to interview you. We're interested in telling stories of innovation in Spanish.
He accepted.
The interview was by email.
Simple questions: How did you start? What did you study? Where did the idea come from? What's next?
Damián answered honestly. He said he was expelled. That he didn't have a degree. That he learned a lot, but he also unlearned.
The article came out two days later.
"From the South Without Permission: The Creator of the Hongxa Project and the Quiet Revolution of Mexican Hardware."
Gaia reported:
"Dissemination multiplied by 3.2 in the last 48 hours. Global reaction: moderate. Local reaction: increasing.
Initial influence level: established."
But it wasn't all applause.
On a developer forum, someone wrote:
"You can't build a sensor like that without years of industrial work. Either the guy is lying, or he has someone behind him."
Another user responded:
"It's definitely a 'Frankenstein' of stolen code. Time for him to be taken down for plagiarism."
Damián closed the thread.
He already knew that voice.
It was the same one that had expelled him without proof.
Only now… he couldn't silence it.
Because he was out there. In plain sight.
And it wasn't about defending himself anymore.
But about continuing to build until they couldn't ignore him.
The notification arrived on a Monday at noon.
Hi, Damián. We're from the podcast "Código Abierto MX." We'd like to invite you to an interview. We're talking about technology, but more about the people who are doing different things in this country. Are you interested?
Damián read the message four times.
It wasn't a text interview.
Not a cold email.
It was voice. Camera.
Face.
Him.
"Do you want to decline the invitation?" Gaia asked.
Damián hesitated.
"No. I accept."
"Exposure level will increase."
"I'm already exposed," he said quietly, as he answered the email. "Now I want to be seen."
The interview was via video call. No filters. No virtual background. He was in his apartment, with his fan whirring behind him, the lights dim, and cables crisscrossing the table.
The host, a software engineer from Guadalajara, didn't ask soft questions.
—Why didn't you use external libraries?
—Because I didn't want to depend on anyone.
—And why did you open source the code if you did it yourself?
—Because I want others to be able to build without starting from scratch. Like me.
—Does it bother you if people question you for not having a degree?
—No. What would bother me is if they stopped questioning me when I did have one.
The interview lasted forty-two minutes.
It was published that same week.
Within three days, half of Twitter had seen it.
Some made fun of the fan.
Others made fun of his accent.
But many, many, many listened.
And for the first time, they connected the idea of the "Hongxa Project" with a face, a voice, a story.
Damián received messages from Chiapas, Sonora, Costa Rica, Ecuador.
—"Thanks for not hiding."
—"Can I invite you to a class?"
—"My school doesn't teach this, but you did teach me something."
Even one, unexpected, from his own university:
We regret the circumstances. If you decide to appeal your case, we will listen to you.
Damian didn't respond.
He didn't even think about it for long.
He no longer sought to return to where he was expelled.
"Mission accomplished: demonstrate capability outside the system."
"Reward unlocked: Industrial Expansion Module – Level 1."
"Do you wish to review new tasks?"
Damian got up from his chair. He approached the window.
The city continued.
The cars. The horns. The smog.
But in his mind there was no longer any fog.
Only clarity.
"Yes, Gaia. Show me what's next."