Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 53: Reconcile

I was a little tired and had sore joints and muscles from the impromptu exercise routine I did for the cadets. But I swore I could weather it and continue the training in the afternoon.

But the confrontation took me by surprise—and it would seem, so did my health. Just minutes later, Isabela noticed the cold sweat and the reddening of my cheeks. She gauged the temperature of my neck and forehead with the back of her hand and diagnosed me with a slight fever.

Much to my regret, it only made Isabela worry more.

She insisted I stay in bed and rest. A while later, she came back with a bowl of cold water and a clean towel. Very patiently, she sat at the side of my bed and placed the soaked cloth on my forehead. Every five minutes or so, she would re-soak it to keep it cold and effective.

I told her not to fuss, but she wouldn’t listen. She tended to me until the weariness—and the warmth of her attention—sent me into a blissful sleep.

It might’ve been an overreaction, but thanks to her treatment, the fever was gone when I woke up that evening. For good measure, she even served chicken broth for dinner.

"What?" I finally dropped the spoon when she wouldn’t stop looking at me, as if I had some terminal disease.

She pouted, puffing up her cheeks before replying, "Why would they scream at you like that? What happened?"

I chuckled lightly. "They? It was only Don Contreras who screamed at me. And that’s just because he’s old and grumpy."

She gave me an exaggerated tight-lipped smile, clearly unconvinced by my answer. "You’re just as old as Don Fidel, and you never scream at anyone."

"How dare you! He’s ten years older than I am!" I leaned over the table to roughly scramble her hair. "He’s basically dead."

"Basically dead," she repeated, and how my heart lightened to see her finally laugh.

I could have looked at her the whole evening, but I soon heard footsteps on the stairs.

Vicente appeared, followed by Dimalanta. Since last night, they were no longer allowed to sleep in the lucrative guest room upstairs, and starting today, they would no longer share my table unless I specifically requested it. Meals would be provided by the cooks, and they’d now dine below with the servants and the cadets.

"Don Mar—I mean... gobernador... Heneral..." Vicente blurted out as he reached the top of the stairs, then shook his head at himself.

"What is it?" I asked, still smiling.

"There is someone here for you..." Dimalanta answered.

"Can it wait?" I wanted more time with Isabela at the table, and I wasn’t too fond of visitors after what happened earlier.

"Yes... I think he can wait," said Dimalanta.

I proceeded to spend another twenty minutes at the table, making small talk with my daughter, finding more pleasure in it than any other conversation I’d had—well, except for certain moments in Malolos with another woman who also had a piece of my heart.

But eventually, I headed downstairs, bracing myself for another possible confrontation. I tortured myself trying to guess which member of the principalia had come disgruntled.

The one waiting for me, however, was one of the last I expected.

By the entrance of the Casa Real, Nestor Nieva was speaking with the four cadets, now in their house clothes. They spoke without laughter or smiles, in low voices. The moment they noticed me, they stopped, and the cadets slowly moved away from Nieva as I approached.

"How can I help you, young man?" I said, glancing at the folded clothes he carried, along with the pair of boots in his other hand. I realized it was the uniform I had ’issued’ to him the other day.

"I am so... sorry... Heneral, for whatever inconvenience I caused. It wasn’t me... even my lolo didn’t want Don Contreras to confront you, but he did so anyway," Nestor stammered, stumbling over his words, overly eager and clearly nervous. "I hope it didn’t go as bad as I think it did."

"Don’t worry. It didn’t," I assured him with a smile. "Was offering an apology the only reason you came? If it was, then know that you are forgiven and free to be on your way."

He glanced at his friends and nervously gulped. "The thing is... Heneral... I wish to rejoin the training."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you have your grandfather’s blessing?"

He shook his head.

"How about your father and mother?" I asked.

"No... they didn’t want me to be here," he said with a puzzled expression.

"Then why are you here, Nestor?" I asked him.

He looked to his friends again, seemingly asking for help. "Well... because—"

"Because patriotism should be above filial piety... Heneral," Dimalanta proudly interjected, repeating what he had said to Vicente on the train two weeks ago. Nieva looked pleased, smiling widely at the lieutenant’s intervention.

"Wrong," I said matter-of-factly, and it was as if I had cursed the Virgin Mary, judging by their reactions. "You should cherish family above all else. There are thousands who’d rally to the cause—but your parents... your sisters and brothers... you might be the only one they have."

Before continuing, I scanned the faces of the young men intently listening. I lingered a little longer on Dimalanta. "And I hope that the reason you’ll join my army is to fight for those you cherish."

I turned to Nieva again. "Now, if your joining my army will alienate you from your family... then I wonder—for whom do you fight, Nestor?"

The question seemed to have stumped the young man. But as I waited for his answer, I couldn’t ignore the sting of my own hypocrisy. If I truly prioritized Isabela’s well-being above all else, then volunteering myself as general had been the wrong decision.

Yet, I did genuinely believe in the principle that family came first. Still, I struggled to reconcile that belief with my growing sense of nationalism—if the two could even be reconciled. And that night, I wasn’t feeling well enough to wrestle with such heavy thoughts.

I just wanted to avoid further complications by refusing Nieva.

Before he could continue, I took the uniform and boots from his hands. He gave them up reluctantly.

"There’s still time to convince your family, Nestor," I consoled him. "And believe me—still many chances to join my army, should you earn their blessing."