Scene I – The Commonwealth Inauguration
The sun blazed over Manila on November 15, 1935, as tens of thousands of people crowded Luneta. The newly built grandstand was draped with flags — American and Philippine banners side by side, fluttering in the salty breeze.
Rafael stood among the Assembly members in his crisp white barong, tall and broad-shouldered, his youthful sharpness now hardened by years of political struggle. His eyes carried both the fire of María's legacy and the weariness of battles fought in the halls of power.
Across the plaza, Emil adjusted his cream suit, perfectly pressed. His once-boyish frame had grown leaner, more elegant, his hair slicked back with pomade. He watched with an unreadable smile, as if the whole ceremony were a game only he understood.
On stage, Manuel L. Quezon, now President of the Commonwealth, raised his hand as Chief Justice Avanceña swore him in. Cheers thundered, bands played, and a new republic — though still tethered to American oversight — was born.
Rafael whispered to himself, "Lola, the dream moves forward."
Scene II – The Laws of a New Nation
The Assembly convened in the Legislative Building, Intramuros, its marble halls buzzing. Rafael sat proudly at his desk as clerks brought stacks of bills.
Education Act (1936): Expansion of public schools, pushing literacy into the barrios.
Rural Progress Act: Limited reforms for tenant farmers, though watered down by landlords.
The Women's Suffrage Act (1937): The crown jewel.
When the suffrage bill came to debate, Rafael stood. His barong sleeves clung to his arms as sweat poured in the heat.
Manuel L. Quezon: "Gentlemen, this is no madness. This is justice. Women fought beside us for liberty, and now they shall vote beside us for our nation's destiny."
The vote passed narrowly, but it required a plebiscite. (the direct vote of all the members of an electorate on an important public question, such as a change in the constitution.)
On April 30, 1937, more than 400,000 women voted in favor, overwhelming the threshold. For the first time, women became legal participants in the political life of the Philippines.
In the gallery that day, Rafael imagined María smiling.
Scene III – Emil's Shadow Deals
While Rafael rose in public life, Emil thrived in Manila's smoky backrooms.
In Escolta's cafés, he was seen with foreign traders, American businessmen, even Japanese envoys. His lean figure, slick hair, and tailored suits drew respect. His smile was charming, but his eyes carried something colder now — calculation.
One night, in a suite at the Manila Hotel, Emil poured whiskey for a visiting Japanese officer.
EMIL: "You understand," Emil said smoothly, "that the Commonwealth is but a façade. America promises independence, but what then? A weak republic, unable to stand alone."
The Japanese officer nodded. "Japan offers partnership. Greater East Asia will rise. Men like you will lead."
Whitmore, puffing his cigar in the corner, added, "Independence from America may come in name, but true power lies with those who choose their allies wisely."
Scene IV – Tensions in the Air
The late 1930s darkened. Newspapers carried headlines: Japan invades China (1937). Photographs of bombed Shanghai filled Manila's presses.
Rafael toured the provinces, speaking to peasants beneath mango trees, rallying support for reforms. His barong, often damp with sweat, carried the smell of dust and hope.
Emil, meanwhile, expanded his holdings: sugar plantations in Negros, warehouses at the harbor, controlling imports that would be vital in war.
They crossed paths at a gala in Malacañang Palace, chandeliers glowing over diplomats.
Rafael: "The world is burning, Emil. And you laugh in the fire."
Emil smirked, glass in hand. "I do not laugh, cousin. I prepare. When empires shift, only fools cling to sentiment. I choose survival."
Scene V – Quezon's Warnings
In Quezon's private office, Rafael listened as the President paced, his health failing but his fire intact.
QUEZON: "Japan is no ally, Rafael," Quezon growled. "I see their envoys whispering in our halls. I see traitors circling like vultures. We must be ready. Independence in 1946 means nothing if we are invaded before then."
Rafael clenched his fists. "Then we must resist."
Quezon smiled grimly. "You have your grandmother's courage. Remember this, young man: our republic is fragile. Protect it, or it will be stolen."
Scene VI – The Calm Before the Storm
By 1941, the Philippines was prepared for scheduled independence in 1946. Manila gleamed with new buildings: the Legislative Building, the University of the Philippines' stately halls in Diliman, the Manila Hotel's proud silhouette by the bay. Cars shared streets with horse carriages, while radios carried jazz and political debates alike.
But in the distance, the storm brewed.
Ships of the Imperial Japanese Navy moved across the Pacific. Soldiers massed in Formosa.
And in the Vargas estate, Emil received a final letter from Tokyo:
"The hour approaches. Be ready. The Rising Sun will shine upon Manila."
He folded it carefully, his smile widening.
By 1941, the promise of full independence by 1946 hung like a banner across the nation. Manila gleamed with new buildings: the Legislative Assembly, the University of the Philippines' grand halls in Diliman, and the elegant Manila Hotel overlooking the bay.
Rafael often met with the Santiago siblings in Escolta cafés.
Alejandro Santiago, sharp in his cream suit, hair slicked with pomade, always carried the scent of tobacco and foreign whiskey. His smile was warm, but his words hinted at calculation.
"Independence in 1946?" Alejandro scoffed, swirling his drink. "A paper promise. The Americans will not defend us when the Japanese come. Best to prepare new alliances."
Rafael leaned forward, eyes blazing. "So you would sell us before we are even free?"
Alejandro chuckled softly. "Not sell, my friend. Survive. Those who bend with the storm do not break."
Beside them sat Isabella Santiago, her features softer, her eyes firm. In her simple yet elegant dress, she radiated a dignity that turned heads even in the noisy café.
"You both speak of storms," she said, her voice calm but edged with sadness. "But what of the farmers who pay rent with their sweat, only to be robbed by landlords? What of the children who eat salt and rice once a day while men in the Assembly dine on silver plates? And the officials who pocket money meant for schools and hospitals?"
She fixed her gaze on Alejandro. "Tell me, kuya… when the storm comes, will corruption and greed shield us? Or will they sink us faster than foreign bombs ever could?"
Alejandro sighed, shaking his head. "You think with your heart, Isabella. The world does not reward sentiment."
Rafael clenched his fist on the table. "And yet it was the heart of this nation that made us fight Spain. It was hope that made us resist America. Without it, Alejandro, we are nothing but survivors, not a people."
Outside the café, Japanese ships were already cutting across Pacific waters.