The journey from the noisy and judgmental streets of Intramuros to Bulacan felt like a breath of relief for Elena. Inside the carriage she rode in, she watched the scenery change. From towering stone walls to lush fields and bamboo trees swaying in the wind.
When she arrived in the town, the sunlight was no longer as harsh as the stares of the Señoritas in Manila. The mansion of Don Mateo, a respected Ilustrado, was made of sturdy narra wood and had wide capiz windows. Here, the air smelled of earth and freshly picked mangoes—a familiar scent that reminded Elena of her true home in the future.
"¡Sobrino! ¡Bienvenido a mi humilde morada!" Greeted Don Mateo, an old man whose face carried the marks of wisdom and a sincere smile.
(Nephew! Welcome to my humble home!)
"Gracias, Tío Mateo. Es un honor estar aquí," Elena replied as she performed mano—a gesture natural to her as a Filipina, which surprised yet delighted the old man.
(Thank you, Uncle Mateo. It's an honor to be here.)
While Elena arranged her belongings in the spacious room given to her, she couldn't help but smile. She took out her stainless steel instruments that she had commissioned from a silversmith: scalpels, forceps, and her makeshift stethoscopes.
Don Mateo entered the room and stared at the strange tools.
"Julian, dime la verdad… ¿por qué has dejado el lujo de Madrid por el polvo de Bulacan?" The old man asked, leaning against the doorframe.
(Julian, tell me the truth… why did you leave the luxury of Madrid for the dust of Bulacan?)
Elena paused. She picked up a bottle of tincture and looked at him.
"Tío, la corte está llena de parásitos. Aquí, puedo ser un hombre de ciencia, no solo un adorno de la corona. Quiero abrir una clínica aquí mismo."
(Uncle, the court is full of parasites. Here, I can be a man of science, not just an ornament of the crown. I want to open a clinic right here.)
Don Mateo was impressed.
"Es noble de tu parte. He oído que tus estudios en Austria fueron… revolucionarios. ¿Es cierto que los médicos allá ven cosas que nosotros no?"
(That is noble of you. I heard your studies in Austria were… revolutionary. Is it true that the doctors there see things we cannot?)
Austria? A flash of an idea crossed Elena's mind. Austria—the center of modern medicine in the 19th century.
"Sí, Tío. En Viena y en América, aprendimos sobre los 'microbios'. Diminutos seres invisibles que causan enfermedades," Elena explained, her eyes shining with excitement. "Por eso mis métodos pueden parecer extraños, casi mágicos para algunos, pero son puramente científicos."
(Yes, Uncle. In Vienna and in America, we learned about 'microbes.' Tiny invisible beings that cause disease. That's why my methods may seem strange, almost magical to some, but they are purely scientific.)
Don Mateo held his chin, thoroughly impressed.
"¡Increíble! Un médico educado en Austria y América en nuestro pequeño pueblo. Los frailes no entenderán nada de esto, Julian. Dirán que es brujería o soberbia."
(Incredible! A doctor educated in Austria and America in our little town. The friars won't understand any of this, Julian. They'll say it's witchcraft or arrogance.)
"Que digan lo que quieran, Tío. Mientras mis pacientes vivan, sus palabras no me importan," Elena replied confidently.
(Let them say what they want, Uncle. As long as my patients live, their words mean nothing to me.)
Inside, Elena almost jumped with joy. Jackpot! she thought. Because of this "Austria and America" alibi, she no longer had to explain why she knew about germ theory, sanitization, and complex operations. In the eyes of the people of Bulacan, she was simply a Spanish genius from the West.
As she looked out the window, at farmers walking along the road and children playing under the acacia tree, a new determination rose within her.
She was no longer Julian pretending with the Señoritas. She was now Dr. Julian Alfonso de Alcazar, the "Wizard of Medicine" of Bulacan.
"Tío Mateo," she called the old man. "Mañana, prepararemos el salón bajo. Quiero que el pueblo sepa: el hospital de Julian de Alcazar está abierto."
(Uncle Mateo, tomorrow let us prepare the hall downstairs. I want the town to know: the hospital of Julian Alfonso de Alcazar is open.)
---
The next day, Don Mateo did not wait for Julian's permission. The servants immediately began cleaning the wide caida and the sala mayor of the mansion. A feast would be held—a "Bienvenida" that would serve as the stage for introducing Bulacan's new doctor.
As Julian watched the arrangement of flowers and the bringing out of expensive plates, his uncle approached him holding a glass of sherry.
"Julian, sé que no te gustan las multitudes," the old man began while looking at him intently, "pero esto es necesario. Para construir tu clínica, necesitas el favor de los ricos y el respeto de los peligrosos. Debes saber quiénes son tus aliados y, lo más importante, quiénes son tus enemigos."
(Julian, I know you don't like crowds, but this is necessary. To build your clinic, you need the favor of the rich and the respect of the dangerous. You must know who your allies are, and more importantly, who your enemies are.)
Elena paused while adjusting her cufflinks. She looked at her uncle and slowly smiled, giving a soft clap.
"¡Bravo, Tío! No solo eres un ilustrado, eres un estratega profesional. Me has organizado todo un tablero de ajedrez en una sola noche," Julian praised.
(Bravo, Uncle! You're not only an ilustrado, you're a professional strategist. You've organized an entire chessboard for me in just one night.)
The old man chuckled and bowed playfully.
"I'm just an old man who knows which way the wind blows in this town, nephew. Now prepare yourself. The show will begin soon."
When night fell, Don Mateo's mansion looked like a glowing lantern in the darkness of the province. Carriages arrived carrying members of the local principalia, landowners, and of course the parish priests whose eyes seemed to examine one's very soul.
Julian stepped out of his room wearing a black levita that fit his dignified frame perfectly. The moment he stepped onto the staircase, the whispers stopped.
He was the definition of a respectable Señorito. But unlike in Manila—where he felt like a hunted animal—here in Bulacan he resembled Crisostomo Ibarra: calm, dignified, and every word he spoke carried the weight of wisdom.
"Es un placer conocerle, Don Julian," greeted a local official. "He oído que sus manos hacen milagros."
(It's a pleasure to meet you, Don Julian. I heard your hands perform miracles.)
"No son milagros, caballero. Es ciencia y estudio constante," Julian replied with a modest smile. "Espero que mi presencia aquí sea de utilidad para todos, sin distinción de clase."
(They are not miracles, sir. It is science and constant study. I hope my presence here will be useful to everyone, regardless of class.)
He walked among the crowd, exchanging formalities with people he knew would become future headaches. Every "Buenas noches" and every nod came with sharp observation. He studied the friars watching him suspiciously and the landowners whose only interest was how they could benefit from his connection to Madrid.
Even though inside he wanted to roll his eyes at the overwhelming pretentiousness, he remained composed.
Amid laughter and the clinking of glasses, Julian felt a firm grip on his arm. Don Mateo pulled him toward a group that radiated an unusual aura of power.
"Julian, ven aquí. Quiero presentarte a alguien muy importante," said his uncle.
(Julian, come here. I want to introduce you to someone very important.)
"This is the Gobernadorcillo of Bulacan, Don Fausto Alegre, and his distinguished family."
Don Fausto smiled broadly and extended his hand.
"It is a great honor, Don Julian. The rumors about your clinic have reached my ears, and I must say I'm impressed. Bulacan needs men of science like you. You have my full support."
Julian nodded with dignity.
"I thank you for your generosity, Señor Gobernadorcillo. Health has nothing to do with politics, only with humanity."
After their discussion, Don Fausto introduced his mestiza wife and his two daughters.
Here, Julian stared.
The younger, Señorita Clara, was a typical mestiza—fair-skinned, sharp-nosed, like a porcelain doll from Europe. But the elder, Señorita Feliza, was a star in the darkness. She was purely morena. Her skin the color of sweet coffee, her almond-shaped eyes carrying a beauty no Spanish powder could imitate.
Strange, Julian—or Elena—thought. If the mother is mestiza and the father mestizo, biologically speaking it's rare for a child to come out purely morena unless strong recessive genes are involved… or there's another story.
When the Alegre family moved away to mingle with other guests, Don Mateo nudged Julian.
"Well then, nephew? What do you think of the pearl of Bulacan?" He whispered teasingly. "They say Clara is the brightest diamond of the province. A perfect jewel for a gentleman like you."
Clearly, Julian was being paired with the younger mestiza.
Julian smirked mysteriously and lifted his glass.
"Uncle Mateo, pearls are beautiful, but they become dull with time," he said softly. "I prefer the glow of gold… it is stronger, more real, and shines brighter under the sun."
Don Mateo blinked, not immediately understanding the metaphor. Before he could ask, Julian had already walked away.
But before leaving completely, Julian glanced at Feliza—the morena eldest daughter who had been quietly watching him from afar with innocent yet deep eyes. He gave her a charming, meaningful look, that made her heart race and face red before disappearing into the crowd.
---
The moment the door of his room closed, Elena's knees nearly gave out. She slid down the cool narra wall until she was sitting on the floor. Her heart—or the heart of this body—pounded like an endless drum.
Her eyes widened as she stared into space. The hands that had been calm and dignified earlier were now trembling.
"Oh my gosh… oh my gosh!" She whispered, her voice a hoarse baritone but filled with the hysteria of a woman from 2026. "What was that? What did I just do?!"
She hurried to the mirror and grabbed Julian Alfonso de Alcazar's face, examining every angle.
I'm a woman! My name is Elena Santos! I'm a surgeon, not a playboy! She shouted in her mind. Why did I say that? Why did I look at Feliza like I was going to devour her alive?!
She felt deeply embarrassed.
In thirty years of life as Elena, she had never been aggressive in flirting—especially with another woman. She was straight! She was certain of that! Even when she once imagined what it would be like to be a man, her goal was strength and respect. Not to prey on innocent ladies of the 19th century!
But one thing frightened her even more.
When she delivered the line "I prefer the glow of gold" and gave Feliza that seductive look, she felt like she wasn't the one holding the steering wheel. It was as if another spirit had taken control of her tongue and eyes. A familiar energy—cold, passionate, and full of confidence.
"Julian?" She asked her reflection, trembling. "Are you still there?"
She covered her mouth while gasping. A terrifying theory formed in her medical mind.
What if Julian's soul didn't completely die? What if their consciousnesses merged—and whenever something related to "seduction" or "honor" appears, the original owner of the body awakens again?
"This can't be happening," she muttered, pacing the room. "This is a huge complication. What if he suddenly appears in the middle of surgery? Or what if he suddenly forces me to marry that Feliza because that's his type?!"
She pressed her forehead.
Her plan was just to build a clinic and save lives using 21st-century medicine. Having split personality disorder in the middle of Spanish colonial times was definitely not part of it.
"Relax, Elena. Breathe," she told herself. "Maybe it's just shock. Maybe it's just Julian's residual muscle memory."
But at the back of her mind, she still remembered Feliza's face—the innocent and shy surprise in the girl's eyes.
And what was even more terrifying?
A small part of Elena's heart was telling her that she didn't regret what she did.