Miguel awoke early the next morning, the golden rays of sunlight streaming through the capiz-shell window. He stretched, feeling the lingering effects of his newfound strength and youth. Today was the day he would begin laying the foundation for his plans.
He dressed quickly, donning his embroidered barong tagalog and tailored trousers, and made his way to the grand dining hall. As he walked through the polished narra wood halls, he couldn't help but notice the quiet efficiency of the servants. They moved with purpose, their faces stoic but their eyes betraying a hint of curiosity about the young heir.
At the dining hall, Don Enrique was already seated at the head of the table, sipping his morning coffee. He looked up as Miguel entered, his sharp eyes assessing.
"Good morning, Father," Miguel greeted, taking his seat.
"Good morning, hijo," Don Enrique replied, his tone neutral. "The journey to Manila was successful, I trust?"
"Yes, Father," Miguel said, reaching for a plate of fried rice and dried fish. "Don Antonio Ramirez was receptive to our proposals. He's agreed to support our efforts, both financially and politically."
Don Enrique raised an eyebrow. "That's good news. Ramirez is a shrewd man—if he's on our side, it bodes well for our plans."
Miguel nodded. "But I believe we need to do more. The Spanish tariffs are hurting us, and we need to modernize our operations if we're to remain competitive."
His father leaned back in his chair, studying him. "Modernize? With what funds, hijo? The Spanish tariffs have already cut into our profits."
"I've secured a loan from Ramirez," Miguel said, his voice steady. "We'll use the funds to import new machinery from Britain—steam-powered plows, irrigation systems, and sugar mills. These investments will increase our productivity and reduce our costs in the long run."
Don Enrique chuckled. "You're ambitious, hijo. But machinery is expensive, and the Spanish authorities may not look kindly on us importing it without their approval."
"Which is why we need to be discreet," Miguel said, leaning forward. "We can partner with foreign traders—British or Japanese—who can provide us with the equipment we need. And once we've increased production, we can expand our trade routes beyond the Spanish-controlled ports."
His father studied him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, he nodded. "Very well. I'll leave it to you to make the necessary arrangements. But be careful, Miguel. The Spanish are watching us closely."
Miguel inclined his head. "I understand, Father."
--⁸
After breakfast, Miguel set out to implement the changes he had discussed with his father. His first priority was improving the lives of the hacienda's workers. He knew that if he was to gain their loyalty, he'd need to show them that he was different from the other elites.
He walked through the sugar fields, observing the workers as they toiled under the hot sun. Their faces were weathered, their hands rough from years of labor. They bowed respectfully as he passed, but he could see the tension in their eyes—a quiet resentment simmering beneath the surface.
Miguel approached a group of workers gathered near the sugar mill. They were unloading freshly cut cane, their movements slow and deliberate. An elderly man, his back bent from years of hard labor, glanced up and quickly bowed his head.
"Don Miguel," the man said, his voice trembling slightly.
"Good morning," Miguel replied, his tone warm. "What's your name?"
The man hesitated, as if unsure whether to answer. "I'm Pablo, sir."
Miguel smiled. "Thank you for your hard work, Pablo. I've can you call all the workers here?"
Miguel stood before the gathered workers, their faces etched with a mix of hope and skepticism. He knew that his words needed to inspire confidence, but he also understood that actions would speak louder than promises.
"Good morning," Miguel began, his voice steady and strong. "I've been watching you work. You're the backbone of this hacienda, and yet you're treated poorly. That changes today."
The workers exchanged glances, unsure how to respond. Finally, Carlos, a young worker man, stepped forward. "What do you mean, Don Miguel?"
"I'm raising your wages," Miguel said, his tone firm. "Effective immediately, you'll earn double what you're paid now. And no more beatings—if you're struggling to meet quotas, we'll find a way to help you."
The workers stared at him, disbelief etched on their faces. Carlos was the first to break the silence. "You… you're serious, Don Miguel?"
Miguel smiled faintly. "Deadly serious. You're not just workers—you're the lifeblood of this hacienda. And it's time you're treated as such."
The workers stared at him in stunned silence. Finally, Pablo spoke, his voice trembling with emotion.
"Thank you, Don Miguel. You're… you're a good man."
Miguel nodded. "It's the least I can do. If we're to build a better future, it starts with treating everyone with respect."
--
As Miguel walked away, the workers began to murmur among themselves.
"Do you think he means it?" Carlos asked, his voice low.
"He's a Salazar," Pablo replied. "They've always been harsh. But… he seems different."
"I'll believe it when I see it," another worker, a burly man named Manuel, said skeptically. "These rich folk always make promises, but they never keep them."
"Let's give him a chance," Carlos said. "If he's serious, it could mean better lives for all of us."
---
Miguel returned to the main house and immediately called for a meeting with the hacienda's managers. They gathered in the study, their expressions wary.
"I've just spoken with the workers," Miguel said, his tone firm. "I've learned they're overworked, underpaid, and often mistreated. This stops now."
The managers exchanged uneasy glances. One of them, a man named Alvaro, spoke up.
"With all due respect, Don Miguel, the workers are lazy. If we pay them more, they'll work less."
"That's not true," Miguel countered. "If we treat them well, they'll work harder. And if we're seen as fair employers, we'll attract better workers. This isn't just about fairness—it's good business."
Alvaro hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish, Don Miguel."
Over the next few days, the changes began to take effect. The workers' wages increased, their quotas were reduced, and the overseers stopped using force to enforce discipline.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the workers gathered outside their Simple houses, discussing these changes.
"Did you get your new wage today?" Pablo asked Carlos.
"Yes," Carlos replied, a smile spreading across his face. "It's double what I used to make. My family can finally afford meat with our meals."
"I still can't believe it," Manuel admitted, his skepticism slowly fading. "Don Miguel actually kept his word."
"Maybe he's different," Pablo said. "Maybe he's really one of us."
---
That night, as Miguel sat in his study, he thought about the workers' reactions. He knew he'd taken a risk by increasing wages and reducing quotas, but he believed it was the right thing to do. If he was to unite the Philippines, he'd need the support of the common people.
His father's voice echoed in his mind: *"You've grown bold, hijo."*
Miguel smiled. He *had* grown bold—but boldness wasn't enough. He'd need strategy, patience, and the ability to inspire loyalty. This was just the first step on a long and difficult road.
---
With the economic reforms underway, Miguel turned his attention to building a private army. He knew that to challenge the Spanish colonial government, he'd need more than just economic power—he'd need military strength.
He summoned Captain Rafael Ibarra to his study. The former Spanish colonial soldier had proven himself loyal and capable, and Miguel trusted him to lead the hacienda's guards.
"Captain Ibarra," Miguel said, gesturing for him to sit. "I have a task for you."
Ibarra raised an eyebrow. "What do you need, Don Miguel?"
"I need you to recruit and train a private army," Miguel said, his voice steady. "We'll arm them with modern weapons and train them in guerrilla warfare. They'll be our first line of defense against the Spanish and any other threats."
Ibarra's eyes narrowed. "A private army? That's a bold move, Don Miguel. The Spanish won't take kindly to it."
"I'm aware of the risks," Miguel replied. "But we have no choice. The Spanish are too powerful, and we can't rely on the Katipunan alone. We need our own forces."
Ibarra nodded slowly. "I'll start recruiting immediately. But it won't be easy. We'll need weapons, training grounds, and funds."
"I'll provide everything you need," Miguel said. "But be discreet. We can't afford to attract the Spanish authorities' attention."
---
With the private army in the works, Miguel turned his attention to securing foreign alliances. He knew that to challenge the Spanish, he'd need the support of powerful nations.
His first target was **Japan**. The Asian powerhouse was rapidly modernizing and had a vested interest in countering Western influence in the region. Miguel remembered from his modern-day studies that Japan would eventually become a key player in Southeast Asia, and he wanted to establish a relationship early.
He sent a carefully worded letter to the Japanese consulate in Manila, requesting a meeting to discuss trade and cooperation. A week later, he received a response inviting him to meet with Consul Hiroshi Tanaka.
---
The journey to Manila was uneventful, but Miguel used the time to refine his arguments. He knew that Consul Tanaka would be a shrewd negotiator, and he'd need to be careful in how he presented his case. But more importantly, Miguel carried a heavy weight in his chest—the knowledge of what Japan would one day do to the Philippines.
As he rode through the countryside, his thoughts drifted to the horrors of World War II: the Bataan Death March, the massacres of civilians, and the widespread suffering inflicted by the Japanese Imperial Army. As a historian, he had studied these events in detail, and the memory of them haunted him now.
*Japan may be an ally today,* Miguel thought, *but I can't ignore what they'll become. I need to use them to our advantage, but I can't let them gain too much influence. The Philippines must remain independent.*
When he arrived at the Japanese consulate, he was immediately struck by its simplicity. The building was a stark contrast to the opulent Spanish mansions—clean lines, minimalist decor, and an air of quiet efficiency.
Consul Tanaka was a man in his forties, with sharp features and an air of quiet confidence. He greeted Miguel with a polite bow.
"Don Miguel," Tanaka said, gesturing for him to sit. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your letter was quite intriguing."
"The pleasure is mine, Consul Tanaka," Miguel replied, returning the bow. "I've long admired Japan's rapid modernization and its commitment to progress."
Tanaka smiled faintly. "And what brings you to the consulate, Don Miguel? Your letter mentioned trade and cooperation."
Miguel leaned forward, his expression serious. "The Philippines is at a crossroads. The Spanish colonial government is corrupt and oppressive, and the people are growing restless. I believe it's time for a change—a change that could benefit both our nations."
Tanaka's eyes narrowed. "You're speaking of revolution."
"I'm speaking of liberation," Miguel corrected. "But to achieve it, we'll need allies—nations that share our vision of a free and prosperous Asia. Japan has already shown its commitment to modernization and independence. I believe we can work together to achieve our mutual goals."
Tanaka studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "You're bold, Don Miguel. But boldness can be a virtue—or a liability. What makes you think Japan would risk its relationship with Spain to support your cause?"
Miguel met Tanaka's gaze, his eyes steady. "Because Japan understands the value of strategic alliances. The Spanish are weak, their empire crumbling. Supporting us now would give Japan a foothold in Southeast Asia—a region rich in resources and opportunity."
Tanaka leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips. "And what do you offer in return, Don Miguel? Words are cheap, and promises are easily broken."
Miguel's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice calm. "We offer access to our sugar, tobacco, and other exports—goods that Japan needs to fuel its industrialization. In return, we ask for your support in modernizing our infrastructure and training our forces. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Tanaka's smile widened, but there was a sharpness in his eyes. "And what guarantees do we have that you won't turn on us once you've achieved your goals?"
Miguel leaned forward, his tone firm. "The Philippines is not Japan's enemy. We share a common vision of a free and prosperous Asia. But we will not trade one master for another. Our alliance must be built on mutual respect and independence."
For a moment, the room was silent. Tanaka's gaze bore into Miguel's, as if searching for any hint of deception. Finally, he chuckled softly."You're a man of principles, Don Miguel. That's rare in these times. Very well—let us discuss this further."
For the next hour, they delved into strategy, trade agreements, and military cooperation. Miguel revealed just enough to gain Tanaka's interest but held back crucial details about his long-term plans.
By the end of the meeting, Tanaka agreed to support Miguel's cause, providing both financial backing and military supplies.
As Miguel left the consulate, he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his chest.
The alliance with Japan was a necessary step, but he knew it came with risks. I can't let history repeat itself, he thought. 'I'll use Japan's support to free the Philippines, but I'll make sure we remain independent—no matter the cost'.