The sun hung low over the sprawling gardens of Buenos Aires, casting long, dappled shadows through the trellises of climbing roses. Rivadavia sat on a stone bench, the weight of his presidential responsibilities momentarily set aside. In his hand was a ham sandwich, nothing elaborate. He took a thoughtful bite, savoring the simplicity. His eyes wandered across the garden, lingering on the blossoms he had ordered planted years ago, a reflection of his vision for a cultured and enlightened Argentina. Here, in this oasis of tranquility, the debates over federalism and unity seemed a distant murmur. A breeze stirred the leaves, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. He smiled faintly, leaning back against the bench.

If only the nation could grow as harmoniously as this garden... :[

He mused, taking another bite.