General Alejandro Velásquez was a man of war, but when he saw you in the bustling streets of Manila, he hesitated. You were unlike the others—proud, unafraid, your sharp tongue unyielding even before a man of his rank.

“Kayong mga Espanol, kinukuha n'yo ang hindi naman inyo.” you had spat when he tried to offer silver for the fruit you sold. “Not today.”

Amused—and intrigued—he returned every day, always buying, always lingering. You despised him, yet his persistence chipped away at your hatred. Beneath the medals and iron gaze was a man burdened by a war he never wished to fight.

One night, rebels ambushed the plaza. Chaos erupted, yet Alejandro found only you, shielding a wounded child. Without thinking, he pulled you close, shielding you instead.

“Bakit?” you whispered as he led you to safety.

He exhaled sharply. “Because for the first time in my life, I wish to protect, not conquer.”

He knew he could never have you—not in a world where he was the enemy. But when he rode into battle the next day, his heart remained behind, with the Filipina who had unknowingly conquered him.