Richard Gomez had been born in the Philippines, and from the moment he could understand words, he had heard the same rotten lies from the mouths of politicians. They promised change. They promised progress. They promised hope. And every single time, they betrayed those promises.
The Philippines was not poor because its people lacked talent. Filipinos were brilliant, hardworking, and resilient. It was not poor because of resources either. The nation was blessed with fertile land, rich seas, and minerals that foreigners coveted. No, the Philippines was poor because it was chained by parasites in power. Thieves in barongs and suits who devoured everything and gave nothing back.
Corruption was not a disease eating the system. It was the system.
Every election was the same disgusting circus. Politicians buying votes with dirty money and cheap giveaways. Bags of rice, a few cans of sardines, envelopes stuffed with crumpled bills. And the masses, desperate to feed their families, had no choice but to take them. Once elected, these vultures bled the country dry. Projects were padded with ridiculous costs, billions vanished into offshore accounts, and whatever scraps remained were used for useless ribbon-cutting ceremonies.
Roads that should have been finished in a year took ten, always "under construction," budgets swallowed by kickbacks. Hospitals were starved of supplies, forcing poor patients to die untreated, while those in power flaunted luxury cars, designer clothes, and foreign vacations. Public school students shared tattered books and crowded classrooms, while the children of senators and dynasties studied comfortably abroad, insulated from the suffering their parents caused.
Everyone knew. The entire country knew. But what could they do? Anyone who dared speak was mocked, threatened, or silenced.
And as if the corruption wasn't enough, the people themselves were turned into weapons against each other. Political cults rose, worshipping their chosen politician like he was a savior. These blind, fanatical followers defended every theft, every scandal, every abuse. It didn't matter how much evidence piled up, how blatant the plunder was. It was blind loyalty.
Then came the troll armies, the hired scum of the digital age. Thousands of fake accounts swarming like cockroaches, spreading lies, rewriting history, harassing and threatening anyone who dared to resist. They turned truth into noise, drowned out facts with propaganda, and poisoned social media until people no longer knew what was real. Citizens became too afraid to speak, too tired to fight, too divided to unite.
It wasn't just the leaders who betrayed the nation. It was the brainwashing of the people themselves. A country so distracted, so divided, it could not rise as one.
Richard had spent his life building things—bridges, businesses, opportunities. He wanted to help his country progress. But at every turn he was stopped unless he paid a bribe. Every honest project was buried beneath red tape unless he greased the hands of the powerful. He refused. He would not become like them. And so he watched corrupt cowards succeed while honest men were crushed.
This wasn't incompetence. This wasn't failure. It was treason.
The dynasties who ruled treated the Philippines as their personal treasure chest. They sold contracts to the highest bidder, pocketed foreign aid, and let their people rot. They stood on podiums wrapped in the flag, spitting empty slogans, yet had no love for the nation at all. Their loyalty was not to the country—but to their wallets.
And the most unforgivable part? The people had been trained to accept it. They cheered celebrities turned lawmakers, laughed off corruption scandals, and shrugged as if nothing could ever change. Survival had become their only pride, not progress. A nation beaten so many times it had stopped believing in its own strength.
Richard's blood boiled every time he thought of it. He hated the politicians. He hated the dynasties. He hated the trolls. And most of all, he hated the cult-like followers who defended their masters while their fellow countrymen starved.
The Philippines could have been great. It could have been powerful. But it was kept on its knees by traitors in power and fools who worshipped them.
Richard reached his breaking point.
He had the evidence. He had the documents that proved it all—stolen budgets, inflated contracts, collusion between dynasties and businessmen. He went public. He exposed them. He shouted the truth.
He thought the truth would finally set his people free.
But truth was dangerous when it threatened those at the top.
They came for him at night. A black car with tinted windows. Men who didn't speak a word.
A spray of gunfire. His body hit the pavement, blood pooling on the cracked concrete of a country he loved but could not save.
As the darkness swallowed him, his last thoughts were filled with fury: So this is how it ends. Not with change. Not with victory. But with another corpse added to the silence of a nation that forgot how to fight.
"This is ridiculous!" his soul roared in the void. "This is so fucking ridiculous! I can't accept this! I can't fucking accept this! If only I had another chance… If only I could save this country from degeneracy, I would take it!"
Darkness surrounded him. No heaven, no hell, just emptiness.
Then—a light appeared.
He reached for it, clawing desperately toward that single spark of hope.
And suddenly, he heard voices.
"It's a boy, Doña! Congratulations, it's a boy!"
Another voice, soft, trembling with joy, replied: "Thank God… thank you…"
His eyes opened—not Richard's eyes anymore, but a newborn's. His body was weak, fragile, useless. His cry was the cry of an infant.
He wasn't Richard Gomez anymore.
He was someone else.
The room was dim, lit only by oil lamps. The walls were made of stone and wood, nothing like the sterile hospitals he remembered. The people around him wore old-fashioned clothes, speaking in Spanish and Tagalog.
He was handed carefully to a woman—the mother who clutched him with love.
"My son…" she whispered softly. "I shall name you Andres…Andres Novales."
Richard realized the truth. He had been reborn in the past
And this time, he would not let his nation fall.
This was his second life. His second chance.
As his tiny fists clenched, his soul made a vow.
This time, he would not let history repeat itself.
This time, he would not allow his homeland to rot.
This time, he would carve a new destiny.
One that would make his country a superpower.
And as if that was enough, an interface appeared, floating before him.
[You have been blessed by the Goddess of Fate. May you succeed in your endeavour.]