The beginning of Karen’s first government couldn’t have been more auspicious. The discovery of the CAF, a revolutionary technology freely and publicly accessible, marked a turning point for the Seven Republics. Its impact was so profound that the scandal starring Rivas and Harrington in Congress was soon relegated to obscurity, much to the dismay of the opposition.
The political movement known as Gabrielism only strengthened President Karen’s actions, spreading with overwhelming force and manpower across the territory. Her husband, Fausto, preferred to remain in the streets, delivering speeches and participating in rallies for the party faithful. His goal was clear: to reinforce the bond between the people and the government, thus ensuring the consolidation of his wife’s power. With a mix of sarcasm and mockery, Harrington often remarked that he heard Gabriel’s name even in his soup.
Meanwhile, Rivas began moving his pieces on the political chessboard. Ambitious and calculating, he aspired to be the next president and sought the endorsement of the RIU party. To this end, he played a classic card: loyalty to the leader. He assumed the role of Karen’s shield, facing all criticisms to preserve the president’s spotless image. Yet, some speculated that Fausto’s renewed presence in the streets was not merely a gesture of support for Karen but also a silent reminder to Rivas: “I’m still here.” Though Victorino was no longer in the picture, former President Joaquín Gabriel Fernández Fausto remained a key player.
Hidalgo, for his part, attempted to emulate the former president’s strategy but failed to achieve the same success. Nevertheless, his efforts projected an image of approachability that contrasted with his reputation for being hot-tempered. This perception softened, at least temporarily, in the public eye.
Despite their ideological differences and evident antagonism, Fausto and Rivas avoided direct confrontation. Rivas did so to avoid giving Fausto more prominence, while the latter sought to avoid creating problems for his wife. However, Rivas knew exactly where to find allies: the military. When Gerald Reccson lost the election, he returned to the barracks with the aim of regaining influence among the armed forces. But Rivas acted first, consolidating his position as a natural leader for the military. Soldiers—men of the world’s oldest and most enduring profession—began to see him as “one of their own.” In contrast, they turned their backs on Reccson. As veteran Ángel Valdez put it: “We put our chips on you, and you lost. Why would we do it again?”
The lesson was clear: no matter how loyal or ideological a leader was, if they couldn’t lead the party to victory, they would be replaced by someone who could. Gerald Reccson ultimately resigned from politics, an elegant euphemism for admitting defeat. He returned to the barracks, took a comfortable post as director, and resigned himself to living on a senior officer’s salary, devoid of greater ambitions.
Rivas, on the other hand, was already seen as leadership material among the military. While not everyone supported him, most did. His task now was to expand his base of followers. Many wondered why Hidalgo hadn’t left the RIU party, given the internal tensions. The answer was simple: prestige. Hidalgo had been a pivotal figure in the creation of the Congress and the abolition of the Directory. His role in these events had made him a “living statesman” in the eyes of many. Though known as a thorn in the side of any president—a mediocre thorn, if I may add—he understood that his place was in power, even if only to remain relevant.
Stubborn but not foolish, Rivas Hidalgo stood firm in the party, aware that his legacy and future depended on it. Meanwhile, internal struggles continued to shape the political landscape, making it clear that in the Seven Republics, power was not won solely at the ballot box but also on the board of intrigue and alliances.
It was Christmas of 4779 when news stunned all the citizens of the Seven Republics. Karen Samanta Freeman was pregnant. Though she had never spoken about it publicly, her husband, Fausto, was euphoric and shouted from their home:
“I’m going to be a father!”
Her neighbor, who had heard the announcement, wasted no time in calling the radio station to share what had happened.
The curious and comedic part was that Karen had only shared that information with her husband over the phone. Yet, while she was in the city of Gran Boquerón, just two hours after the news broke, she suddenly found herself surrounded by journalists who posed a question she never expected to hear.
The situation in Gran Boquerón was unique: they were celebrating the inauguration of a new CAF energy center. Karen had prepared herself to handle the toughest questions from the press, anticipating inquiries about whether this technology could strip citizens of their jobs or even pose health risks. That was why it was all the more shocking when Oliver Harris, a journalist from Eco del Paraguay, asked her something completely unexpected.
"Is it true that you're expecting a baby?"
The question captured everyone’s attention, including the other journalists present. Karen remained silent for a few seconds, processing the question.
"Could you... could you repeat that?" she asked, uncertain.
"Is it true that you're expecting a baby?"
Karen closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Why are you asking that?"
"We’ve received reports from the capital that you’re pregnant," the journalist replied confidently.
Karen stumbled over her words, stammering, until she finally exclaimed with a mix of nervousness and determination:
"That’s all. Thank you for being here, and goodbye."
With those words, Karen walked away, escorted by her bodyguards as the journalists surged forward, clamoring for more details about the revelation that she was soon to become a mother.
The driver would later comment that Karen had been holding her abdomen while singing harmoniously about how she was going to kill her husband for his loose tongue.
On the other side of the republic, Fausto was deeply unsettled. He had truly messed up this time. The radio was abuzz with the joyful and enthusiastic news, and Fausto swallowed hard as he looked out the window. Outside, supporters and the general public had gathered below, chanting cheerfully. He offered them a strained smile before pulling the curtain shut.
Claudia, a family friend and persistent young woman who had long requested to work with him despite his refusals, had recently worn him down with her insistence. Karen hadn’t been thrilled about Claudia at first, but she had quickly changed her mind upon seeing her devotion to the job.
“Is something bothering you?” Claudia asked.
“Yes. In fact, it seems this time, I won’t just be sleeping on the couch. I’ll be in a coffin,” he replied.
“You’re exaggerating, Mr. Fausto. I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
Fausto gave her an awkward smile.
“I’m going to die,” he said.
While Fausto prepared for his imminent funeral, Karen made a key decision: to travel to Bélua to lead a campaign promoting the CAF initiative. This wasn’t just about sharing free technology but demonstrating that her government had a clear and effective plan for the future of the Seven Republics. With CAF, energy poverty could become a thing of the past, bringing stability to a region long plagued by division and historic conflict. Bélua, after all, was still grappling with significant poverty rates.
The next morning, after a series of meetings with her cabinet, Karen boarded the official train bound for the Republic of Bélua. The journey wasn’t merely symbolic; it was a statement of visibility, a way to show that her administration wasn’t just planning from offices but actively engaging with the people, addressing challenges head-on.
The train was a marvel of engineering, powered by the very same CAF technology. As it sped through the arid, reconstructed landscape of a region still echoing with the remnants of past conflicts, Karen gazed out at the horizon with a mix of optimism and melancholy. She wasn’t sure if her proposal would be accepted.
“We’re going to change the future of the Seven Republics,” she whispered to herself as the train carried her forward.
Karen sighed. Governing in an era when every decision was scrutinized to the last detail was no easy task, especially when a transformative initiative like CAF could either unite or divide. It was far too early to tell, but Karen was determined to prove that she could modernize and renew the Seven Republics.
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From the moment Karen arrived in the Republic of Bélua, the energy around her was palpable—not just due to the celebration of her recent victory but because every step she took symbolized change, a promise of a new path for the region. Despite this, the pressure was immense. The CAF technology had sparked hope but also uncertainty. Her mission was not merely to lead but to convince everyone that her intentions were not an imposition but an alliance for the future.
During her first days in Bélua, Karen was particularly concerned about the opinions of those who represented authority in the region: leaders, economists, scientists, and especially Magistrate Darío Carrizo. A central figure in the Republic and a symbol of stability for the JW party, he was known for being open to negotiations. Though Karen’s RIU party had secured 70% support in the national Senate, the situation in Bélua was far more complicated: the Senate there was split evenly—30% RIU, 30% JW, 30% UF, and 10% PM.
Darío Carrizo was crucial to unlocking a pathway for dialogue and action that would allow CAF to be implemented not just as a technological tool but as a social and economic force. Karen couldn’t afford to make mistakes.
With this in mind, she scheduled her first public speech at a formal event in the Palace of Congress, an imposing building that stood as a symbol of history and democracy in Bélua. While the speech would be simultaneously translated, Karen decided she wouldn’t rely solely on that. She wanted her words to be genuine, heartfelt, and clear from the outset. She knew the essence of her message would be lost if she depended entirely on a foreign language.
The crowd was diverse—a mix of community leaders, businesspeople, activists, representatives of the Azulados (a human race distinguished by their blue or light blue skin), and citizens who had followed her arrival closely. As the murmurs rose, the translator prepared to render her words comprehensible to everyone. But then Karen approached the microphone with a calm smile and began to speak.
With a firm yet warm voice, she began to speak in Portuguese. Her first words pierced through the air of anticipation with surprising clarity:
"Meus amigos, estamos aqui hoje porque compartilhamos sonhos, preocupações e esperanças. Não viemos para impor nada, mas para trabalhar juntos, para construir pontes e um futuro melhor para todos nós."
Translation: "My friends, we are here today because we share dreams, concerns, and hopes. We have not come to impose anything, but to work together, to build bridges and a better future for all of us."
The silence was immediate. This was not a dry, rehearsed translation. Her fluency was natural, unencumbered by notes or teleprompters. Karen wasn’t just communicating with them; she was speaking to the very soul of the region, through her gestures, her tone, her voice.
Each word carried symbolic weight: the notion of "sonhos" evoked hope; "preocupações" acknowledged tangible realities; and "pontes" conjured images of unity, collaboration, and a future without barriers. The connection was instantaneous, as Deputy Raúl Espinoza would later remark.
With a measured yet confident rhythm, she continued:
"A energia da CAF não deve ser um desafio, mas uma oportunidade. Uma oportunidade para todos, para cada família, para cada comunidade que espera um futuro com mais luz, mais emprego e mais paz."
Translation: "The energy from CAF should not be a challenge but an opportunity. An opportunity for everyone—for every family, for every community that hopes for a future with more light, more jobs, and more peace."
Karen scanned the crowd as she delivered each phrase, capturing every gaze, every subtle nod of acknowledgment. Her words weren’t merely a speech; they were a declaration of intent, a direct appeal to the deepest hopes of the citizens. The president spoke their language, just as her predecessor once had.
"Não viemos para tirar o que é seu. Viemos para dar. Para que juntos possamos transformar nossos recursos, nossos desafios, em soluções reais para cada casa, para cada pessoa."
Translation:"We have not come to take what is yours. We have come to give. So that together, we can transform our resources, our challenges, into real solutions for every home, for every person."
The emotional connection was immediate. The audience seemed not only to hear her words but to feel them. At that moment, Karen was not just the President of the Seven Republics; she was a beacon of hope for a community long accustomed to uncertainty and isolation, much of it exacerbated by the barrier of language.
Her phrases flowed on:
"Vamos trabalhar para que nossos filhos tenham escolas iluminadas, para que nossas famílias tenham água potável, para que possamos gerar empregos sem medo de perder oportunidades. Acreditamos que podemos fazer isso juntos."
Translation: "Let us work so that our children have schools with light, so that our families have clean water, so that we can create jobs without fear of losing opportunities. We believe we can achieve this together."
There was a language in her voice, in the rhythm of her pauses, in the emphasis of her gestures. Her message was clear: Karen wasn’t there to be distant or wield power from afar. She was there to be an ally.
When she finished, the applause was spontaneous and resounding. Karen knew she had achieved something significant. She hadn’t just delivered her message; she had delivered it in a way that was felt, understood, and shared.
But the real challenge was only beginning. After the ceremony and rounds of applause, Karen was introduced to Magistrate Darío Carrizo, the most powerful and respected figure in Bélua. A stern and pragmatic man, his authority was revered even by those who viewed him as distant. His approval would be crucial to advancing her mission.
The meeting was arranged in an austere office where marble and glass reflected not only power but the weight of responsibility. Darío Carrizo was a tall man with silver-streaked hair and piercing eyes. His movements were deliberate, calculated. As Karen stood before him, she realized this would not be an easy dialogue.
“Madam President, your words were stirring, but here, promises are not enough,” he began, his deep voice as solid as the architecture around them.
“You speak my language,” she replied.
“Of course. I studied law in Cárdenas for six years, so yes. Now, let’s get to the real matter, shall we?” he responded, meeting her gaze directly.
Karen didn’t falter. She held her posture firm and returned his gaze.
“I haven’t come here to make promises. I’ve come to offer solutions,” she said calmly, her words weighted with sincerity. She sought an alliance—not submission, not dominance.
Taking a step forward, she explained her plans: how CAF energy wouldn’t just be a resource but an opportunity to create jobs through factories, infrastructure adaptations, and educational programs to prepare the population for this change. This wasn’t merely about technology; it was about practical, inclusive, and equitable solutions.
“Bélua’s industrial sector is a key point to show the other republics—and the world—what we can achieve with responsible resource use. I propose we work together to ensure CAF energy generates employment, opportunities, and a future for those who still fear change,” she explained.
Carrizo’s expression didn’t change at first. His eyebrows arched slightly, but Karen pressed on:
“I don’t want technology to become a threat. I want it to be a tool—to unite, to grow, to ensure that no worker is left behind. Bélua can lead the way, but we need your support to make it a reality.”
Silence enveloped the room for a moment. Karen waited. She knew this was a pivotal moment: she couldn’t yield to skepticism, nor could she force a decision. What she needed was trust.
Finally, after a few seconds, Darío Carrizo nodded.
“I’m willing to hear more about your plans. If what you say is true, I’ll expect an investment. Then we can work together.”
“You’ll have it,” Karen replied confidently.
Carrizo was momentarily surprised by her response, but then a faint smile crossed his face. Without further delay, he replied, “Good. Then I’m willing to work with you, Madam President.”
Karen smiled triumphantly, feeling as if she had won a battle—not with force, but with words, logic, and the power of a hopeful vision.
The future of Bélua was far from certain, but with the support of figures like Darío Carrizo, the dream of accessible energy and sustainable jobs was beginning to take shape.
As Karen left the meeting, she glanced at the horizon, a wave of relief and confidence washing over her. She knew the road ahead would be long, but every step forward was a step toward fulfilling a shared and equitable future.
With the backing of leaders, citizens, and now the magistrate, Bélua was only the beginning of a greater transformation. Karen was ready to lead that change.
Back in the capital, Karen’s car pulled up in front of her home. Fausto swallowed hard as he watched through the window. He had spent the entire day imagining the possible outcomes of the meeting and “the news.” He feared the worst. Before he could react, Claudia, the house assistant, stepped forward and opened the door.
Karen entered with firm strides, but the moment she saw Fausto, her expression softened into a smile. Without a word, she threw herself into his arms, tears of joy streaming down her face.
“I did it,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Fausto held her tightly, letting out a sigh of relief and emotion.
“Of course you did. You’re the smartest woman I know. I never doubted you, my love.”
Tears of happiness glistened on both their faces. Claudia smiled at the scene and excused herself to prepare dinner, leaving them alone to celebrate.
In their room, Fausto gently caressed Karen’s face, trying to comfort her.
“I’m so glad everything went well,” he said softly.
Karen, however, suddenly changed her demeanor. The sweet smile vanished, replaced by a completely different expression.
“Now take off your clothes,” she ordered without warning.
Fausto frowned, puzzled.
“What? Could you repeat that?”
Karen looked up and flashed a mischievous, almost predatory smile.
“You heard me, Joaquín. Take off your clothes.”
“Joaquín? You always call me Fausto or ‘my love.’ What’s going on?”
Karen crossed her arms impatiently.
“Do you want me to do it for you? Because I don’t mind.”
Fausto sighed, surrendering.
“Alright, alright, but… can I at least know why so suddenly?”
Karen began undressing, her eyes locked on him.
“Wait, wait!” Fausto exclaimed, raising his hands defensively. “I just ate. Maybe we should.”
“Now, Gabriel!” she interrupted, using his middle name. “Or you’re sleeping on the couch again.”
Fausto’s eyes widened.
“But… you’re pregnant. Shouldn’t we be cautious?”
Karen raised an eyebrow, a playful yet mocking smile on her lips.
“Oh, that’s another thing we’re going to talk about, don’t you think, gossip boy?”
Fausto froze, realizing he had just slipped up with his comment. Before he could respond, Karen was already in her underwear.
“Are you going to undress, or do I have to do it for you?” she challenged.
Fausto let out a resigned sigh and began unbuttoning his shirt. But halfway through, Karen pushed him onto the couch with surprising agility.
“Wait! I was doing it,” he protested, trying to sit up.
Karen leaned over him, her gaze intense.
“Too slow. I guess I’ll just have to eat you as you are.”
Fausto stared at her for a moment, confused yet amused by the unexpected turn of events. Then, he burst out laughing, finally relaxing.
“You never change, do you?”
Karen smiled and kissed him gently.
“Why should I, my love?”