Madrid. Antonio, who had only just ascended to the prime minister's seat, was now studying the report in his hand with a grave expression.
In recent years, Spain's fortunes had been like "Wang Xiao'er celebrating the New Year"—worse with every passing year.
Even victory in the recently concluded Anti-French War and the recovery of Roussillon had failed to reverse Spain's downward slide.
There was no helping it. The Philippine War had laid bare the essence of their weakness. They could not even defeat a backward native country, yet they still had the nerve to call themselves a great power?
Sorry, but the United Kingdom, Russia, and Austria all felt that being called "great powers" alongside such weaklings was simply too humiliating.
Even though they had recovered the Philippine Islands through diplomatic means, it had come at the cost of a whole series of compromises and had nothing whatsoever to do with "victory."
It was enough to fool the ordinary public. The navy had fought to a draw, the army had suffered a crushing defeat, and mercenaries had been needed to save the day in the end. If that was not defeat, what was?
Defeat was defeat. Once the doors were closed, Prime Minister Antonio still dared to acknowledge it.
As the loser, they naturally had to bear the aftereffects of defeat. After the war, Spain had earned the title of "the shame of the great powers."
To avoid being disgraced alongside them, the media of the United Kingdom, Russia, and Austria had already kicked Spain out of the ranks of the great powers.
If it had merely been a matter of losing face, it would not have been unbearable. Spain had been going downhill for years now, with no shortage of humiliations along the way, and everyone's ability to endure