Reincarnated: Vive La France-Chapter 299: Our struggle is a whisper in a storm.

The morning after the Lithuanian response was sent, the streets of Kaunas were quieter than usual.

The decision had been made, and now came the part no one spoke of living with it.

The press release was brief and dry, sent out by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

"Lithuania will resume diplomatic contact with the Republic of Poland. This step reflects Lithuania’s enduring commitment to regional peace and international cooperation."

No mention of Vilnius.

No mention of the ultimatum.

But no one was fooled.

In the hallway outside the president’s office, Minister of Education Juozas Antanaitis stood by the window, staring out at the courtyard.

A secretary walked past and offered a quiet "good morning," but he didn’t answer.

When President Smetona emerged from his office a few minutes later, he paused next to him.

"You don’t agree," Smetona said simply.

"I don’t accept," Antanaitis replied.

"That’s different."

The president waited.

Antanaitis finally turned to him. "I teach students every year that Vilnius is our capital. I say it with pride. And now I must keep saying it while pretending none of this happened."

"You must say it louder," Smetona replied. "Because now they’ll doubt it."

In Warsaw, the response was met with mild satisfaction.

Foreign Minister Beck received confirmation midmorning.

He handed the cable to his secretary without looking up from his tea. "They blinked."

His aide asked cautiously, "Will there be a public statement?"

"In a few days. Let it sit. No need to humiliate them."

Another aide entered with a folder. "Military readiness has been rolled back. All units ordered to stand down as of noon today."

Beck gave a satisfied nod. "Good. This didn’t need to be a war. Just a reminder."

Back in Kaunas, the cabinet met one final time that week.

There was no gloating.

No debate.

Just the aftermath.

Defense Minister Raštikis gave the only report of substance: "We are watching troop activity on the other side of the border. They are stepping back. No incursion. No new fortifications. They made their point."

"Did we?" asked Yčas.

President Smetona answered that one himself. "We survived. That is a point."

Urbšys looked around the room. "The world won’t notice this for long. Spain burns. Germany consolidates. USSR rules over Estonia. The Japanese strangle Shanghai. Our struggle is a whisper in a storm."

"Still," said Antanaitis bitterly, "it was a scream in here."

The ministers filed out, but Antanaitis lingered again.

"You chose the least bad option," he said quietly to Smetona. "But it still feels like losing something we hadn’t yet buried."

Smetona looked down. "Because we never mourned it properly."

Elsewhere in the city, the streets went on as normal trams rattling by, children walking to school in long coats, flower stalls pushing their luck against the cold.

But the undercurrent of the day had changed.

In the Lithuanian Military Academy, a lecturer removed a map from the classroom wall.

It had shown pre-1920 borders.

He replaced it without a word.

The cadets said nothing.

In the Department of History at the university, an assistant noticed the change in the syllabus fewer references to Vilnius, more to Kaunas.

She asked her supervisor, "Are we rewriting it?"

"No," he replied. "We’re folding it. Quietly."

In a small printing press along Nemunas Street, a newspaper editor examined his headline for the evening edition.

"NORMALIZATION WITH POLAND BEGINS."

He stared at the page for several minutes.

Then he changed the headline to something shorter.

"TIES RESUMED."

It felt cleaner.

Less like swallowing glass.

At home, Juozas Urbšys removed his overcoat, sat at the kitchen table, and poured himself a glass of tea.

His wife placed a plate of cold sausage beside him.

He took a sip, then finally said, "They didn’t want war. Only recognition."

She looked at him. "And you gave it to them."

He didn’t answer right away.

"It won’t erase what happened," he said. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

"No," she replied. "But it’ll teach our children to forget."

At a school in Kaunas, a teacher stood before her fourth-year students with a geography book open.

One boy raised his hand.

"Is Vilnius still our capital?"

She hesitated.

"It is... a complicated situation," she said gently.

Another boy whispered, "My grandfather fought for Vilnius. He said we would get it back."

She nodded slowly. "Some things live longer in memory than on paper."

That evening, a quiet ceremony took place at the Foreign Ministry.

The Lithuanian flag, raised just after the declaration of independence in 1918, was lowered slightly just a few centimeters.

No one spoke.

A guard noticed and saluted anyway.

In the corner, a young clerk wiped her eyes with her sleeve, then folded papers into their archival boxes.

She paused over one letter from 1923 a memorandum refusing Poland’s first proposal to normalize relations.

She whispered, "We said no, once."

A colleague standing nearby muttered, "We had more friends back then."

In Warsaw, the reaction was smoother.

Newspapers ran short columns, congratulating the government on the diplomatic success.

Editorials praised Polish resolve and restraint.

Inside the Polish General Staff building, a junior colonel asked, "Will they ever forget?"

Beck, passing by, answered the question himself.

"No. But they’ll learn to stop saying it out loud."

That night, President Smetona sat alone in his office.

The lamps glowed low.

Snow had begun to fall again outside.

He took out a drawer and removed a faded black-and-white photo a picture of Vilnius from 1919.

The old cathedral square.

A crowd waving flags.

He was in the corner, much younger, in a long coat and hard eyes.

He stared at it for a long while.

Then he put it away and reached for his pen.

He began drafting a speech to be delivered the following week.

"We must remember not only what was taken but what we still have. Our country lives. Our identity remains. The world may forget us. We must not forget ourselves."

As he paused to find the next sentence, a knock came at the door.

It was a staffer, holding a newspaper from Warsaw.

The front page headline read.

"POLAND AND LITHUANIA: A NEW Chapter"

Smetona stared at it for a moment.

Then he set it down, unopened.

Outside, the snow thickened.

It covered the rooftops, the streets, the worn-out flagpoles.

But not the memory.

Never the memory.