In the brutal, high-stakes theater of Philippine politics, there are no permanent allies, only permanent interests. The “UniTeam,” the seemingly indomitable political alliance that brought Ferdinand Marcos Jr. to the presidency and Sara Duterte to the vice presidency, was long celebrated as a masterstroke of political pragmatism. It was a marriage of convenience between two of the nation’s most powerful dynasties, a non-aggression pact that united the “Solid North” with the “Solid South.” But as any seasoned observer knows, such alliances are built on a fragile truce.

Today, that truce is not just broken; it is shattered. The public spats, the budget cuts, the proxy wars in Congress, and the deafening silence between the two camps have all been a prelude to this moment. The “UniTeam” is dead. And now, accordingto rising political chatter, the Marcos administration is preparing to load its “huling bala” or “last bullet”—a final, decisive move aimed directly at the one thing the Duterte camp has feared above all else.

This “kinatatakutang mangyari,” or the “dreaded event,” is the great, unspoken shadow that has loomed over the Duterte family since former President Rodrigo Duterte stepped down from power: a full-blown investigation by the International Criminal Court (ICC).

For years, the Dutertes have been haunted by the specter of The Hague. The ICC’s investigation into the thousands of deaths associated with the bloody “war on drugs” represents a direct, existential threat to the former president’s legacy and, potentially, his freedom. When the “UniTeam” was formed, it was widely understood to be a two-way shield. The Marcoses would gain the Dutertes’ massive, populist voter base. In exchange, the Dutertes would gain the institutional protection of the state, a legal and diplomatic shield to keep the ICC at bay.

For the first year of the Marcos presidency, that shield held. The administration’s official stance was one of non-cooperation, echoing the Duterte-era arguments about national sovereignty and the supposed functionality of the local justice system. The message to the ICC was clear: You are not welcome here.

But in politics, a year is an eternity. The “frenemy” relationship has collapsed into an open, albeit undeclared, cold war. And with that collapse, the administration’s “shield” has begun to look less like a fortress and more like Swiss cheese.

This is the political calculus that has insiders buzzing. The Marcos administration, finding itself in a political knife-fight with its own vice president and her powerful father, is now reportedly preparing to deploy its “last bullet.” But this bullet is not a declaration of war, an impeachment, or a direct legal assault. It is something far more subtle, and far more terrifying: a strategic, calculated withdrawal of that very shield.

The “last bullet” is not an action, but a permission. It is the administration’s pivot from active obstruction to passive, or even cooperative, acceptance of the ICC’s mandate.

We have already seen the first tremors of this earthquake. The rhetoric from the President and his top legal minds has softened. Where there was once firm rejection, there is now ambiguity. Talk of “studying” the possibility of rejoining the Rome Statute, whispers of “discussions” about the ICC’s jurisdiction, and the conspicuous failure to launch a full-throated defense of the former president—all of it points to a tectonic shift.

The “Sila Pala” (“So it’s them”) of the source’s question refers to the people who will be the agents of this new policy. This “last bullet” is a multi-pronged weapon. The “they” are the key figures in the Department of Justice, the Solicitor General’s office, and the Department of Foreign Affairs who are now, presumably, being given new marching orders. These are the individuals who, rather than fighting the ICC’s requests for information, may be instructed to simply… comply.

Imagine the scenario that the Dutertes fear most: an ICC warrant of arrest is issued for Rodrigo Duterte. In the old “UniTeam” dynamic, the Philippine National Police (PNP) and the full force of the executive branch would be ordered to “ignore” or “resist” it. But in this new dynamic, what happens?

The “last bullet” is the Marcos administration’s power to simply say, “The PNP will follow its international legal obligations.” It is the power to instruct the Bureau of Immigration to not obstruct the entry of ICC investigators. It is the power to allow the Department of Justice to share its (supposedly) “real” drug war files with an outside body.

This is a political masterstroke for the Marcos camp, a way to solve their most significant political problem without getting their hands dirty. By simply stepping aside, the administration accomplishes two strategic goals.

First, it neutralizes its most potent political rival. The Duterte camp, particularly with Sara Duterte as a clear frontrunner for the 2028 presidential election, poses a direct threat. By allowing the ICC investigation to proceed, the administration keeps its primary rival bogged down in a catastrophic legal and public relations battle. The Dutertes will be forced to spend all their political capital, time, and resources defending the patriarch, not building a new campaign. It effectively clips their wings.

Second, it allows President Marcos Jr. to reposition himself and the Philippines on the global stage. The “war on drugs” made the Philippines a pariah state in the eyes of many Western democracies and human rights organizations. By pivoting away from the hardline Duterte stance, Marcos curries favor with the United States, the European Union, and the United Nations. He signals a “return to normalcy,” a respect for international law, and a break from the populist authoritarianism of his predecessor. It is a “house-cleaning” that makes him look like a mature, cooperative statesman, all while conveniently disposing of his main domestic threat.

The “fear” is that the “last bullet” has already been fired. The administration is no longer taking calls from the Duterte camp. The shield is down. The political operators, the lawyers, and the cabinet secretaries who were once tasked with protecting the “UniTeam” are now the very people tasked with executing this quiet, devastating pivot.

The irony is thick. Rodrigo Duterte, who ruled with an iron fist and a profound disdain for international law, is now facing a reckoning that is only possible because his chosen successor is allowing it. He is cornered, not by his old “yellow” enemies, but by his “ally.”

This is the final, brutal act of the “UniTeam” saga. The “last bullet” is not a person. It is the realization, dawning too late on the Duterte camp, that the alliance was a house of cards. The “dreaded event” is no longer a question of “if,” but “when,” and the administration that once offered protection is now simply holding the door open for the investigators to come inside.