In the last forty-eight hours, the geopolitical chessboard demonstrated, once again, that nothing excites it as much as fireworks. Washington acknowledged "millimetric" attacks against three Iranian nuclear complexes; Tehran retaliated with twenty-two missiles that struck northern and central Israel; and the UN Secretary-General called the day a "dangerous turn." At the same time, London, Paris, and Berlin condemned the Iranian reprisal but avoided reproaching the American bombs, perhaps because selective diplomacy has become a sport where indignation is rewarded, but only when it suits the sponsor. The immediate result was a jump in maritime insurance premiums between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean and a global debate that oscillates between alarm and shoulder-shrugging.

The official version coming from the Potomac is a déjà-vu with patriotic percussion; the "defensive" operation sought to halt a stubborn regime and protect a besieged ally. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth appeared before the press with the air of a satisfied insurance salesman, reciting the list of destroyed centrifuges and collapsed tunnels while reminding, without blushing, that it was all "for world peace." The implicit message "we don't want war, but we do want a few preventive bombings" sounds familiar to anyone who remembers Iraq 2003 or Libya 2011.

Why this sudden vehemence from an administration that still suffers from the Kabul hangover and endures unflattering domestic polls? First, because in an election year no resource galvanizes as much as the presidential photograph facing the villain of the moment; cable chains color maps and popularity rises. Second, because the military-industrial machinery needs the conveyor belt to never stop; every missile launched from Israel is replaced by another fresh from a plant in Texas, with the blessing of a Congress that feigns surprise and signs nine-figure contracts. Third, because the narrative of "rescuing democracy" is convenient when the domestic agenda (inflation, migration, shootings) delays in offering good news.

Iran, for its part, inhabits a cruel situation. By firing its missiles it shows determination to its population and avoids the image of weakness that could rekindle internal protests; at the same time, each rocket brings the country closer to an open war that its battered economy could barely withstand. To compensate, Parliament considers withdrawing from the Non-Proliferation Treaty; a threat that seeks to frighten Brussels more than Natanz. Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi promises "eternal consequences" and the Revolutionary Guard enumerates American bases within range of its drones, but behind the scenes, technocrats fear another cycle of sanctions, blackouts, and rationing.

Israel, meanwhile, perfects the art of three-handed chess. It denounces Iranian hostility but externalizes the most visible hammer blows to Washington, reserving its aviation for domestic contingencies and avoiding the photograph of F-35s over Isfahan. The novelty of 2025 lies in dual-use artificial intelligence; algorithms that process satellite images in seconds identify targets with millimetric precision and allow Jerusalem to shrug when cameras point to the Pentagon. The combination of hardware made in USA and Israeli software produces a profitable duo for both lobbies and a moral bill that no one finishes paying.

From here on, three possible scenarios are outlined. The first, contained escalation: Tehran vents its anger through militias in Syria, Iraq, and Yemen, while the United States rations its bombings to avoid completely puncturing the oil barrel and containing the inflation that stalks the Federal Reserve. The second, miscalculation: it's enough for a drone to confuse a freighter in the Strait of Hormuz for NATO to convene an emergency meeting and the price of crude to make Latin American finance ministers tremble. The third, total rupture: Iran definitively abandons the nuclear agreement, the European Union reluctantly applies sanctions, and the Persian Gulf becomes a Russian roulette board with tanker ships as chips.

While headlines focus on missiles, other boards move with the discretion of a valet. Riyadh and Abu Dhabi alternate between relief and panic; a weakened Iran suits them, but no Patriot guarantees one hundred percent safe skies. Beijing, which imports more than three hundred thousand barrels of Iranian crude daily, sends emissaries with silk gloves and open checkbooks to finance the post-war, not out of altruism but to shield its energy Silk Road. Moscow, meanwhile, applauds every flash, distracts Western attention from Ukraine, and fattens the price of Russian gas. In Brussels, the debate is less moral than accounting, how much will electricity cost the European consumer if the war spiral settles in until winter?

Even so, no one is condemned to eternal military return. The American administration, present or future, can still discover that a multilateral pact costs less than a precision missile and produces fewer widows. Iran can conclude that regime survival depends more on breathable GDP than on radioactive showcases, and Israel would do well to remember that no technological superiority substitutes for diplomacy. If the parties decide to ignore these obviousnesses, the rest of the world will continue paying the bill.