Blackstone Code

“You’ve been quite active lately.”

Inside the embassy, Mr. Truman looked at Lynch—dressed like a nobleman—and couldn’t help but tease him. “Even back in the Federation, newspapers frequently report on you. People are fascinated by everything you’ve been involved in.”

As a Gephra-born nobleman holding federal citizenship, Lynch was one of the most talked-about figures in the Federation—second only to the presidential election.

Had he come from a prestigious background—say, a descendant of the Aginel family or related to Mr. Wadrick—people wouldn’t pay him this much attention.

In the Federation, a place where capital routinely creates miracles, the public had grown numb to such feats. Stories like someone getting into top universities for culinary talent or a beautiful singing voice no longer stirred much excitement.

If someone truly believed a student was admitted to the best universities just for knowing how to cook a steak, they were a fool—though, at first, many did believe it.

University interviews were a mysterious process. Exam scores meant little; interviews mattered most. Showing off your talents and well-prepared recommendation letters was the real path in.

Lynch had none of that. He wasn’t the child of a tycoon or a political heavyweight. He was the son of a worker—just like most people—who finished high school and then entered society, tossed about by its waves.

So the more successful he became, the more attention he drew. People weren’t just admiring or envious—they looked to him as proof that society wasn’t as bleak as it seemed.

Look!

Here’s one of our own, and he’s doing just fine!

The federal government helped promote this narrative. They ensured his story stayed at the top of news rankings, always a hot topic.

The government and capitalists understood that endless exploitation wouldn’t work forever.

They had to squeeze people’s value in a scientific way to sustain it.

Give people hope. Give them a role model. Give them motivation. Then fasten the collar of social insurance and other illusions of future prosperity tightly around their necks.

That way, people wouldn’t rise up to fight for their freedom or rights. They’d obediently labor like beasts in lightless mills.

Lynch was that seasoning. At the very least, he showed the underclass: there’s still hope.

To Truman’s teasing, Lynch simply smiled. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

He was mildly surprised when he heard Mr. Truman himself was leading the delegation to Gephra.

After all, the presidential election was approaching. Truman should’ve been busy with campaign work at headquarters, not flying overseas to negotiate international partnerships.

Truman instantly picked up on what Lynch was implying and smirked. “The President hired… that team. They don’t need me over there right now.”

The team he referred to was one of Eminence’s most famous campaign firms. Among its core members were five former congressmen, and its unnamed leader—also the team’s director—had served eight years as a state governor and was the son of a former federal president.

In Eminence’s political landscape, experience mattered greatly. The best campaign teams were full of ex-politicians—retired congressmen, governors, and state legislators who either quit mid-career or moved into the consulting business full-time.

Not because they were foolish—but because it was extremely profitable. Succeed once, and the money kept flowing.

It was also a federal tradition.

Once a president picked a team, they would assume control over the campaign finance account and direct every Sol. Smart teams knew how to maximize that money and make it last—sometimes even needing more.

This took experience and deep political connections.

There were many former presidents who either started their own teams or joined existing ones after leaving office.

Every four years, the political consulting industry made billions.

From the presidency down to city council, everyone needed professional advice. It had become an entire industrial chain.

Truman, having no role in the campaign’s core strategy, brought his team to Gephra instead. It was also a good way to prepare for his next post.

He was to be the first Minister of International Affairs. In the future, diplomacy would depend more heavily on him, so meeting foreign leaders in advance would be beneficial.

After briefly explaining the situation, Truman didn’t elaborate further—he knew Lynch understood the underlying political maneuvers.

Right now, Eminence was livelier than a holiday. Around the presidential palace, well-dressed I’m a politician types hurried everywhere.

The once-in-four-years political marketplace was about to begin, thick with tension.

“I didn’t expect things in Gephra to get so lively lately. Does it have anything to do with you?”

Truman looked at Lynch. His instincts told him Lynch was definitely involved—he knew him more deeply than most.

Lynch was meticulous, bold, decisive, lacking conventional morality, and unbothered by consequences if he believed in what he was doing. Most importantly—he was smart.

Put any of those traits on separate people and they’d shine. Combine them all in one person, and it gets dangerous.

Smart people never stay quiet—and Lynch proved it.

Facing Truman’s nearly certain gaze, Lynch grinned and nodded. “A little, but not much. I just gave things a small push.”

“There were pressures building at the bottom of society—I merely found a release valve. The rest wasn’t up to me.”

Though it sounded humble, Truman could feel the deep pride hidden in Lynch’s words.

To single-handedly stir up political upheaval in a foreign land—Lynch had every reason to be proud.

Truman nodded. “So where is this headed?”

“How far will it go before it stops?”

Lynch glanced at the sunlight outside the window. Though the sun was out, the cold was biting—just like the hearts of some people at this moment.

“It’s almost over…”

The political storm was nearing its end. The ruling class had traded benefits, each side getting what they wanted, while also releasing some pressure.

They would now lie low and wait for the next opportunity.

Led by Lynch, a group of minor nobles pledged loyalty to the Emperor and volunteered to develop the Amellian Province. This greatly pleased His Majesty. In return, he granted them partial tax exemptions and approved several of their requests.

These included more flexible industry regulations—domestic commercial and political rules would not be directly applied to Amellian Province.

Some of these minor nobles would also be appointed to official positions in the province.

The Royal Bank would provide them with low- or zero-interest loans to help them quickly build their enterprises.

Public attention quickly shifted from the political upheaval caused by Harmony Capital to the new wave of commercial cooperation and negotiations between the Federation and Gephra.

People are forgetful—especially those uninvolved. Wounds that aren’t theirs are easily forgotten once they turn away.

But Lynch wasn’t so forgetful. In the capital’s First Prison, he visited his former partners.

After Richard’s suicide, they were immediately detained. Their dreams of sudden wealth were completely shattered.

All their assets had been confiscated. Some of them would never leave prison; some were facing the end of their lives.

Lynch came to the prison to see them off—they had requested to meet him. The prison relayed the request, and after some thought, Lynch agreed.

The meeting took place in the afternoon, in a room faintly scented with disinfectant. Lynch met five Federation citizens who were about to be executed by firing squad.

They had requested to be extradited and tried back in the Federation, but Gephra refused, and the Federation made no effort to intervene.

At this sensitive moment, the presidential election required careful consideration of both domestic and international implications.

A few criminals weren’t worth the risk of complicating relations with Gephra.

A sentence is still a sentence—why bring them back at all?