Blackstone Code

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"Meow."

A girl with a name so sweet it was almost cloying circled the young man like a cat, emitting soft mewling sounds that only cats could mimic. Her movements were playful, almost feline in nature.

The young man's face bore an expression of indescribable intoxication. He waved her over, his voice dripping with indulgence. "Come here, let Daddy give you something sweet."

At his age, he was legally old enough to be a father, whether in the Federation or in Nagalier. In fact, during his time in Nagalier, he had almost become one—until the girl who had shared the forbidden fruit with him was thrown into a river by his father's men and drowned, robbing him of that chance.

For the High Priest, having a favorite child father a child out of wedlock wasn't necessarily a scandal. Many heirs of the ruling class often had their first child in their teens; youthful impulses were hard to control, and overflowing desires often overruled reason. But what he had done was unforgivable—he had not only slept with a commoner but allowed her to bear his child. Such an act would invite ridicule from the entire ruling class and disqualify him from inheriting the power passed down through generations.

The ruling class could not tolerate traitors within their ranks. A child born between a noble and a commoner might grow up to become an enemy of the elite—a dangerous prospect. Thus, such unions were shunned entirely.

There had been precedents. Once, a member of the ruling class fathered a child with a commoner. That child faced relentless discrimination. While some crumbled under the pressure, choosing self-destruction, that child rose above it through sheer determination. He even earned admiration for his talents—but when he dared to proclaim that "all life is equal, all people are equal," he sealed his fate as a laughingstock.

The young man had rebelled at first. In the throes of young love, with fatherhood looming ahead, his affection for his partner and unborn child outweighed societal constraints. He had even declared they should die together. But ultimately, he relented. He stood frozen as one of his uncles tossed his pregnant girlfriend into a shallow river, drowning her before his eyes.

He watched her face transform—from terror, to struggle, to eerie calmness. Within three minutes, it was over. The once-clear water churned red with blood and filth, nauseating to behold. What chilled him more than the sight was the fear gripping his heart. His father, standing beside him, calmly stroked his hair.

"You're most like me," his father said softly. "So I'll give you a choice. If you still wish to join her in judgment, I will personally drown you here. But if you understand my intentions, we'll return home together. Forget this commoner and her bastard. I'll find you a girl worthy of your station—someone who knows how to please you."

"It's time to make your decision, my son…"

That he survived proved he made the right choice.

When hatred consumes a person, even their breathing can feel like fuel for vengeance. Yet when love takes hold, even the simplest act of breathing becomes forgivable.

Something indescribable flickered across his mind, twisting his smile into something grotesque. On the floor, the girl crawled toward him despite her fear, driven by the promise of money. She added a touch of drama to her approach, exuding the haughty demeanor of a cat.

Actually, she was a very hardworking girl. Despite making a living through the flesh trade, she had ambition. Every day, she spent the money she earned with sweat and blood to enroll in acting classes.

The adult film Highway Racer: Alien Descent had been a revelation for her—proof that a girl in the adult industry could rise to stardom. Though that female star still stripped for a living, fame had changed everything. While they were all baring their bodies before strangers, all engaging in the flesh trade, the difference in their earnings was like night and day.

That girl now commanded a staggering fee of 150,000 bucks per film. Meanwhile, she—this cat-like girl known as "Candy"—had just accepted the highest-paying job of her career: a mere 1,500 bucks.

That was the gap between them.

She was ambitious. She applied everything she learned in acting class to her work. But unfortunately, the young man before her now was not someone who appreciated art.

He was a child of the ruling class, raised in a nation where human rights were disregarded, where the lives of the lower class were treated as disposable. No matter how kind he might have been at heart, he had long since been tainted by the decay of his privileged world.

At this moment, all he wanted was release. A way to satisfy the dark, uncontrollable urges that festered within him—an overwhelming desire to destroy.

By 1:00 AM, when Lynch arrived, the girl lay severely injured. Doctors confirmed internal tearing but assured her recovery would take about a month. The psychological scars, however, might never heal.

As for the young man, though his injuries were less severe than the girl's, he was far from unscathed. The girl's agency beat him brutally, breaking the index finger of his left hand. Had Lynch not intervened, they might have shattered every bone in his hand.

Lynch observed the furious young man, his own emotions simmering beneath the surface. Perhaps feeling wronged—or perhaps unused to violence—the young man nearly broke down upon seeing Lynch, with whom he'd grown close during their time at sea.

"Lynch, you need to—"

Slap.

The force sent the young man reeling. Lynch shook his tingling right hand, using his left hand to adjust the ring on his right index finger, disguising how the palm of his right hand was now almost devoid of sensation due to the rush of blood.

Stunned, the young man straightened, only to meet Lynch's shadowy figure. Before he could react, another blow sent his head spinning, nearly knocking him off balance.

"Throw him in the car," Lynch ordered. Two burly men hauled the dazed young man away.

In the hallway, the talent manager's face remained grim. Ambitious girls like Candy were treasures to their agencies, unlike those resigned to mediocrity. Even minor success could skyrocket their value tenfold. But this reckless young man had nearly ruined her—and worse, they were powerless against Lynch, whose wealth and influence far surpassed theirs.

The Baylor Federation had always been paradise for the rich and purgatory for the poor. So, instead of venting their anger, they apologized.

When the girl's agent appeared before him, Lynch stopped the apology that was about to come out of his mouth and instead said something that surprised the agent a little: "Take me to see that girl. I want to apologize to her in person."

Hesitant but unable to refuse, the agent led Lynch to a modest hospital room. There, amidst tubes and intrusive gazes, lay Candy. Her condition was pitiful. Due to overcrowding, patients shared rooms with strangers, their privacy nonexistent. For someone in her line of work, the shame was unbearable.

But there was no other choice. Ever since the medical group hired a large lobbying team to tout everywhere that only by commercializing health insurance could the most comprehensive, advanced, and reliable medical products be provided to the public, many things had changed.

The cost of medical care, no longer under government control, began to soar. Of course, the quality of services people received improved significantly — but this was only true for patients who opted for private commercial health insurance.

These patients enjoyed single or double occupancy rooms that were spacious and well-lit. They had dedicated nurses and doctors attending to their needs 24/7, along with daily personalized nutritious meals.

All of this was great, but it was a different story for those still relying on public health insurance (a part of social insurance programs). These patients were placed in wards housing eight to twelve people. Besides the patients, there were also caregivers and visiting family members. In such crowded conditions, almost everyone could see the girl's most private areas, as well as the catheters aiding her treatment.

Seeing this, Lynch's expression darkened. He summoned a doctor and demanded, "Give her the best room, the best care. Assign only experienced female nurses and provide top-tier treatment."

The doctor in the ward was initially somewhat impatient, but when he heard these requests, he became a bit unsettled. He hesitated for a moment before asking curiously, "And you are?"

"You may call me 'Mr. Lynch.'"

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