Blackstone Code

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"Hold on a moment before you move in…"

Mr. Truman, standing in a corner of the hall, watched the Deputy Minister flail helplessly. A faint smile played on his lips as he raised a hand to stop two nearby agents from advancing.

After Lynch had briefed him on the situation, Truman had contacted the National Security Council (NSC). Within just an afternoon, he managed to rally a group of NSC operatives under his command.

Truman wasn't your typical politician. With a rich military background spanning generations—his family's elders all veterans—he maintained deep ties within the armed forces. Most members of the Baylor Federation's National Security Council hailed from military ranks, an elite unit tasked with handling threats to national security both domestically and internationally.

Thanks to Truman's extensive experience, even though he no longer served actively in the military, he was still regarded as one of their own. The NSC, closely aligned with the military, certainly didn't see him as an outsider either.

As a leading figure among the military's radical faction, many believed Truman would be the man to reshape the current state of the federation's armed forces—and they placed high hopes on him.

For years, it had been the Conservative Party's reign. Their campaign promises centered around cutting military spending, slashing defense budgets, and reducing active personnel—all wildly popular with the public. In that era, the military became synonymous with evil and fear; criticizing it almost guaranteed approval.

Truman halted the agents' intervention and glanced at Lynch beside him. They'd been discussing matters related to Nagalier when the sudden chaos interrupted their conversation. But Truman wasn't anxious.

Lynch, for his part, didn't bother asking foolish questions like, "What if we don't stop them now and something catastrophic happens?"

There was no doubt: whatever fallout occurred, the primary responsibility would fall squarely on the shoulders of the Deputy Foreign Minister—the man directly in charge of the reception. And coincidentally, this individual happened to be someone Truman didn't get along with. So why rush to clean up the mess?

He intended to wait until the situation worsened further before stepping in. Only then could he highlight his indispensability while making the Deputy Minister look utterly incompetent by comparison.

Amidst the blood-soaked demonstrators shouting inflammatory slogans, Lynch shook his head slightly.

Truman caught the subtle gesture. "Are you feeling sorry for them?" he asked, chuckling. "You don't strike me as the sentimental type."

"Only farmers worry over calves destined for slaughter," Lynch replied coolly. "People like us lost the luxury of compassion long ago. The reason why I shook my head is merely lamenting how pointless these sacrifices are right now."

He turned to Truman. "Sacrifice is the most direct way to effect change—but only if planned properly. Blind sacrifice isn't sacrifice—it's stupidity."

His tone carried a mocking edge. Standing at the fringes of the crowd, his usual disarming smile seemed oddly out of place. "And besides, this isn't sacrifice. It's just a bunch of fools being manipulated."

The Baylor Federation prided itself on its freedom—a widely held belief—but this perception wasn't entirely accurate. Whether government or conglomerates, anyone aspiring to climb into higher social strata underwent thorough scrutiny of their lineage.

The reason was simple: to avoid sabotage from rivals and ensure loyalty.

It might sound unbelievable that such practices existed in supposedly free societies, but this was reality—unknown to the lower classes.

Take, for instance, a historic presidential election where a highly favored candidate won overwhelming public support. Everyone, including the media, predicted his landslide victory. His opponent? A comedian—an entertainer who brought laughter but lacked political potential.

Throughout the campaign, explosive revelations surfaced about the comedian: allegations of homosexuality, severe depression requiring medication… No one thought this pitiable figure stood a chance. Yet shockingly, he won.

Some hailed it as a miracle of the federation, especially among the working class, who adored comedic performances. However, the truth was less romantic. The comedian's win wasn't due to popular backing but rather because his rival harbored problematic ties.

His father, once a high-ranking official, had conspired with a single-term president to curb capitalist excesses—a failed endeavor that ended with both ousted from power. When this background came to light, major corporations targeted the candidate through vote-buying and bribery. What appeared scandalous to some resolved swiftly under the guise of money.

A promising politician fell victim to his father's past allegiances, abandoned by society's elite just shy of victory. Such incidents weren't rare. Capitalists excelled at diverting attention—from questioning failure to celebrating miraculous success.

People yearned for positivity, naturally abandoning inquiries into failure. Those capable of uncovering truths were often complicit in crafting "miracles" themselves, unlikely to expose them.

Truth lay buried beneath layers of history's sediment, unseen but not nonexistent.

At this very moment, files on the rioters and protesters outside were already stamped with red marks. Unless the federation's political landscape drastically changed—or global dynamics shifted—these individuals and their descendants would remain perpetually trapped in society's lowest rungs.

In an instant, the upper echelons of society discarded them, though they remained oblivious. They wouldn't become martyrs or heroes in anyone's narrative.

Occasionally, someone might mention the losers of such events—but only when ridiculing greater fools. Lynch glanced at the Deputy Minister scrambling to regain control.

The Deputy Minister ordered the demonstrators removed, yet the police behaved strangely. They weren't maintaining order—they seemed intent on escalating tension. Despite the Deputy Minister flashing his credentials, the officers continued beating the protesters in full view of guests, including the Nagalier delegation.

Demonstrators rolled in glass shards, injuries horrifying enough to send timid ladies screaming into their companions' arms. Chaos escalated dangerously close to outright riots. The acting president suddenly turned to Truman, signaling it was time for him to step in.

Truman considered waiting longer to let the Deputy Minister embarrass himself further, but the acting president clearly disagreed.

"What will you do?" Truman asked, turning away from the speaker to address Lynch.

Lynch sipped champagne from his glass. Its sweetness suited women more than men, but the Deputy Minister insisted on low-alcohol beverages for the reception. Unable to serve cheap fruit wine during such an important banquet, the hotel opted for champagne instead.

Savoring the burst of bubbles and lingering aroma, Lynch smirked. "National dignity."

Truman paused, then smiled at the phrase. Turning to the two agents beside him, he murmured, "National dignity? I like that…"

He whispered instructions to them. Lynch discreetly stepped aside as the agents exchanged nods. One raised his arm, signaling others scattered throughout the room to intervene.

Meanwhile, Truman approached the acting president to explain the unfolding crisis.

Soon, the turmoil ended abruptly with a gunshot. The Deputy Minister glared at Truman, face livid. "You actually ordered your men to fire! You'll take responsibility for today's events."

A shooting during diplomatic activities—even informal ones like a banquet—was a grave offense.

Ignoring the accusation, Truman addressed the crowd calmly. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. Everything is under control…"

His measured tone soothed nerves, gradually calming the audience, who now watched him intently.

"These people aren't citizens of the federation, nor are they federal police. They're members of an international crime syndicate hired by a businessman named 'Pretton.' Their goal? To sabotage relations between the Baylor Federation and the Nagalier United Kingdom for nefarious purposes…"

Initially displeased, the Nagalier delegation considered suspending the diplomatic visit. Clearly, hostility simmered among the federation's populace. If their attempt to engage other nations faltered here, they'd seek welcome elsewhere—they wouldn't hang themselves on one tree.

But Truman's words held a certain magic, causing hesitation in their decision to leave.

All eyes were on him now, waiting to hear what he'd say next.

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