Blackstone Code

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Each person in the office harbored their own thoughts. For the conservative politicians, though they had lost, they refused to admit it. Their defeat wasn't due to political rivalry but to the changing tides of the times.

In the years when isolationism reigned supreme, no one dared call them wrong, let alone accuse them of "escapism"—a notion they deemed absurd. Thus, they were defeated not by politics but by forces beyond human control: the inexorable march of time.

Though, in a sense, they had indeed lost—progressives now held power—it didn't mean they were powerless. If they failed to demonstrate their worth, even their remaining supporters might abandon them. And those supporters were crucial for their next electoral victory.

They were the embers of their future success, and preserving them was paramount. The best way to do so? Keep making noise.

The capitalists, too, had their reservations, though not as deeply considered as the politicians. Their concern was simple: if the Federation's navy clashed with Gevra's—even in minor skirmishes—their cargo ships plying the seas and their future overseas trade would be jeopardized.

Should the Federation's navy falter, outsiders would perceive its weakness. Even small nations previously dismissed by the Federation might interfere with its maritime trade, threatening their profits.

Currently, things were stable. No one harassed them except for occasional pirate raids, which posed little real opposition.

"…No one can match our sincerity or offer better terms."

In another room, Mr. Truman, some members of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, staff from the Office of International Policy, and Lynch sat on one side of the negotiation table, facing Nagalier's delegation.

Lynch, at just twenty-one, lacked the seniority to participate in such high-stakes diplomacy, let alone sit at the table where he could potentially speak. Yet, Mr. Truman insisted, recognizing Lynch's unique qualities after their interactions.

Lynch's ideas were not merely radical—they were dangerously compelling. War, to him, seemed trivial if it served his interests. Still, his charisma and vision were undeniable.

"For the great revival of the Federation."

Those words echoed in Truman's mind, stirring emotions he thought long settled.

Regardless of Lynch's motives—whether driven by self-interest or genuine conviction—his actions, for now, brought no calamity to the Federation. Instead, they benefited many.

With talent, vision, and aligned core interests, why not use him?

Having already scored a point in their internal "match," Truman fully supplanted the Deputy Foreign Minister in leading the negotiations. Rumor had it the Deputy Minister was being reassigned to oversee western development.

Truman studied the Nagalier delegation across the table, his brow furrowing slightly. Since that night, their attitude had shifted—become ambiguous.

This change was palpable. By agreeing to send a delegation to discuss diplomatic relations, they had essentially consented to establishing ties. Minor grievances might lead to additional demands, but not this wavering stance.

Something must have happened in the past two days to alter their position.

At the far end of the table, Lynch observed the delegates closely. He sensed their shift, akin to a girl suddenly questioning an agreed-upon aid plan. This wasn't theatrics or bargaining—it was a genuine change of heart.

"We've been carefully considering these issues…" A key representative from Nagalier cleared his throat, glancing at his colleagues as he chose his words (translated by an interpreter). "Based on what we've seen, these terms are insufficient to establish a foundation for friendly cooperation."

"Moreover, recent events have shown us that, for the Federation's citizens, establishing relations with Nagalier may not be ideal. It could destabilize our relationship in the near future."

The speaker slouched in his chair, elbows resting on the armrests, fingers interlaced. "We all know the Federation is a free nation. Public sentiment shapes broader trends. Currently, the necessary groundwork for cooperation seems lacking…"

Lynch interrupted with a soft cough—a breach of diplomatic etiquette that drew all eyes to him. Some staff glanced at Truman, whose nod could have removed Lynch from the room.

But Truman stayed silent, curious about what Lynch might say. Perhaps it could break the deadlock.

This was the third day with no progress. The matter couldn't drag on much longer. If even a small nation hesitated to establish ties—or outright refused—it would become a laughingstock in the Federation's diplomatic history.

Uninterrupted, Lynch spoke boldly. His first words sent shockwaves through the room. "Has Mr. Pretton contacted you?"

While the lead negotiator from Nagalier remained impassive, two delegates at the far end briefly betrayed flashes of anger. Lynch caught their expressions.

"Did he offer you terms too good to refuse?"

Before Nagalier's representatives could respond, Lynch pressed on.

"He might have promised to increase your share of profits from Nagalier's specialty goods, reduce import fees, or introduce outdated but necessary industrial assembly lines."

"He may have pledged to help improve your industrial infrastructure gradually, even offering naval military assistance…"

Truman and Lynch both watched the Nagalier representative intently. Though his expression remained unchanged, that very stoicism spoke volumes. Sometimes, composure was vital; other times, excessive calmness revealed cracks.

When Lynch framed Nagalier as subservient to a mere merchant, their lack of reaction—rather than indignation—was telling. Had someone suggested Gevra needed to heed a pirate's orders to navigate freely, that pirate and all associated forces would have been eradicated overnight to prove the claim false.

Yet, the Nagalier representative maintained his composure, almost unnaturally so.

Lynch glanced at Truman, smirking slightly as he relaxed his posture and lit a cigarette. "Did Mr. Pretton tell you he has Gevra's navy backing him?"

This time, the Nagalier representative's face betrayed a flicker of emotion, confirming Lynch and Truman's suspicions: Pretton had privately contacted them.

After apologizing briefly, Truman excused himself. If Pretton had met with the delegation, he was likely still in the country. Truman instructed the National Security Council to locate Pretton immediately. Capturing him within Federation borders would be invaluable—not just for the Nagalier negotiations but for far greater stakes.

In politics, secrets rarely existed. By now, the Federation's upper echelons, key politicians, and anyone involved knew Pretton acted on behalf of Gevra's Royal Navy. If they could extract information from him, it might yield surprising revelations.

Outside the room, a covert battle unfolded. Inside, Lynch launched a more aggressive offensive.

His smile now carried a different tone—not the bright, transparent grin of before but something mocking, disdainful, and arrogant. Leaning back with chin slightly raised, he looked down at the Nagalier representatives.

Exhaling smoke, he carried on. "It seems he offered you terms too tempting to decline. But gentlemen, have you considered this? Are our terms really so easy to dismiss?"

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