Just as Mrs. Klein looked outside, a somewhat familiar face, someone she had seen before, entered the café.

She glanced a few more times; it was a woman dressed impeccably, though her kind of grace was different from that of Mrs. Klein.

If Mrs. Klein’s elegance represented the refinement of the wealthy, then the other woman’s was the sophistication of a politician!

She looked a bit more and then withdrew her gaze, feeling like she knew her, but not recognizing her.

Bupen has many senior officials, and it’s common to bump into a few just walking down the street, especially near the President’s Mansion, where officials are as common as ordinary people.

Thus, encountering officials here is nothing surprising for locals—only out-of-towners might be impressed.

She got up to leave, and at that moment, the woman who seemed familiar to Mrs. Klein just sat down and called over the waiter, ordering a coffee priced at seven dollars and ninety-nine cents, along with a pastry assortment, all for a total of ten dollars.

Including the tip, twenty dollars.

The pastry assortment consisted of four differently colored pastries; all could fit in one’s mouth without filling it completely.

Yet it’s expensive, and very sweet!

It’s said these pastries are from a small country, with such complex crafting that often only a few succeed out of dozens made—in short, they’re costly, regardless of how cheap the ingredients might be.

The intense aroma of roasted coffee paired with the saccharine pastries—garnished with a mint leaf on the side—is a popular combo in the Federation.

If Mrs. Klein had watched the previous bowling competition, she would certainly remember that this woman was the one who claimed second place.

Chris, an ordinary name.

She lightly touched up her makeup and waited for a while until another woman walked in.

She was dressed in a cinched-waist, emerald green dress with many shiny little embellishments which did not detract from its elegance.

She wore a hat of the same color and sunglasses, and her wrist bore a small handbag.

She handed her hat to an employee and then sat opposite Chris, removing the sunglasses.

It was Mrs. Tracy.

"You’re playing with fire!" she whispered, "I warned you last time, don’t always think about taking shortcuts!"

Chris used to be somewhat intimidated by Mrs. Tracy for various reasons; firstly, Mrs. Tracy’s father himself was a seasoned politician with extensive connections.

Secondly, her uncle was a regional Shepherd, influential in Nagariel and even the Federation.

Further, she herself was a leading figure in the feminist movement—none of them were simple characters, and should they unite their efforts, even if Chris’s husband was a Judge in the state court, it would be difficult to counter them.

But now, she wasn’t afraid anymore, because she had just slept with the President, who even invited her for another round of bowling.

At that moment, Mrs. Tracy, who she once feared, suddenly appeared rather ordinary; perhaps that’s the difference.

Standing at a higher place, what was once an insurmountable peak now seemed like just a bulge on the ground beneath her feet!

It’s not even a peak—just a bulge.

"That’s my personal life, Tracy, you can’t meddle in my personal life, understand?" Her tone carried little heat, and even inwardly, there was little agitation.

As a "successful person," she felt an expansive embrace at that very moment.

Mrs. Tracy was greatly annoyed, "I treated you as a friend, you said you really wanted... I even helped arrange this for you, and now you treat me like this?"

The two sat in the corner of the café, at a time when there weren’t many people, nor would anyone pay attention to them.

Chris looked completely innocent, "Did I speak ill of you?"

"Or seduce your husband who you don’t even know where he is?"

"No, I did nothing at all; I only did what I feel I should do."

"You can’t meddle with this, understand?"

Mrs. Tracy was furious, nose nearly crooked, and wanted to take a different approach, "You need to consider your family; if these matters spread..."

"My husband supports me." A single statement blocked what Mrs. Tracy intended to say.

Mrs. Tracy swore, in her lifetime she had never seen such a shameless woman, nor her husband!

By this time, she also understood that counseling had lost its practical meaning.

After a moment of silence, she sighed, "I’ve said all I should say; in the future... try to minimize contact."

Finishing her words, she got up and left.

Interfering with the President’s personal life is highly dangerous, extremely dangerous.

Perhaps to Chris and her husband, this seemed a shortcut to a higher social class, but sometimes the key point of a shortcut is not ascending, but descending into Hell!

This kind of affair hasn’t only occurred once or twice in the Federation—it’s happened many times.

Mrs. Trish was born into a political family, and the strong political atmosphere made her very aware of the consequences of such actions!

The President was propelled into office by various capitalists and major consortiums. They’ve invested far too much in the President; they won’t allow anyone to affect the President’s term!

No one, absolutely not.

If someone creates such danger, then the only fate for the person responsible is to completely, utterly vanish from this world.

Everything associated with him/her/it will completely disappear!

There won’t be any exceptions.

But if someone really wants to die, there’s no stopping it.

Mrs. Trish left disappointed, deciding she wouldn’t meddle in these affairs anymore.

Chris’s hand holding the coffee cup trembled slightly; inwardly, she was not as calm as she appeared.

She and her husband are facing a series of issues.

Her own company is on the verge of bankruptcy due to poor management, and her husband, the Chief Justice of the state court, is also gradually losing his power and status for some reason.

The Ministry of Justice plans to replace him, offering him a position that’s prestigious but utterly powerless and insignificant.

Such a position... has no actual value or significance, lacking power and money, with life showing no future.

Perhaps only by taking shortcuts can this family be saved.

She put down the teacup, left twenty dollars, then stood up to leave, not touching any of the exquisite, seemingly adorable pastries, and she left just like that.

Everything returned to calmness. A young waiter came to tidy the table, a lad with some freckles on his face. He glanced around, pocketed the four pastries, and returned to the counter with the empty plate, coffee cup, and the twenty dollars.

He planned to take these expensive pastries home for his family to taste.

On the newspaper stand near the counter he passed by, the frantic scene at the exchange was prominently printed, with people excitedly waving their fists, at the heart of the entire picture, only the silver panel and its continuously ascending curve!

In the North, after the bombing ended, the warlords seemed terrified, starting to actively retreat, allowing the Federation Security’s northern advancing forces to rapidly proceed without any obstruction.

In the first week of May, they were less than half a month away from the designated location, arriving earlier than planned.

Those who were initially tense had somewhat relaxed their vigilance by now, and Ryan clutched his gun all day, contemplating the night’s massive bombing.

During this time, he had been pondering a question: what role can personal strength play in war?

Having personally witnessed that horrific bombardment, his dream of wanting to be a hero had gradually dimmed.

Because he realized, he had no chance to achieve it!

If there were masses of airplanes bombing overhead, how could he escape those bombs?

He couldn’t, which meant he, like the enemies who perished in the bombing, would eventually become a cold number in the statistics.

The bombardment extinguished his passion for becoming a hero, leaving him somewhat bewildered.

Days of garrison and patrol had alleviated much of the recent tension, and that afternoon, several transport trucks arrived from behind.

They did not stop at the camp; they headed straight to the designated location.

Watching those trucks, Ryan felt a bit puzzled. He saw a troop carrier fully occupied by Nagariel people; what was the point of bringing those savages here?

To release them into the wild?

Thinking this, he laughed first; the prejudice against Nagariel people persisted endlessly, calling them savages was probably a relatively gracious attitude.

In the mainstream Federation society, there’s even an extreme ideology considering people from extremely primitive civilizations like Nagariel not as humans!

Yes, they believe Nagariel people and similar people are only human-like but not humans, they are some sort of animals, so there’s no need to grant them human-specific treatments.

As for humanity and moral ethics, they are entirely unnecessary.

Ryan is not that extreme, but he also doesn’t like Nagariel people.

In previous reports, these people had killed many foreign merchants, including Federation people.

The swiftly moving troop carrier brought the people to a forest edge, whereupon these individuals disembarked from the vehicle and began working under the overseers’ orders.

They carried some aluminum foil items into the forest, then sought out some rocks, spread the aluminum foil over the rocks, and used the tools they carried to compress it.

Looking like this, those stones seemed to have transformed into... silver!

At the foot of the mountain, some workers were scattering silver ore all around. Besides the overseers, Darkstone Security personnel were present, holding guns.

If anyone wanted to do something that violated the contract, they would promptly and unceremoniously shoot to prevent it.

The entire forest was silent, only some wild animals watched these humans curiously from afar, using their small brains to ponder what these people were doing.