The Washington Post had just published its version of the explosive exposé, and even the average residents of Lac Thanh began murmuring. Unlike before, when information flowed only to elites, this time the entire triangle of major media—The New York Times, LA Times, and now the Washington Post—had all joined in.
Inside the national security compound of Lac Thanh, the de facto President, Oda Nobuhiro, read the papers. When he finished the last page, his fingers trembled slightly, and his sharp eyes fixated on one paragraph.
It mentioned Jinling. And worse, actual proof had surfaced—film negatives, artifacts, blood evidence.
Standing behind Oda was his grandson and political protégé, Taro Oda, leader of the youth division. Young and hungry, he commanded loyalty among citizens under 30.
"Grandfather, if what was published is real, the Empire's international image will be shredded."
"We cannot allow these photos to circulate further," Nobuhiro said darkly. "It would destroy decades of carefully crafted history. I'm giving you an assignment."
Taro bowed. "Understood, President."
"If needed... eliminate the journalist."
Taro's eyes flashed. "Understood."
Elsewhere in a discreet wing of Lac Thanh's Foreign Intelligence Bureau, hidden deep inside their international outpost, emergency meetings were underway. Several agents were frantically trying to track the source of the film negatives.
"This is bad," said Ito Kenji, their lead strategist. "The photos are already in U.S. hands. We need to destroy them all."
Another whispered, "If we don't, these materials will incite an international scandal. The U.S. might even impose sanctions."
Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Rian received a call from Chief Benjamin.
"Rian, someone wants to see you. Come by the station."
Rian hung up. Beside him, Amelia was quietly getting dressed. He didn't intend to keep anything going with her—last night had been a convenience, not a relationship.
Rian hopped into his black Hellcat and drove to the LAPD station. Despite being in casual wear, his Patek Philippe 6300 on his wrist—worth over a million dollars—drew subtle nods of recognition from the wealth-savvy.
Inside the station, officers clapped as he entered.
"Our superhero's back!"
"Dude, yesterday while I was patrolling, I saw a gang scatter just at the mention of your name!"
Benjamin waved him through. In the meeting room stood Commander Alicia, and next to her, a man in an expensive suit—Mayor Omar Lewis of Lac Thanh.
Three-quarters African heritage, tall and broad, Omar projected authority. But Rian wasn't impressed.
Benjamin smiled. "This is Mayor Lewis. He wanted to personally thank you."
Everyone cleared the room. Once alone, Rian asked calmly, "So, Mr. Mayor, what's this really about?"
Omar's face darkened. "Hand over the film negatives."
Rian raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
Omar snarled, "You think you can expose my country's past without consequences? You've already delivered enough. Now hand over the rest. Or else."
That was the last straw.
SMACK!
Rian's palm cracked across Omar's face with surgical precision. The man's jowls rippled. He staggered.
"You dare—" Omar began.
SMACK! Again, from the other side.
Rian stepped closer, voice low but ice-cold. "I'll shove those golden eggs of yours right down your throat if you ever threaten me again."
Fear flooded the mayor's eyes.
"Who sent you?" Rian asked.
"I… I acted on my own," Omar stuttered.
"Why?"
"I wanted to help. I thought giving you a promotion in exchange for the tapes would be a win-win."
Rian laughed. "Help me? You corrupt mutt. You offered me bribes and a chance to escape justice for truth?"
Omar whimpered.
"You know what Pénghéng's Descendant means?" Rian hissed.
The mayor nodded weakly.
"Then remember this: mess with me again, and you'll be coughing up your own intestines."
He pulled out his phone and tapped a note:
Morgan Bank – Wire transfer: $40 million.
Omar gasped.
"You heard me. Forty million. Or I turn the rest of the world's media on you."