In a corner of the restaurant, two well-known n were deep in conversation.
“…A lot of people are going to get hurt,” Mr. Patric said with a teasing smile.
He didn’t care about the fate of the natives. He had more or less figured it out—once the plan was set in motion, the Valier would instantly beco actual worthless paper, no longer just a taphor for worthlessness.
Worthless paper—truly worthless. And those holding it would suffer.
So who holds the most of it now?
Without a doubt: the Federal governnt, the Big Six banks, and insiders like Lynch.
But they wouldn’t be holding it for long. With the Valier rapidly appreciating, they weren’t losing money—in fact, they were making a fortune. Mr. Patric could already imagine what would co next: so fools would end up paying the bill for the whole operation.
That’s the core of finance, or capitalism itself: for soone to profit, soone else must lose. Wealth doesn’t appear out of thin air.
“Looks like starting today, I’ll have to start paying the workers in Federal Sols directly.”
His tone carried a trace of regret. So workers still insisted on being paid in Valier, which had allowed the Joint Developnt Company to save money on wages.
But that couldn’t last forever. Even getting away with it for a month was already a win. Losing that edge didn’t matter much.
Overall, the al had a pleasant atmosphere. After it ended, Mr. Patric promptly left—he’d picked up so intel from Lynch and needed his aides to analyze it.
Lynch strolled around the ship, took in the unpleasant sea breeze for a while, then returned to his room.
The night passed uneventfully.
The next day, Lynch took his assistant to the opera. The male lead was known as the last shining light of the Federal opera scene.
He was a man in his sixties, overweight, and tonight’s opera told a dramatic story of a king outwitting his corrupt ministers. The plot was intense and required strong stage presence—sothing not every perforr could manage.
The performance reinforced the idea that rulers are always right, so only top-tier opera stars could carry such narratives convincingly.
As for the ssage? It was, of course, correct. The entire world seed to agree—not just the Federation. Gephra was even more extre in this regard.
To be fair, the shining light had a powerful voice that resonated with the audience’s emotions. Yet the opera world now faced a grim reality: no successors.
Young people preferred talent shows or contracts with entertainnt agencies. They wanted the path of a pop star, not the discipline of opera.
Fewer and fewer people were willing to invest the ti to master opera, which required years of refinent.
Being a pop star never demanded much talent—just a good-looking face could lead to overnight fa.
Opera singers, by contrast, usually didn’t hit their stride until their fifties. They had to discover their uniqueness, refine their temperant, build their artistic foundation, and perfect their vocal skills. Even general refinent mattered. You couldn’t mass-produce opera stars. Ŗ𝓪ℕŐВĘṥ
This made opera a difficult path, with little chance of stardom—many remained obscure their entire lives.
In earlier years, before television entered every ho, opera still ruled. Back then, most opera professionals didn’t believe TV could challenge them.
TV shows and movies were considered lowbrow. The term art wasn’t even extended to these dia.
And back then, they were right. Opera had firm control over the Federation’s audio-visual culture, backed by the elite. They had the status to dismiss newer dia.
But opera training took too long, and appreciation of it required artistic literacy—sothing the lower classes often lacked.
By contrast, TV and film beca beloved by the masses.
Eventually, opera was overtaken by what it once scorned as unrefined forms.
No need for powerful vocals, emotional intensity, complex plots, or the kind of insight only connoisseurs could grasp.
All it took was a TV screen or a big projector, a couch or a row of chairs, so fattening junk food, and a family could sit there for hours, giggling away.
Influence?
If you can’t reach the masses, what influence do you really have?
It was only natural that opera fell from grace.
Normally, an opera lasts close to three hours. Lynch watched with great focus, which surprised his assistant, Helen.
Opera demanded artistic literacy—sothing she herself struggled with. Lynch, a re high school graduate, seed deeply absorbed. It made her feel a bit ashad, and she pushed herself to get more involved in the performance.
But what she didn’t know was that Lynch only looked attentive—his mind was elsewhere.
He had been reviewing everything that had happened and everything about to happen. Only after confirming there were no gaps or mistakes did he shift his focus back to the stage.
Just then, the final trembling note faded, and the audience rose to applaud. Lynch stood up with them, clapping along in confusion.
But his face revealed nothing of what he was really thinking. To better blend in, he even made a remark:
“Ti really flies… Imrsing myself in the ocean of art made forget it altogether. I wish it could’ve lasted longer.”
Helen, and others nearby, were imdiately awestruck by his refined taste. So had wanted to complain about how boring it was—but now, they could only nod in agreent to appear cultured.
There’s no denying it—wealthy people and wealthy families know how to enjoy life. On a cruise ship, with no work to face, all they did was play, and play recklessly.
As long as you have money, the Federation is a paradise!
Lynch stayed aboard until the third day. Finally, Mr. Wadrick arrived, and the board eting could begin—much to everyone’s relief.
The families of regular employees might enjoy the cruise, but for the board mbers, it was dull.
They’d seen better, more sophisticated entertainnt. To them, this was just boring.
That afternoon, the Joint Developnt Company of Nagaryll officially held its new-year board eting.
There were over a hundred shareholders—not including those who weren’t invited.
Only those holding more than one-thousandth of the shares were eligible to attend. Anyone below that threshold wasn’t qualified.
In the ship’s largest conference room, all shareholders sat around an enormous round table.Sotis it’s hard to understand the Federation’s obsession with round tables and roundtable etings. They could easily arrange rows of desks and chairs so people could sit separately, yet everyone insists on gathering around these massive circular tables—as if it gives them more of a sense of participation.
Lynch was also seated at the table. As he looked at the people in the distance, a smile suddenly spread across his face—he started laughing.
The man next to him didn’t know him well. They’d seen each other a couple of tis on the ship, just enough to exchange nods.
Still, since they were both part of the Joint Developnt Company, there was a natural sense of closeness. The man, in his forties, watched Lynch laugh for a mont before giving in to curiosity. “Mr. Lynch, did sothing amusing just happen?”
When Lynch turned to look at him, he explained, “I just noticed—you were smiling and even laughing out loud.”
“Was I?” Lynch quickly apologized. “I’m sorry—I didn’t realize I was being distracting. Truly, my apologies.”
The man hadn’t ant to bla him—just curious. “No need to apologize, Mr. Lynch. I was just wondering if you’d be willing to share?”
Socializing requires interaction. If two people sit next to each other and never speak, they’ll leave as strangers. But now, with a reason to talk and a thread to follow, conversation had begun.
“Of course,” Lynch replied. “I was just looking at everyone here, and this round table… do you know what it reminded of?”
The man played along. “What?”
Lynch chuckled again. “A strip club.”
“They have tables just like this—maybe a bit smaller—and in the middle, there are poles or a few chairs. So girls dance around in there…” His face lit up, animated like an excited teenager.
The man beside him froze for a second, then nodded thoughtfully. “That’s… profound, Mr. Lynch. But I have to admit, it’s a vivid image.”
“Right? That’s why I couldn’t help but laugh…”
Really, what’s the difference between the people sitting here and those in a strip club waiting for the show to begin?
Not much at all. Even their inner thoughts were similar—impatiently waiting for their desires to be fulfilled.
So board mbers sitting nearby glanced over. Lynch quickly reined in the expression on his face that seed ready to talk again. He gave a polite nod, then sat up straight, wearing a perfectly serious expression.
User Comments
0 comments from readers