Thinking about it, these people weren’t doing anything worthwhile—just pulling half-assed stunts like that—and from the looks of it, they wouldn’t stop until my company was practically burning to the ground.
Well... if they really wanted to bring us down, then they should’ve at least done sothing more aggressive than whatever pathetic attempt this was. At this rate, nothing was going to happen. Their little sche was like trying to cut down a tree with a spoon. It was only loud, ssy, and completely useless. It wouldn’t do anything, really.
As expected, it was just a small company and it was one put together by a couple of greedy rchants trying to ride the coattails of bigger nas. They’d been attempting to make cheap rip-offs of our products for a while now. Hell, they’d even started producing smartphones—or at least, their excuse for one. But, unfortunately for them, they couldn’t even figure out how a smartphone actually worked. So, instead of putting in real work, they resorted to shady tactics like this and that was saring us in public just to stir trouble.
The article they put out was very laughable. It was very laughable in fact that it was hard not to laugh.
"Sir Christopher Faust was a business partner of mine, and he had been doing little sidelines while we were trying to start a concept that would completely revolutionize the world. With this concept in mind, we created and expanded the idea of sothing that could literally change the course of the world—sothing you could carry in your pocket. Hearing about this must have inspired Sir Christopher Faust to create the smartphone we know and love today. But all of you are mistaken if you think it was his idea—that he invented the smartphone. You’re all wrong, and I can tell you why right now."
The tone was so over-the-top dramatic that I almost laughed out loud. Whoever wrote this clearly thought they were so mastermind villain from a cheap novel. Honestly, I could’ve just ignored the whole thing. But the problem was—they weren’t the only ones trying to throw mud at us. Other people had also been publishing crap, accusing us of stealing ideas and content.
Then ca the next part of their little fairy tale.
"The idea of the smartphone—or, as we liked to call it, the pocket device—was sothing I already had in mind. We’d been working on a prototype for years. As you can see from the drawn prototype below, we’d been developing it for a long ti, but sohow, that prototype ended up in his hands. Then, he made it his own. He never gave us credit or compensation for stealing our idea. As far as I can see, this was nothing but a cri—not only to make the entirety of the Leonamon rich, but also to profit from stealing soone else’s concept. As businessn, we want justice for this theft. We want the whole Leonamon to pay."
What a blatant, barefaced lie. The way they could spit out such nonsense without even blinking—like lying was as natural to them as breathing—was almost impressive in its own twisted way. But I guess that was the point. They were trying to squeeze whatever advantage they could from it.
Too bad for them.
"Unfortunately for them," I muttered under my breath, "they’re barking up the wrong damn tree."
The funniest part? Not even long after they posted that steaming pile of garbage, they ca out with another article. And this one... was an apology.
"We would like to properly apologize to the entire team of Leonamon, as well as Sir Christopher Faust, for the statents made in our previous article. In reality, there was no stealing involved. All of this was simply an attempt to create tension and distrust among consurs, to make them lose faith in Leonamon’s products. We apologize for spreading misinformation and for trying to destroy the image of a beloved company."
That was it. Just like that.
I leaned back in my chair, smirking. "Well... that was easier than I thought."
To see them bend the knee so quickly—it was almost funny. Then again, it wasn’t all that surprising. This kind of thing? I’d been dealing with it for months now.
Now then...
I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping lightly against the floor, and stood up. My mind had already shifted from their pathetic antics to my next task. I headed toward the section of the building where everything—the walls, the floors, even the air—was cold, sterile white.
The place where the Shadows worked.
"Good work," I said to Bernadette, my hand reaching up to ruffle her hair. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she gave a shy but happy look.
"If it’s for you, Master, I’m willing to do anything. Just ask , and I’ll comply," she replied without hesitation.
Sweet girl. She always ant it when she said things like that.
"It’s her?" I asked, glancing toward the far side of the room.
"Yes," Bernadette confird with a nod.
We were in the prison section, the one where we kept people who’d crossed certain lines—those who’d tried to steal from us, sabotage us, or dig too deep into secrets they had no business knowing.
And the woman I was here to see... fit that category perfectly.
From the way she carried herself, even bound and under guard, she looked like soone used to danger. A capable assassin, maybe even a seasoned thief. But it didn’t matter. Against Bernadette and the Shadows, she never stood a chance. Coming here was like walking straight into a lion’s den and expecting to walk out alive.
My eyes scanned over her features. Her hair was dark—deeper than black, darker than midnight—and her eyes had a sharp bluish hue, cold and assessing. Her skin was a deep tan, the kind you only get from living in hot, sun-scorched places.
I could tell just by looking at her—she was from the Empire.
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