Empire of Shadows

"Mr. President, more than ten groups have decided to march in Golden Port City to protest against the excessive number of immigrants bringing criminals and crime to the Federation."

"Silan's congressman publicly expressed his stance this morning. He supports your election opponent, believing that strengthening the management of immigrants and illegal immigrants can effectively improve the happiness of the people."

"Additionally… Mr. and… Mr. would like you to return their calls."

Mr. President raised his hand, stopping his aide from continuing. Apparently, the matters related to these gentlemen were more important than the others.

Both were Mr. President's campaign donors. During the course of the election campaign before the victory, Mr. President promised to supply society with more cheap labor.

In fact, it wasn't just these two gentlemen who received such a promise; there were many more campaign supporters.

The Federation's economy was rapidly developing, and as technology advanced, the cost of raw materials and rough processing had gradually decreased.

On the other hand, labor costs began to rise year after year. Four years ago, they only needed to pay someone twenty-eight dollars to hire a worker willing to work.

Now, they had to offer at least thirty-five dollars to recruit a lazy worker prone to trickery and deceit. If they wanted someone diligent, it would be impossible without forty dollars.

By next year, it was likely that the average wage would start at forty dollars, and some positions would demand even more!

In large factories, employing thousands or tens of thousands of people, if they could reduce labor costs by three dollars per month, that could save tens of thousands of dollars, amounting to hundreds of thousands in a year.

The core incentive behind Mr. President's push for the legalization of illegal immigrants lay here; he must fulfill his promise to these backers by providing a supply of cheap labor to society.

He couldn't ask the citizens of his own country to give up high incomes and accept wages below the social standard for physically demanding jobs.

So his focus had to be on these undocumented immigrants.

He pondered for a while, adjusted his thoughts, and then dialed a number.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, he promised the president of the consortium on the other end of the line that he would resolve these issues as soon as possible. Similarly, he mentioned that if he could handle this matter, then he expected full support from his counterpart in exchange for his re-election.

Then he called the second gentleman, and then the third.

Afterward, he summoned his staff team and held an early meeting in his office.

"I've communicated with some gentlemen, and currently what's most important is to gain their support."

"I don't want to say anything discouraging, but our campaign is facing some difficulties at the moment. If our supporters leave us, the chances of re-election will be very slim."

"You must find a way to resolve this problem. We don't have much time left..."

The President's Mansion remained bustling, everyone seemingly swamped with endless tasks. The aides discussed matters yet struggled to come up with any good results.

"Mr. President, I believe the most important thing is to first suppress the firefight in Golden Port City. Eleven Law Enforcers have died, and this result has had a huge impact on society."

"Our opponents have already started using this news to gain momentum. We either stop them or we become more aggressive than they are."

"But..."

The aide didn't continue. It seemed like Mr. President had two choices, but in reality, he was left without any real options.

Mr. President considered for a moment, "First, find a way to settle this issue, don't always let people focus on these conflicts. Report some positive news; people need uplifting content."

"As for this piece of news, find a way to play down its nature..."

Just as Mr. President was contemplating how to downplay the series of problems triggered by the exchange of fire, his opponents were trying to create more trouble for him.

Their goals were actually very simple and harmless: to make their adversary lose the election.

As for what would happen in the process and what new changes would arise in society, they didn't really care.

Even if the house was set on fire, it wouldn't matter if they could become the owners. They had their ideas about building a new house, or at least new decorations.

If they weren't the owners of the house, then why would they care?

A few days after the events, inside Golden Port City, there were already some sizable protest groups. They were protesting the local government's laissez-faire approach to illegal immigration and were also sharply criticizing the Federation Government for neglecting the damage caused by smuggling and illegal immigration to the country.

Indirectly, they were actually attacking the President's policies and decisions.

The Federation was a free country, and the law allowed people to say what they wanted to say. Thus, even if some of the protest content seemed a bit excessive, they and their words were legal.

Driven by the capital of the capitalists and the political influence of the campaign team, this case, which should have ended quickly, didn't seem to have an end in sight.

Protestors holding up signs marched past the bakery, every one of them looking extremely angry. Their demand was to send all illegal immigrants - thieves, prostitutes, and criminals - back to their homelands.

It's as if all the thieves, prostitutes, and criminals are illegal immigrants.

If the Federation people were really that good and pure, this country would have perished long ago.

From behind the cabinet, Lance watched as the public sentiment in Golden Port City grew increasingly complex.

The bakery had few customers in the morning, just a handful of old men gathered there.

They ordered a piece of toast for ten cents, then a cup of coffee for fifteen cents, and that would be enough to keep them seated for most of the day.

The chubby owner had seemingly wised up recently; he rarely bothered Lance, who he had always wanted to pressurize and tame.

But, as it often turned out, he achieved nothing but frustration, and now he had become much smarter. He was curious to see if Lance, whose debt to him kept growing each month, could still manage a smile at the end of the month.

Now Lance owed him twelve dollars.

With an interest rate of ten percent per month, by the end of the month he would owe fifteen dollars plus one dollar and fifty cents in interest.

It didn't seem like much, but without a salary, he was destined to work off his debt for his entire life.

"I wonder when these protests will end; they're beginning to affect our daily lives," a customer, holding a newspaper, started a conversation with a friend by his side.

This was the real face of the Federation bakery at the time—not just a place to sell bread, but also a social hub like a diner or café.

Some people would sit down after buying bread, order a coffee, chat, and enjoy these items.

For the elderly, such a slow-paced life wouldn't be complete without this—it was the most relaxing part of their day for some of them.

They'd chat, boast, read the newspaper, and share opinions.

A customer sitting beside him sighed, "Who knows?"

"Perhaps things will quiet down before the election..."

While they were talking, suddenly a newsboy waving newspapers and wearing tattered shoes ran past the bakery's entrance, shouting as he ran, "Empire withdraws its diplomats, international situation faces dramatic change..."

The people in the bakery were stunned for a moment, followed by an elongated silence.

Undoubtedly, the withdrawal of diplomats was a result of the Emperor's ludicrous "ideas."

By then, many of the lower-class had realized that what was supposedly a declaration of war might not be a "joke" from the Emperor after all.

Despite rational belief that war was unlikely to break out, the oppressive cloud of war nonetheless made it difficult for people to breathe.

Customers who were conversing spiritedly just moments ago quickly left money on the tables and got up to leave.

The chubby owner also snapped back to reality, looking at Lance with a complicated expression, "Do you think there'll be a war?"

Perhaps, this was the first time in a while he'd spoken to Lance not to push him to work harder, but out of genuine curiosity.

While Lance cleaned the showcase window to spotlessness, he responded, "No... unless Mr. President..."

Suddenly, he stopped talking.

He realized that if the President was at a disadvantage in the elections, a war could very well suit his interests.

It wasn't a farcical act from a desperate Emperor, but a cost-free political gamble!

If it failed, he would only be mocked, which was no worse than already being ousted from Imperial City by the rebellion army. Declaring war on the Federation could at most be the second most laughable act.

But if he succeeded, everything he had lost could be reclaimed.

Moreover, there was a considerable chance of success.

According to the Federation's constitution, there were no elections during wartime, and the President would automatically be re-elected until the war ended.

Mr. President didn't even need to maintain a war state for long; three months would be enough to secure his re-election.

Lance's sudden silence alerted the chubby owner to the unease in the air; he wiped his hands and said, "I'm stepping out for a bit, keep an eye on the shop."

He returned to his room with a stern expression, changed his clothes, and prepared for the possibility of war, stocking up on enough flour and ingredients.

Whether to bake bread to sell or to directly sell the supplies, he stood to make a fortune either way.

The apprentice leaned against the door frame, gazing blankly at everything happening outside, his daze resembling the darkening sky, devoid of even a hint of light.