Blackstone Code-Chapter 553: Angry at Their Inaction

We often say that certain people are well-suited for certain jobs. But strictly speaking, no one is born for any particular work. Some people treat their jobs purely as a means to make a living. As a result, they can’t give their full passion to it and end up feeling bored, exhausted, and hopeless.
Others see their work as a calling—a mission in life. Their very purpose is to excel at what they do, striving for perfection, merging with their work, and shining brilliantly through it.
Helen was well-suited to be a personal assistant. It wasn’t tiring. Each day she would go through invitation letters—ones she would have never been qualified to even glance at before—and select a few she felt matched Lynch’s image, then present them to him.
As for the rest, she didn’t bring them up directly, but would casually mention them while discussing Lynch’s schedule.
She accompanied him to various events and interviews, carried his bag, brought him water—doing anything within her ability.
It wasn’t hard. In fact, it was refreshing. And most importantly, Lynch paid her a good salary—800 Sol a month.
Lynch always said she deserved it, but Helen knew full well that anyone off the street could do what she was doing. Lynch paid her so well simply because he knew she needed to support her family and care for a sick sister.
He didn’t want it to feel like charity or pity—Helen understood that. He said those words for her dignity, and she was deeply moved. So, she was determined to do the job well.
Now, in her line of sight, Lynch was sitting under the spotlight, chatting pleasantly with a fashionable woman—the star editor-in-chief of Wave magazine.
Wave was becoming a cultural phenomenon. According to the magazine’s own pitch, every person featured on their cover had the potential to reshape the world order.
Exaggerated? Maybe. But the people they featured were anything but ordinary—from corporate giants to political leaders. At first, the public was skeptical, but now Wave had earned widespread recognition and was headed for even greater success.
This time, Wave invited Lynch to catch two hot topics: first,
Mr. Billionaire
; second, the Joint Development Company.
Compared to inviting true top-tier figures like Mr. Patric or Mr. Wadrick, Wave was still a bit too small. And truthfully, those top tycoons wouldn’t accept any magazine interviews, so they weren’t even considered.
Lynch, on the other hand, was rising fast. He was easier to approach, and accepting the invitation made sense—it was a good opportunity to promote himself.
His conversation with the editor-in-chief was going well. Educated, cultured women like her could make conversations deeply enjoyable—not in a physical sense, but intellectually. She seemed to understand him, to genuinely listen—not just politely respond.
To call her a kindred spirit might be a stretch—but it was close.
Lynch had once known someone like that. That feeling defied description—like the other person was simply another version of himself. One glance, no words needed, and they would completely understand each other.
Even those long gone had expressed similar sentiments—money and power are easy to come by; someone who understands your soul is rare.
Lynch was starting to feel that way again. The conversation was a pleasure.
“Mr. Lynch, our government and some public figures have been emphasizing Nagaryll’s importance to the Federation,” the editor said. “And we’ve indeed seen large corporations and financial groups begin to resume production. Some factories are receiving orders again.”
“But these things seem confined to the Joint Development Company. In other words, Nagaryll has value for its members—but for everyone else, it doesn’t look so promising. How do you explain that?”
Pleasant conversation or not, the tough questions had to be asked—it was her job, after all. Lynch didn’t mind.
It was a sharp question, hinting at a deeper, emerging conflict. People kept saying Nagaryll would drive recovery, but so far only the big companies were benefiting. Only UDC members were seeing gains.
So the public started saying Nagaryll only benefited the elites. For most people, life hadn’t changed. Some even believed the Federation’s focus on helping Nagaryll was hurting its own industrial and economic recovery. Predictably, the conspiracy theories started again.
The narrative: helping Nagaryll was a grand conspiracy by the elites. And it had plenty of supporters. That’s why the question was asked in this issue.
If Wave only offered softball interviews, it wouldn’t be one of the most respected magazines in the Federation.
Lynch furrowed his brows, thought for a moment, and answered, “Opportunity doesn’t come to those who wait.”
The editor’s eyes sparkled—she already knew what was coming, but didn’t interrupt. Lynch knew this was part of the performance. It brought a smile to his face—he found it amusing.
It was one of those moments: I know, you know, we all know—but we still say it out loud, because the idiots don’t.
“During my time in Nagaryll, I saw many people from the Federation going there to seek opportunities—and they found them. They’re already on the path to recovery. But others are still waiting, hoping opportunity will come to them.”
“Opportunity never falls from the sky. It doesn’t just land on people’s heads. Opportunity isn’t that stupid—and it never falls at all.”
“When it appears, the braver, harder-working people have already seized it the instant it arrives.”
“If the people still sitting at home, waiting for blessings and fortune to rain down from heaven, keep waiting—they can. They’ll be waiting forever.”
“Maybe when we’ve fully recovered, they’ll catch some opportunity. But by then, they’ll realize their lives haven’t changed at all.”
“So here’s my advice to everyone in the Federation who’s doing nothing but complaining: If you want a better life, go to Nagaryll.”
“Ten Sol for a ticket. Pack a few clothes. Start a new journey. It’s a lot more useful than sitting on your couch whining,
Why not me?
”
The editor commented fairly, “That’s a pretty harsh thing to say. Most people are like that. You might offend a lot of them.”
Lynch shook his head. “I just feel sad about their numbness. For ten Sol, they could change their lives. But they’d rather rot on the couch, eating terrible welfare food.”
“I’d rather someone run up to me and curse me out—that shows they still have fire, that they want to change, that they haven’t bowed to life just yet.”
“What’s terrifying is that they’ll stay on the couch, curse me, never act, never resist, never try. Only complain. That’s the real horror.”
“That was amazing!” Helen said as the interview ended, handing him a hot cup of coffee. She had just made it—timing it perfectly.
Lynch took the cup and stood in front of a tall mirror, looking at his reflection. Helen stood behind him, brushing his clothes with a lint brush.
The outfit was just for the photo shoot. Because of the fabric, some spots were covered in fine fuzz.
It had to be cleaned before the shoot. The simplest way—have the assistant do a quick brush-down.
“Not bad,” Lynch said, sipping the coffee. The temperature was just right. He took another sip. “If I’m not mistaken, once this interview’s over, we can leave?”
He meant leave Eminence. The results of the state election were just about to be announced.
In previous years, results weren’t finalized until late January or early February, due to accusations of voter fraud and endless recounts. But not this time—the opposition had already conceded. If it weren’t for the legal requirement to count votes, the governor might’ve been re-elected without a single ballot.
With no interference, the victory was virtually guaranteed. As a supporter of the governor and a member of the Progressive Party, Lynch was certainly going to attend the celebration.
Federal politicians were never known for their modesty. Whether governor or president, as long as they won—even if the victory was handed to them—they would throw an extravagant celebration.
Helen, the assistant, nodded repeatedly. She was a little excited herself. An ordinary college graduate like her now had the qualifications to attend a governor’s victory party—her former classmates would be stunned.