The short-tempered and impulsive young man was repairing a vehicle’s drive shaft when he received an alert and noticed approaching police officers. Instead of crawling out from the side they were coming from, he tried to escape from the other side.
But he was too slow. Akumari, who wasn’t very tall, warned him too late. As soon as the young man crawled out, he was caught by several officers before he could flee.
He struggled violently and nearly broke free, but the officers eventually overpowered him and pinned him to the ground. Despite putting up a fierce fight, he couldn’t overcome the combined force of the police and was ultimately handcuffed. Once the cuffs were on, he stopped resisting.
Handcuffs, once locked in place, make struggling a losing battle. Whether in a civilized society or a brutal one, police always have a way to make you regret resisting—without breaking any rules.
So he gave up. But just because he stopped resisting didn’t mean the embarrassed officers were done with him.
They pulled out rubber batons and began beating him mercilessly. These batons, padded with thick rubber, were unlikely to cause fatal injuries—but the blows were heavy.
Seeing this, Akumari immediately pushed through the officers. He couldn’t just stand by anymore—after all, he was a local Youth Party leader. He had to protect the hot-headed young man.
At that moment, a flurry of thoughts raced through his mind, but he ultimately blurted out something unexpected: “We work for foreigners! You can’t do this to us!”
The previously aggressive police froze for a moment, then calmed down.
While the lower class in this city—and even in the entire province—might not know much about
Mr. Lynch
or his influence, the police certainly did. Their attitude changed instantly.
One of the leading officers holstered his baton, tidied his uniform, and brushed off some dust. He glanced at the bruised and bloodied young man, who had barely made contact before being beaten, and declared loudly, “The man behind you planned the recent massive protest here. The mayor and police chief gave direct orders to capture him!”
Akumari was stunned. He looked back at the captured young man with a mix of shock and accusation, as if to say,
How the hell did you get exposed?
Whether it was organizing protests or other actions, the Youth Party had a strict operational structure. Orders were passed down one-on-one, layer by layer. Akumari, for example, would assign the hot-headed youth to handle a task without revealing who else was involved, and the topic wouldn’t be brought up again before execution.
That youth would then pass information to a few subordinates—just time, location, and mission—with no direct contact beyond that. Everyone knew their downlines, but no one knew their uplines. This system was meant to prevent the whole network from being compromised if someone was caught.
Yet despite all that, the hot-headed young man was exposed—and captured.
There hadn’t been any recent news about Youth Party-related arrests, nor any sign that authorities were closing in on the group. That could only mean the young man had revealed his own identity. Given his flashy personality, Akumari felt a deep, weary frustration.
After a long silence, he stepped aside and quietly said, “I’ll try to get you out. Don’t resist. Just go along with it for now.”
A flash of hatred passed across the young man’s face. He nodded and let the police take him away without further struggle.
By now, he already knew who had betrayed him. Other than Akumari and a few subordinates, the only person who knew about the protest was an old friend—a neighbor he’d grown up with.
In Nagaryll, due to the nature of society, neighbors often share close bonds. Life is hard, and having someone to rely on makes a difference. Kids grow up together like siblings.
This childhood friend, however, never joined the Youth Party. Despite the young man’s attempts to recruit him, he didn’t meet the organization’s criteria.
During a recent conversation, the young man had bragged about his position and upcoming plans. It was just a moment of vanity, showing off to an old friend to feel good about how far he’d come.
But that single moment of pride cost him everything. The friend he trusted for over twenty years betrayed him.
Watching his comrade being taken away, Akumari felt a pounding headache. He punched the side of the truck, gasping from the pain, lost in a tangle of chaotic thoughts.
Back when the Youth Party hadn’t been labeled illegal, there were still ways to manage this kind of situation—some money here, a few favors there.
Police back then were easy to deal with. A little bribe, a minor charge, a symbolic punishment—and the guy would be out.
Not anymore.
Now the Youth Party was an outlawed organization. Bribing the police was still possible, but extremely risky and could expose others in the network.
With no way to pay off the police and no support from the higher-ups, the situation was hopeless.
And the police had mentioned that this was someone the mayor and police chief had personally ordered to be arrested. That meant unless Akumari could bring someone more powerful than the mayor into play, nothing would change. He was out of options.
After some thought, he decided to try through the transport team. When the police had started beating the young man, just the mention that they were
foreign employees
had been enough to make them stop. That showed how influential the foreigners still were. Maybe the team leader could help.
He quickly found the convoy leader, a foreigner from the Federation named Cook.
Cook had been transferred by Lynch from the Federation to oversee the transportation fleet in Sabin. The fleet itself would remain operational under new management, but veterans like Cook had been reassigned under Lynch’s direction.
People often assumed that working abroad—especially in underdeveloped countries—was tough. But Cook and his peers were living lives their stay-at-home counterparts couldn’t even imagine.
Their monthly pay was equivalent to what 10 to 20 local Nagaryll workers earned. Beyond their base salary, they also received substantial allowances, earning upwards of 350 Sol each month—a significant sum, especially given the low cost of living.
They lived comfortably. If they could overlook the locals’ body odor, they could spend every night with a different young girl and still save plenty of money.
This booming interest in skilled foreign workers had sparked a disturbing surge in “girl-related” technical services across Nagaryll.
Cook knew Akumari—the short, thick-browed young man—and had a favorable impression of him. He was hardworking and respectful, which earned some sympathy.
Initially, Cook didn’t want to get involved. He was just a logistics coordinator and preferred to stay out of local conflicts.
But Akumari kept begging. And since Cook wasn’t a bad guy—and also a bit soft-hearted—he eventually agreed to ask.
It wasn’t his call to make. He had to see what Lynch thought. If Lynch approved, it would be handled with a single phone call.
If not, at least Cook could give Akumari a clear answer.
Before long, Lynch answered his phone.
“I hear your team’s been living it up lately. Didn’t you say something about marrying a bunch of wives?” Lynch teased, his tone light and familiar.
For Cook and the old hands who had followed Lynch from the start, it was a warm feeling. Lynch wasn’t like other bosses who forgot their people after getting rich.
He was still like a friend—joking around and genuinely caring. That easygoing relationship made everyone quietly grateful and willing to work for him.Cook’s face turned slightly red. He wasn’t married back in the Federation. He didn’t own a home and, at thirty years old, was still living with his single mother.
Most girls, upon hearing about his family situation, didn’t even want to meet him. Even the few relationships he’d had ended quickly.
No one wanted to deal with that kind of baggage. In the Federation, Cook’s circumstances were considered a
severely dysfunctional family
, and no girl wanted to get involved in that mess.
That was part of why he was enjoying himself so much here—he had no burdens.
They threw all kinds of parties. Nagaryll’s girls weren’t just young and beautiful—their slightly darker skin was even smoother than that of Federation girls.
These girls were easily satisfied, unlike Federation women, whose demands could never be met.
In Nagaryll, being a wealthy man meant being a real man. He could finally enjoy everything he believed a man should have.
Cook wasn’t young anymore. He was planning to marry two or three local wives. He had only casually mentioned it to others, yet somehow Lynch had heard and was now teasing him about it.
“Boss… you’re making this really embarrassing for me,” he said with a smile, half complaining.
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