According to federal law, political donations are divided into two types.

The first is individual political donations, which are not subject to oversight.

There are so many people in the Federation, and many are willing to donate to the politicians they support—even if they can’t afford to eat, even if they’re homeless, when it comes time to donate, they’ll give every cent. When the time comes, a sum is automatically transferred from their accounts to certain politicians’ campaign funds.

This is considered one of the three miracles of the Federation—everyone is passionate about politics.

Of course, since there are too many donors, government agencies can’t track every person’s motives or actions after donating.

To minimize the risk of interest transfer through political donations, federal law limits individual annual donations to the equivalent of one month of the local minimum wage.

In other words, under the current Minimum Wage Law, most people can only donate around 240 sols per year. Anything above that is illegal and triggers an investigation.

One person donating 240 doesn’t do much. Everyone thinks so. What can 240 Sol achieve?

Hence, there is a second type: large donations.

This type has no restrictions on whether the donor is an individual or an organization, and there is no limit on the amount—but it is heavily monitored.

Campaign offices assign people to track every movement of these funds. Even if someone buys a cup of coffee for a Sol, it could trigger a corruption or misconduct investigation.

After the election, any unused funds are subject to strict handling protocols—unlike individual donations, which often vanish into someone’s private account.

After all, no one knows how to return that money to its original owner. But when the sum is large, it’s easier to manage.

That’s just the basics. In practice, when someone donates a large amount, the funds are used immediately. Politicians won’t give anyone the chance to reclaim money from a campaign account.

But having every transaction monitored is no fun. Those who truly know how to build ties with politicians never donate large sums all at once.

They use their employees’ names to donate.

One person’s 240 doesn’t do much. But 10,000 employees? That’s over 2.4 million sols—ideally.

Realistically, not everyone donates the same amount at the same time through the same bank to the same campaign account. So, there are professionals who handle this.

Where there’s profit, there are people.

These people donate varying amounts under different names and accounts, leaving no traceable pattern. Naturally, they charge a high fee—but it’s worth it.

Among capitalists in the Federation, there’s a saying:

Whatever you give the President, he’ll return it several times over—just in other ways.

The President brought up Lynch’s employee count not out of genuine interest in his business, but to make a demand—something along the lines of, I’ll agree to your terms; now see if this price works for you.

Forty to fifty thousand people would translate, by current standards, to around six or seven million sols.

Lynch responded boldly, calculating based on fifty thousand people—seven to eight million, maybe more, possibly ten million. The final figure would depend on the size of the check he signed.

Still, it was a great outcome. The President got what he wanted and believed Lynch would leverage his network to build momentum for his campaign.

There was no need to spell it out—saying it would cheapen the whole thing.

“Lynch, I learned a lot from our conversation today,” said the President. “You’ve given me answers to things I hadn’t even considered. I look forward to our next talk.”

Lynch knew this meant the discussion was over. He finished his coffee and stood. “Of course, Mr. President. But I’d like to choose the location for our next meeting.”

The President paused, unsure what Lynch meant, but didn’t object—they had just closed a major deal. “Sure, no problem. But I’m curious—where?”

“At the victory party we’re hosting for you.”

As Lynch stepped out of the President’s office and stood on the steps of the presidential palace, he put on his sunglasses against the harsh sunlight.

Mr. Truman was beside him. Looking at Lynch, he couldn’t help but ask, “Where did you learn all this?”

He stepped forward. “You look young. Your appearance always reminds me of that. But I keep forgetting just how young you really are. I have no idea where you picked all this up.”

This kind of knowledge can’t be learned without direct teaching. No ordinary person could acquire it.

It’s no joke. Even if an average citizen suddenly got rich and accessed high society, without a proper foundation, they’d never be qualified to speak directly with the President like Lynch just did.

Most would need to use brokers to handle these money-for-power transactions, sacrificing more and getting half the promises and friendship—because the broker would pocket the other half.

But Lynch seemed to know everything, to understand everything. It left Mr. Truman with an inexplicable sense of defeat.

Lynch glanced at him, half-smiling. “Everything comes from life.”

“Bullshit life.”

“Need a ride?”

“No…”

Just as Lynch was walking down the steps, about to leave, Truman suddenly called out, “Jania’s here. Maybe you should go talk to her.”

Lynch waved without looking back and left.

Jania had arrived. That was a bit of a surprise, but only a bit. After the initial reaction, Lynch quickly understood the reason for her low-key visit at this moment.

It was a signal. While Gephra was showing military toughness through joint exercises, it had to show political softness in turn.

That proud Emperor of Gephra would never lower himself to call the President and speak humbly. Instead, he used the pretext of the cultural exchange Lynch had negotiated to send an unofficial delegation to visit the Federation.

Unofficial—except with Jania present, it didn’t seem so unofficial anymore.

This was a gesture—a way to ease tensions that might arise from the joint military exercises. And it worked.

At this moment, Jania had just stepped out of the bathroom. Eminence was a bit hotter than Gephra, not humid, but still uncomfortable.

She had just showered and was now lounging casually on a large, soft bed in a bathrobe, watching federal television.

Snack bags were scattered across the bed—some already torn open—popcorn, chocolate donuts, and the like.

She had to admit, the decadent lifestyle of the Federation was quite to her liking.

There were no royal protocols here, no so-called Gephran traditions. The TV hosts didn’t even show the slightest respect for politicians.

She even saw a show where a politician had a breakdown after being mocked by the host. If that happened in Gephra, the host would have lost their job immediately.

The dignity of the nobility was not to be insulted—that was Gephra: rigid, dull.

Not like here, where everything was vibrant and free—even the damn air smelled like strawberries.

She was chewing on a strand of hair that had fallen from her towel, snacking and giggling at the TV when the doorbell rang.

Surprised, she assumed it must be those idiots who wanted to discuss something now that she had just arrived in the Federation. She got up, tidied herself, and went to the door.

The suite was nearly 200 square meters, with tight security—she wasn’t worried about any threats.

But when she opened the door, she saw someone completely unexpected.

“Lynch? What are you doing here…?”

“Hmm?”

Hiss…

“Oh!”

Bang! The door slammed shut.

Half an hour later, Lynch walked out of the bathroom. Jania sat on the bed, holding a phone. “I had someone bring you a set of clothes. Still your brand…”

She pointed at the clothes on the floor. She wasn’t the least bit shy about being unclothed—they’d already spent plenty of time shamelessly together back in Gephra. Nothing to hide.

Lynch nodded, grabbed a drink from the bar, and sat at the edge of the bed. As he sipped and… and… he asked, “You came so suddenly this time—did you miss me?”

“Are you trying to get something out of me?” Jania looked up at him, met his eyes, and called out his intention without hesitation.

Lynch didn’t deny it. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re shameless!”

Lynch couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got even more shameless sides—want to see?”