When Jania returned, the two gentlemen with Lynch smiled politely and left.

Since she arrived with Lynch as his companion, they naturally knew what to do.

When a man is accompanied by a woman, it’s best not to interrupt them—they either have something private to discuss or are using the company as a way to avoid others’ approaches.

Whether it’s a casual chat, a formal visit, or just an introduction, it would be impolite and inappropriate.

“You’re very popular,” Jania said as she held Lynch’s arm. “I’m getting a bit hungry—let’s get something to eat.”

As they walked toward the chef’s station, Lynch explained that from early summer to late autumn, it was considered the Federation’s art season—lasting about four months.

During this time, all sorts of galleries in Eminence would open their doors, allowing the public to experience a wide array of bizarre and unique art exhibitions.

Most notably, there were the art performances by vegetarian and animal rights groups. They would have young women pose naked as animals—cows, sheep, and so on—lying on serving trays or beside fur products.

They would splash red-colored fuel around to simulate blood, all to urge people to treat animals humanely.

Then there were the feminist demonstrations, also considered a highlight. Large groups of young women, topless but in shorts, would parade down the streets with banners demanding equal rights—including the right to display their bodies publicly.

Shorts were necessary, as exposing certain organs could be considered a crime—but toplessness was not.

These were the most eye-catching performances, followed by well-known artists’ exhibitions, and finally those by lesser-known individuals.

At the right side of the dining area, where food was freshly cooked in addition to the buffet, they each ordered something and found a spot to sit.

Jania toyed with a curled strand of hair by her temple. “I remember you own a production company?”

“More accurately, I’ve invested in one—Fox Pictures. You may have heard of it.”

Jania nodded in realization. “I’ve seen your films—The Adventures of Lynch, both of them. They say those were based on true events. Is that real?”

Lynch’s interest was piqued. “Of course. Actually, there are many things we couldn’t include. You know, deep in the Nagaryll jungle, there are still tribes of cannibals…”

Adventure and mystery always capture people’s attention. Humans are naturally curious, always drawn to the unknown.

They chatted about Lynch’s thrilling stories for a while until Jania smiled and admitted she didn’t believe all of it. “When you visited our side and discussed cultural exchanges with the ministers, you mentioned a co-production between our two countries. The delegation leader told me there’s a chance we might finalize one of those projects during this visit.”

“Do you have a script ready?” Lynch asked.

A co-production between two countries isn’t as simple as greenlighting a project. Who provides the script? What’s its narrative? What’s the stance? Who are the actors? Who directs? Who leads the production? All of this needs careful negotiation.

Especially now that the Federation had just announced a new military program, and Gephra quickly followed with its own, heightening tensions between the two nations.

This kind of rivalry wasn’t a good sign—even though both countries belonged to the same alliance.

There were already rumors suggesting that if a second world war ever broke out, it would be between Gephra and the Baylor Federation.

No matter how strongly both sides denied it, everyone knew it wasn’t an empty theory.

You only need one—there’s no room for two.

Gephra’s current visit was a diplomatic move to ease these tensions. They weren’t ready for full-scale competition yet. Only once the situation in the Amellian region stabilized would they consider entering a global contest—with the Federation and the world at large.

Politically, militarily, economically, culturally, socially…

Jania shook her head. “Nothing particularly suitable yet. It’s possible this co-production will be split into two parts—one led by your side, and one by ours.”

“So-called co-production,” she added, “is more like you shoot your version, we shoot ours—we’ll just use each other’s actors.”

The server brought their food. After he left, Lynch picked up his utensils and said, “That works too. I’ve got an open co-production slot. Maybe we can work together.”

Jania perked up. “What’s the theme?”

“Anti-war.”

Anti-war films have always been a sensitive subject. Admitting fault means someone has to take responsibility. That responsibility often falls on the defeated side.

But everyone knows that being the loser doesn’t necessarily mean being the instigator. They simply lost the right to speak.

The real culprits are the ones who start wars—yet they often end up as the victors.

Take Gephra, for instance. No one criticizes them for stirring up conflicts. People only say that the defeated nations were arrogant to challenge a global power and deserved the destruction that followed.

It’s always a delicate theme—neither losers nor victors want to touch it.

Yet it’s precisely because of this that such a film would stand out. If they made an anti-war film now, as a co-production between two countries, it would definitely win awards.

Jania licked a bit of oil from the corner of her lips. “Still looking for a lead actress?”

Lynch hesitated. “I already have someone in mind. But if you have a unique interpretation of the script, maybe I’ll let you audition.”

“Where’s the script?”

“In my room.”

Three days later, Lynch left the hillside villa, supporting his waist.

Jania had stayed with him for those three days. Despite all his efforts, he hadn’t extracted any deeper information from her. It seemed this diplomatic mission really was only about the stated purposes.

Nothing hidden beneath the surface.

As a special advisor to the National Security Council, Lynch carried a strong sense of duty. Serving his country was always what he aspired to do.

Today, he was leaving to meet an old acquaintance who had just arrived in the Federation. As the host, it was his job to welcome him—and to discuss a few other things.

Around 10 a.m., at the eastern port of Eminence, Lynch met Drag.

He was no longer a provincial governor—just an ordinary, retired citizen of the Federation, collecting a maximum pension of 750 Sol a month. Just an old man trying to live out his final years in peace.

“Mr. Lynch…” Drag greeted him with emotion. Just three days ago, he had still been a member of the New Nagaryll Federation’s parliament. Now, he was just an ordinary man.

He had never bowed to anyone. As a provincial governor, a local despot, even during the height of the Federation’s intervention, he had tried to maintain his dignity.

But now, he bowed his head.

Without power, he had lost all leverage against the Federation—and against Lynch.

Back when he held authority, he could face Lynch as an equal. Now, he was just another man. And this was the Federation—Lynch’s territory.

That was reality. Brutal, undeniable. It sounded cliché, but clichés exist for a reason.

Lynch hadn’t moved. He only extended his hand when Drag approached. His smile became animated.

“Welcome, Mr. Drag. I may not speak for the entire Federation or its people, but I welcome you personally.”

“This was the right choice. I can promise you that.”

Drag smiled, but it was strained. He wore no sunglasses, as if to better see the world for what it was. “I hope you’ll look after me and my family. I’m just an ordinary man now.”

Lynch added, “An ordinary man worthy of respect—because you’ve chosen the side of justice.”

He paused, then let go of Drag’s hand. “Come on, let me show you around. You’ll be living here from now on. Don’t worry about retirement being dull—people will be knocking at your door soon enough.”

That made Drag uneasy.

He climbed into the nanny van Lynch had prepared for him. The interior left him speechless—he hadn’t imagined a car could be this luxurious.

Soft sofas lined each side, with a minibar and even a small dance floor. It was a mobile pleasure lounge.

As he sat down, he looked at Lynch. “I don’t quite understand. Who’s going to come looking for me? Enemies? Old grudges?”

Lynch had someone pour them drinks. He waved a hand casually. “Sorry, I wasn’t clear. I meant media crews. Your arrival will rally the Federation public. It’s a symbol—a boost to their confidence.”

“The Federation will make a point of highlighting this. You’ll be appearing on various television programs, explaining why you chose to settle here. You’ll talk about some of the past problems in Nagaryll.”

“You see, people always want to believe they’re on the right side—the just side. Not just you, or me, or the president. Even our citizens want to believe we stand for justice.”

He raised his glass. “To our meeting in the Federation—cheers.”