“We received a tip-off claiming that Richard, the late president of Harmony Capital who committed suicide out of guilt, once bribed key personnel at the Financial Certification Authority to greenlight Harmony’s IPO.”

“In his suicide note, there’s even a vague mention implicating the current Minister of Finance.”

“Before airing this episode, we reviewed similar cases from the past decade—over 200 cases involved collusion between certification officials and finance ministry personnel. Bribes were paid to grant approvals or listings to companies that did not meet imperial standards.”

“This isn’t the first corruption scandal we’ve seen. There were hundreds before it. And it won’t be the last—because the Finance Minister is still in office.”

“We don’t know where they got the courage to act like this. A few favors, some cash, and they feel entitled to ignore the interests of the nation and its people—to trample the law.”

“The Harmony Capital scandal shows us that while we live in the sunlight, we also live in shadows.”

“How many more problematic companies have slipped through using similar means—securing credentials or even IPO status—we still don’t know.”

“I urge our government, and His Majesty the Emperor, to launch a full audit of all listed companies to prevent another Harmony Capital and to protect our financial safety.”

“If this investigation is allowed to continue, I personally hope it goes to the very end—so the truth can be returned to the people.”

The Minister of Finance switched off the TV with a blank expression. He rubbed his chubby face hard, then let out a deep sigh.

“This is troublesome now, understand?” he said, glancing around the room at his closest allies—subordinates, nobles, and officials from what people had begun calling the Finance Bloc.

“The Imperial Financial Index dropped another 3% today.” His face was grim, though not exactly furious.

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the white crystal chandelier on the ceiling before continuing, “Actually, these reports, these attacks on me—they won’t cause irreparable damage on their own.”

“What matters is that His Majesty trusts me. But that trust is slipping away.”

“The financial index is a direct indicator of that trust. If it keeps falling, it means I’m losing points, and eventually I’ll lose power.”

He straightened up and scanned the face of everyone in the room, pausing briefly on each one. Then, with pointed intent, he said, “As long as I’m still in power, and His Majesty still trusts me, I can secure your futures.”

“But if something happens to me, if His Majesty abandons me—even if you’re untouched, you won’t escape the purge.”

His tone took on a mocking edge, with a hint of simmering anger. “Did you hear what they’re calling you now?”

He sneered. “Finance Bloc officials—that’s what you are.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything drastic. Just get the index back up.”

“This is our last chance…”

What the Finance Minister saw as the last chance fell apart the very next morning, when the Gephra Financial Index suffered an unprecedented crash.

The cause? That political talk show from the night before.

The host’s suggestion—that all listed companies and firms requiring financial credentials be audited—had a far greater impact than anyone expected.

By morning, major financial and political newspapers had all published the story and that key quote. Some outlets, obviously backed by noble interests, even splashed it across the front page.

Citizens from all over the country, outraged, began protesting outside the Finance Minister’s residence and workplace. Other countries picked up the story, and soon, widespread market panic set in.

Retail investors, unable to manage risk or access insider information, had only newspapers to rely on for what was happening—and what they should do next.

But newspapers are politically aligned. They publish what the nobles want said, or what readers want to hear.

Truth—real truth—never makes it to print.

The sudden shift in the situation left many confused, but instinctively aware that a massive storm was brewing.

For ordinary people, the best way to survive a storm is to hide in the cellar.

Not just themselves—but their money, too.

Financial stocks collapsed. The mass sell-off by retail investors and their lost confidence in financial equities left the index with no support—plunging even further…

In a luxurious room not far from the Royal Exchange, Lynch was no longer an outsider—he now sat in the center seat.

Around him were imperial nobles, all of them young.

The oldest among them was barely in his late thirties. Some were only in their early twenties.

These young nobles disliked the atmosphere of the Privy Council, where the elders constantly looked down on them, always preaching with Back in my day or If it were me…

But they got along well with Lynch. They were young, open-minded, and far quicker to accept new things than their elders.

While the old guard still viewed the world with suspicion and hostility, the younger generation had already begun embracing cultures from the Federation and other countries.

Whether they wanted to prove they were better than their ancestors, were searching for like-minded peers, or just wanted a way out of their current trap, they quickly gathered around Lynch.

He was like a magnet, pulling them in. Of course, it helped that he had a reputation for making money.

“Every point… means hundreds, thousands, even tens of thousands in movement…” Lynch sat at the center, hands resting on the armrests, fingers loosely interlaced.

Everyone’s eyes followed his every word, every expression.

“That’s why I told you—making money is simple. Just fill out a few forms and watch the numbers in your account rise.”

Lynch’s confidence was captivating. Not far from him, a young Count gazed at him with admiration.

That Count was just nineteen—the youngest noble in the Gephra Empire. His father died of illness, and with his mother’s help, he beat back all the relatives who coveted the title to become the new Count.

But inheriting the title didn’t bring a comfortable life. Not all nobles are truly wealthy.

There are two types of money here.

One is actual cash—money you can spend, use to buy things, real currency.

The other is a broader concept—wealth. A house, a car, for example. These count as wealth, but can’t be used as currency.

Most of these assets have stories and traditions attached. Some are labeled family assets, meaning they don’t belong to any one person. Turning ancestral property into liquid cash is no easy task.

For nobles who care deeply about saving face, selling ancestral property is tantamount to announcing that their family has fallen—that it’s all over. Proud nobles would rather starve behind closed doors than lose dignity in public.

The young Count owned villas, estates, even a castle, along with various valuable art collections—but he didn’t have any actual money.

He wasn’t alone. Many nobles faced the same awkward situation. Even the royal family and the state itself weren’t exempt—otherwise, they wouldn’t be trying to default on their war bond debts.

After struggling through so many bleak days, it took less than a week of knowing Lynch before the young Count came into a large sum of real, spendable money.

Looking at Lynch, who wasn’t much older than himself, the young Count’s eyes were filled with admiration.

Boys at this age are like that. They easily idolize peers while showing disdain for older, more experienced relatives.

“Mr. Lynch, how much time do you think we have left?” asked a noble in his thirties.

Well-groomed, but like the others in the room, broke. In fact, most of the nobles gathered here were impoverished nobles.

Lynch thought for a moment. “About half a month. No later than the end of November.”

The noble nodded in appreciation, then followed up. “Mr. Lynch, how did you come to that conclusion?”

They called him Mr. Lynch at his own request. He was the only baron present, and using formal titles would’ve undermined his image.

Respect for the weak is always temporary.

The title Mr. Lynch neatly avoided that issue, and both sides accepted it.

Lynch didn’t take long to respond. “Because the Empire won’t allow this turmoil to drag on. The drop in the financial index is essentially a power struggle between different noble factions.”

“That kind of infighting won’t last long. For us, for the ministers, for His Majesty—stability is preferable to chaos.”

“When the winner emerges, the game ends.”