“I heard the Minister of Finance has been troubled lately. A lot of people have been protesting outside his residence?”

The Prime Minister’s sudden question made the assistant, who was sorting through documents, pause for a moment.

The Prime Minister had never been very involved. Most of the time, he simply read newspapers, drank coffee or herbal tea, and occasionally represented the Emperor at events in other regions.

He would show up, sit or stand, and deliver a speech on behalf of the Emperor.

That’s how he earned the nickname mascot. He rarely expressed his own opinions—he was more of a decoration, a symbol.

So his unexpected question caught the assistant off guard. But he quickly responded, “Yes, apparently someone even smashed the Finance Minister’s windows with stones.”

“That’s truly terrible,” the Prime Minister said, with what seemed like… anger?

The assistant wasn’t sure. He thought he caught a fleeting smile when the Prime Minister lowered his head, but it vanished almost instantly. He couldn’t tell if he imagined it.

The Prime Minister frowned slightly and spoke after a brief pause. “Protests and demonstrations are normal, but violence is not. Notify the police and have them disperse the crowd—and tell them why.”

The assistant hesitated for a few seconds, clearly struggling to follow the Prime Minister’s logic. He needed that time to process the deeper implications.

When it clicked, he suddenly felt hot. “Wouldn’t this… provoke the protesters?”

His voice was soft, cautious—not to object, but as a supplement.

The Prime Minister looked at him. “Do you think turning a blind eye to irrational protests is the right move?”

“If they can throw stones today, they could fire bullets tomorrow. Do as I say.”

His tone wasn’t loud, but the pressure was immense. The assistant realized his mistake and immediately nodded, jogging out the door.

The Prime Minister shook his head as the door slowly closed. His years of silence had dulled not just his own edge, but even his assistant’s sensitivity.

But provoking the protesters—that was exactly his goal. Otherwise, how would the next act of the drama begin?

A few minutes later, the Director of the Imperial Capital Police received a call.

“Hello, I’m calling on behalf of… His Excellency the Prime Minister is deeply concerned about the events of yesterday.”

“Demonstrations should be a peaceful expression of public opinion—not a gateway to violence. Please disperse the crowd quickly and restore order in the capital.”

The police chief remained expressionless. It was just political nonsense. But out of courtesy, he replied, “It’s not that we don’t want to act, it’s just that the crowd is too large—any move could cause chaos.”

“We’ve already deployed officers. There won’t be a repeat.”

The voice on the other end wasn’t satisfied. “You don’t need to explain what you’ve done. What you need to do is disperse them. They no longer fall within the legal definition of a protest—they’re becoming a violent mob.”

“For the safety of the ministers, you must fulfill your duty as police chief. This isn’t a discussion. It’s an order.”

“Unless, of course, you refuse to carry it out?”

The unexpectedly firm tone alerted the police chief—something was off. Everyone knew the Prime Minister was just a figurehead.

All policy discussions and decisions were made directly between the Emperor and his ministers. The Prime Minister usually just listened in, rarely offering input, and almost never being heeded.

Now, with the Prime Minister’s office suddenly acting aggressively, the chief realized a storm was brewing.

He stiffened. For a man of his rank, he had no power to resist this level of political maneuvering.

“I understand. I’ll take immediate action to disperse the crowd outside the Finance Minister’s residence and ensure the safety of our ministers.”

Three minutes later, a wave of orders was issued from the capital’s police headquarters. The Second Police Division was also instructed to assist.

The Gephra Empire had nine police divisions. The First Division handled everyday law enforcement.

The Second Division was the armed police, responsible for suppressing riots. This wasn’t a free country—troublemakers were dealt with swiftly.

The Seventh Division was the secret police, tasked with capturing threats to national security.

Each division had its own responsibilities. Together, they had largely replaced the military on domestic soil.

During the last war, there were even public calls suggesting the army be sidelined in favor of deploying police as soldiers.

Of course, the police weren’t eager to die, so the proposal didn’t gain traction—but it showed just how powerful the police force was, often surpassing the army in domestic authority.

The First and Second Divisions responded quickly, dispatching armored vehicles and armed units to the protest site.

Meanwhile, the Finance Minister wasn’t cowering at home like the public assumed.

He hadn’t left his house, but he showed no sign of fear. Aside from being irritated that his subordinates weren’t moving fast enough, he was calm.

He didn’t believe the protesters would dare storm a noble’s residence. That was a serious offense in the Empire—life imprisonment at minimum.

If someone got hurt, it could even lead to a punishment reserved for nobility—hanging.

Executed in public at Empire Square. For some, that kind of death was almost an honor—but that didn’t mean anyone actually wanted to be hanged in front of a crowd.

Years ago, gangs had a saying: “If I die, let it be by hanging,” to show ambition for their criminal career.

The Finance Minister ignored the protesters outside. In fact, he was actively pushing for escalation.

He was racing against time. Anything that could buy time, he would do—regardless of dignity.

He wanted to paint himself as a victim to earn public sympathy. If he could get injured, even better. But for now, it wasn’t the right moment to appear.

It’s like when someone punches you and immediately apologizes—you’re too angry to forgive them. You need to hit back first.

But if they disappear for a few days, and someone else comes to mediate, and then they return with an apology—you might accept it. You might even chat.

Right now, people’s money had just been lost due to corruption in the finance department. They were furious. Even if the minister knelt and begged, they wouldn’t listen—they’d still curse him out.

But give it time. Let their anger cool. Then, with an official investigation, plus a tearful, injured minister pleading for forgiveness, the public might just forgive him.

He’d also present some plans—how to deal with the remaining embezzled funds, and what punishments others involved would face.

For now, showing his face would only make things worse.

As long as he could buy some time and gain sympathy and support, he’d have more room to solve certain problems.

He would carry out an internal purge, throw a few people under the bus, and the matter would be settled.

He had already arranged meetings with some major listed companies. He hoped they would cooperate in pushing the index back up.

The method was simple: high-frequency trading to maximize turnover and momentum, which would drive up the stock prices of these key companies and halt the financial index’s downward trend—then reverse it.

This move would only benefit the listed companies. Rising stock prices would increase the wealth of their shareholders, including the noble families behind them.

Once the situation was under control, he would toss a few unimportant subordinates out as scapegoats, and allow some external forces to step in—like letting the Emperor plant his own trusted aides—as a show of compromise to break the deadlock.

He had plenty of ways to turn things around, step by step.

He had spent an entire day crafting this plan and believed there was nothing wrong with it. All he needed now was to wait quietly for it to unfold.

But just then, the noise outside made him frown. He heard the sound of synchronized footsteps—something ordinary civilians couldn’t produce. Another force had stepped in.

He immediately stood up and walked to the window—and saw armed police.

They carried long-handled weapons resembling sledgehammers. Except, unlike the typical metal heads of such weapons, these had rubber-coated metal heads.

Painful, but not lethal. Enough to knock someone out, but not crack a skull open.

The police phalanx advanced steadily, while patrol cars behind them broadcast demands for the crowd to disperse immediately or face legal consequences.

The Finance Minister stared in disbelief. He hadn’t even called the police himself—why were they interfering?

He spun around furiously, stormed back to his desk, and grabbed the phone to call the police chief. No one answered.

If he had stayed at the window a moment longer, he would’ve seen—the police chief was in the formation.