The gates of City Hall.

"Frank," Leo called out.

Frank, who had been guarding the entrance, looked over at Leo. The old Union leader was drenched in sweat, his hand tightly clutching a walkie-talkie.

"Leo, the men outside are getting agitated. I’m not sure I can hold them back much longer." Frank’s voice was tinged with anxiety. "Should we pull back?"

"No, Frank." Leo looked at his old comrade. "Open the gates."

"What?"

"I said, open the gates to City Hall."

Leo adjusted his cuffs.

"Get me a megaphone."

"I’m going out to talk to them."

「Two minutes later.」

The sealed gates slowly slid open.

The roar from outside instantly amplified tenfold, crashing into the hall like a physical tidal wave.

The plaza outside the gates was a sea of heads.

Hundreds of dockworkers in grease-stained coveralls and hard hats had surrounded City Hall, blocking it off completely.

These men spent their lives dealing with heavy shipping containers and massive gantry cranes, and they had a certain innate ferocity to their character.

A huge banner fluttered above the crowd, emblazoned with glaring words written in red paint.

"LIAR, GET OUT OF CITY HALL!"

"WE WANT BREAD, NOT BOTS!"

A few radical young workers stood at the very front, brandishing iron bars and striking them against the police riot shields, creating a rhythmic clanging sound.

The acrid smell of gasoline hung in the air.

Someone lit something on fire.

It was a large campaign poster of Leo.

Flames licked at the confident, smiling face of Leo on the poster as black smoke billowed into the air.

It was a blatant humiliation.

The moment the gates opened, all eyes snapped toward them.

They saw the young figure.

Leo Wallace.

He wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest. He wasn’t hiding behind bodyguards.

He was alone, dressed in a suit, as he walked out from the shadows of the hall.

Step by step, he descended the stairs.

He stopped at the top of the steps, standing before everyone, on the edge of a furious sea that threatened to swallow him whole at any moment.

The crowd fell silent for a moment.

Then, a roar erupted, even more ferocious than before.

"That’s him! The traitor!" 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

"Get him!"

"Teach him a lesson!"

The rage was infectious, reaching a fever pitch in an instant.

Suddenly, a red object flew out from the crowd.

It was a rotten tomato.

It traced an arc through the air, sailing over the police line and straight for Leo.

Leo didn’t dodge.

He didn’t even blink.

SPLAT.

The tomato hit the step near his feet, splattering red juice onto his leather shoes and the cuff of his trousers.

It was a test.

If Leo had retreated, if he had shown any sign of panic, the next things thrown wouldn’t be tomatoes, but rocks and Molotov cocktails.

But Leo didn’t move.

He glanced down at the red stain, then raised his head.

His face was expressionless.

He raised the megaphone to his lips and spoke directly.

"Morganfield wants you to cut my head off."

The words had barely left his mouth.

Jack Reynolds tightened his grip on his iron bar. He wasn’t completely stunned by Leo’s out-of-the-blue remark.

He took a step forward, his grease-stained work boots stomping heavily on the concrete.

"Cut the crap, Wallace!"

Reynolds’s roar was like thunder.

"Don’t give us any of that useless bullshit! We’re just asking you one thing!"

He raised his other hand and pointed it straight at Leo’s face.

"Is what the news is saying about the fully automated port true or not? Are you planning to smash our rice bowls for that damn project? Are you going to pour every cent of the city’s money into that bottomless pit?"

The crowd grew restless again.

"Answer him!"

"Yeah! Give us a straight answer!"

The smell of Molotov cocktails seemed to grow stronger.

It was an extremely dangerous sign.

If Leo’s answer showed the slightest hesitation, or any sign of trying to placate them, the crowd’s fury would erupt with even greater violence.

Leo did not retreat.

Instead, he did something no one expected.

He walked down two steps.

The movement instantly closed the distance between him and Reynolds. Only the thin police line separated them now, close enough to see the bloodshot veins in each other’s eyes.

This reduction in physical distance created a powerful sense of psychological pressure.

Leo raised the megaphone.

He could have explained.

He could have told these people that the so-called "full automation" was just a smokescreen put out by Morganfield, that the real plan included a comprehensive relocation program for the staff.

He could have also explained that the bulk of the expansion funds would come from a federal grant from Washington, and wouldn’t drain the city’s own budget.

But he didn’t.

In that moment, explanations were feeble, and reason was useless.

The angry mob didn’t need the truth. They needed an outlet.

They needed a release valve for all their current fear, helplessness, and uncertainty about the future.

And what Leo had to do was not block that valve with logic, but to take hold of this torrent and redirect it toward the dam he wanted to break.

’Since you want to hear it, I’ll tell you.’

"Full automation?"

Leo looked at Reynolds, his gaze unwavering.