For over a week, the Gephra Financial Index fluctuated repeatedly, mirroring the stalemate between the Prime Minister and the Minister of Finance.
Neither side seemed able to deliver a decisive blow. Both appeared trapped in a deadlock—unable to retreat, yet struggling to move forward.
The upper echelons of the entire empire were focused on this battle. Some who had initially believed in the Prime Minister’s ultimate victory were no longer so sure, sensing possible changes ahead.
These changes stemmed from the Finance Minister’s ruthlessness. He never left himself an escape route, and even other nobles would choose to back down when dealing with him.
It didn’t seem worth it to completely fall out with the Finance Minister over relatively minor issues. Even some nobles in the Prime Minister’s camp were starting to waver in the face of his demands.
After all, the damage from a full investigation into the companies involved would be enormous.
Just when people thought the standoff between the Prime Minister and the Finance Minister might drag on until the end of the year—or even beyond—a seemingly trivial event completely changed the course of the situation.
That morning, the head of the Royal Bank’s Loan Department had just finished washing up and was reading the newspaper over breakfast. The bank’s workday started at 9:30, giving him plenty of time to enjoy a pleasant morning and all that came with it.
The newspaper’s stories felt stale: yet another financial official exposed for corruption and arrested, or some public company penalized for fraudulent operations and suspended from trading for a month.
Initially, people had been intrigued by these exciting confrontations, but now they were becoming monotonous.
He turned the page—more of the same. The struggle between the two factions was still ongoing, but nothing spectacular.
He picked up another paper—The Pleasure Daily. Ever since it exposed the Harmony Capital scandal, it had become a heavyweight publication.
A paper’s prestige wasn’t self-proclaimed; it was measured by subscription numbers. In Gephra, only newspapers with over one million national subscriptions could display a golden wheat stalk on the bottom right of the front page to signify their influence.
The Pleasure Daily seized the opportunity, splitting into two sections—one for political affairs, and the other for the usual content: girls, dressed or undressed.
Many initially thought this would fail. Political news readers wouldn’t want to see girls in their paper; those interested in girls wouldn’t want to pay for politics.
But surprisingly, the rebrand was a huge success. They used light blue and green backgrounds to clearly separate the content—visually intuitive.
More importantly, they understood the market: most political news readers were men, and this was a paper made for men.
Read the news, then unwind with the girls—a pleasant routine.
Just like the department head. His wife sat across from him, unaware he was more interested in the pretty girls than in dry news.
“You’re smiling?” she asked uncertainly. “Did you read something funny?”
Snapping out of it, he flipped forward a few pages. “Not sure you’d find it funny.”
“A man bit a dog. The dog’s owner is suing him.”
She responded with the perfect amount of surprise. “Oh my, that’s terrible…” then went back to her fashion magazine.
He hid his expression and continued looking at the pictures of the girls. Suddenly, he felt the urge to do something good.
He couldn’t help all the girls—but maybe he could help one.
After a while, he rolled up the paper, tucked it under his arm, kissed his wife, and got ready for work.
While checking his car for dust in the driveway, his neighbor—also preparing to leave—greeted him.
In both Gephra and the Federation of Baylor, whether people acknowledged it or not, class existed.
For instance, there were no poor people in high-end neighborhoods. Residents would block any poor newcomers, and if a neighbor went bankrupt, they’d be pressured to move out.
It wasn’t just about class uniformity—it was for safety. The rich might not care about losing 100 Sol, but the poor might kill for 10.
People of different classes live in different places. That’s the rule of society.
“Hey…” the neighbor greeted.
The department head stopped and returned the greeting at the low hedge between their yards. “Good morning.”
The neighbor offered a cigarette. The two men leaned over the short hedge, smoking together.
After a couple of puffs, the neighbor casually asked, “I’ve been hearing some rumors lately—you know I always catch wind of these things.”
The department head nodded. The neighbor was a stockbroker, someone who had clawed his way into the upper-middle class. Always making money—just a matter of how much. People like that had great connections. In finance, the most important asset isn’t vision—it’s secrets.
The neighbor flicked his ash, pretending to joke. “I heard the bank’s out of money. That true?”
The department head froze for a second, then burst out laughing. “My god, that’s hilarious. The bank? Out of money?” His tone and expression were exaggerated. “Great joke—banks out of money!”
Of course it was a joke. Banks were the richest institutions. Deposits, corporate accounts, even the national treasury was in a bank account. How could a bank have no money?
The neighbor sighed in relief. “Glad to hear it’s just a joke. That day ever comes, it’ll be a disaster.”
He stubbed out his cigarette. Having gotten the answer he wanted, there was no reason to linger.
It was reality—but also the most typical kind of life.
“I’m off. Market’s acting weird these days. Golf this weekend?” he said as he walked to his car.
The department head paused, then nodded. “Sure, give me a call.”
Social life in high-end neighborhoods often starts with the neighbors and gradually extends to the entire community.
After agreeing to play golf over the weekend, the department head returned to his car. As if nothing had happened, he prepared to drive to work.
After checking the rearview mirror and tires, he slowly drove along the neighborhood road. He greeted the security guard at the gate before merging into the main traffic.
For some reason, he suddenly recalled his neighbor’s joke and couldn’t help but laugh again. “Who came up with such nonsense—saying the bank is out of money?”
But then a sudden thought flashed through his mind, and he instinctively slammed on the brakes—a subconscious reaction, like clenching a fist when nervous. People like that shouldn’t be riding motorcycles—it’s dangerous.
The car jerked to a halt, followed by a loud bang as the car behind rear-ended him. A middle-aged man jumped out, furious, but the department head remained in the driver’s seat, motionless.
His eyes were dull and unfocused. He kept repeating that seemingly absurd sentence, “The bank has no money…”
At the same time, in a branch of the Royal Bank in the capital, a staff member had finished changing clothes and stepped into the main hall to begin preparing for the day.
She was a young woman. She wiped down the counter in front of her and glanced curiously at the long line outside the bank. This kind of crowd was unusual.
Her first thought was whether a nearby supermarket was having a sale—usually, that was the reason for more people withdrawing cash.
Other than that, only the start of the school season would bring so many customers.
As she pondered the reason for the crowd, the clock in the hall struck, and the security guard opened the doors.
The waiting customers filed in in an orderly manner. One of them sat down in front of the young woman.
“Glad to serve you, sir. How can I help?” she said with a smile. To her, showing respect wasn’t self-degradation—it was a sign of proper upbringing.
The customer, looking somewhat nervous, handed over his deposit certificate. “I’d like to withdraw money.”
She took the certificate, verified the security features, and nodded. “Alright, sir. Please hold on a moment…”
She picked up the phone and dialed an internal number. “Check how much is available for withdrawal from this account.”
The call wasn’t disconnected. Soon, a specific number came through the receiver. She looked back at the customer. “Your account is still active. How much would you like to withdraw?”
The customer swallowed. “All of it. Is that okay?”
She looked a bit surprised by the question. “Of course. That’s your right. Please wait a moment…”
