As William got up to pour the wine, Leo said coldly,
"When I first started the class, I asked William to inform you. Why didn't you come then?"
"I…"
Hans opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.
William had informed him, but Hans thought of himself as a high school graduate—how could he be taught by Leo, a mere elementary school dropout? It seemed laughable.
It wasn't until two days ago when William and Aldo came to chat with him.
Hans tried testing them with some questions, only to be stunned as the two former dunces answered fluently.
Only then did Hans realize what he had missed out on.
"I'm sorry, Hans. I don't have the capacity to teach any more students."
Leo accepted the wine from William, stopping him with a gesture as he tried to speak, and responded coldly.
"But William told me you just let two veterans join yesterday."
"We've known each other for years, Hans. We grew up together.
But ever since I came back from service, you've been deliberately avoiding me."
"I didn't want to get involved with the Lynchburg Gang again.
I'm tired of being the troublemaker in everyone's eyes.
I've worked three years to escape that image," Hans said.
"I get it. You're right. We did do some stupid things back in the day.
So you distanced yourself—I don't blame you.
But now you want to join my training program?
I would've said yes, because once, you were my brother.
But then you tried to insult that friendship by offering me money.
Look around, Hans. Do I look like I need money?"
Leo's voice was calm, but full of weight.
"I just want to get into college."
Hans lowered his head, ashamed.
Leo set down his glass, got up, and walked to the window, subtly signaling William to escort this fool out.
Hans realized he had said the wrong thing and looked pleadingly at Emily.
Kind-hearted Emily looked at Leo and pleaded gently,
"Leo…"
Leo turned back and gave Emily a warning look—one that made it clear this would be the first and last time she interfered with his decisions.
Finally, Leo said to Hans,
"Hans, for Emily's sake—
You want to leave Lynchburg? That's fine.
You want to go to college? Also fine.
But you can't have it both ways.
This world works on trade-offs. If you want something, you have to give something."
Leo's words struck a chord in Hans.
He raised his right hand and pounded his chest twice—an old Lynchburg Gang gesture.
"Boss, I understand now."
Hans bowed his head, voice sincere.
The return of a friend was always a joy. Hans was stubborn, but much smarter than William or Aldo—definitely worth cultivating.
Especially now that his arrogance had been mostly knocked out of him.
Leo, who had experience running businesses in his past life, knew too well how rare it was to find someone both loyal and capable.
With the tension gone, everyone began enjoying the food Emily had prepared.
Hans sat beside Leo and whispered,
"Boss, I think Patrick is targeting you.
I've got some intel that might help.
Patrick's secretary, Cyril, has been quietly ordering cakes for his young mistress.
I hope this helps you."
Leo remained expressionless, but nodded slightly inside.
It was indeed useful information.
—
By midday, a worn-out Patrick was rubbing his sore back as he sat in a chair. Last night's girl had been wild.
His secretary Cyril burst in with a panicked look.
"Mayor, it's bad! They're blocking the town hall again!"
Patrick jolted up, anger flaring.
"Impossible!
The Lieutenant Governor has already spoken with the men behind the grain traders.
Where would protesters come from?"
Cyril looked close to tears.
"No sign of the grain merchants…
But the small- and mid-sized farmers have formed a new association—on their own."
Patrick shot up and walked to the window.
Outside, a steady stream of farmers was arriving at the town hall.
Compared to yesterday, the crowd hadn't shrunk—it had grown.
Tractors and farm machines of all shapes and sizes were blocking the entire road in front of the hall.
At the front, two farmers held a large banner:
"Oppose the Formation of the Grain Control Committee!"
The chant went up:
"Patrick out of Town Hall!"
"Patrick, the backstabber!"
"Patrick, the liar!"
"No votes for Patrick next year!"
Votes. That got Patrick's full attention.
He felt like something was slipping beyond his control.
"Why is there another group coming?!"
Cyril cried out.
Patrick had already noticed—two more groups were approaching from down the street, both holding banners.
One read:
"Abolish the Environmental Protection Act! Give Us Our Jobs Back!"
The other read:
"Protect Lynchburg's Environment! No to the Lumber Mill!"
The two groups argued, cursed, even shoved each other on the way.
Soon, the chaos converged at the town hall entrance.
What was usually a quiet government square now looked like a buzzing market.
Everyone was exchanging warm, colorful insults about each other's entire family.
"What do we do, sir?"
Cyril asked.
"Something's not right, Cyril. This has never happened before.
Someone's organizing them against us.
Loggers… farmers… These scattered groups—how did they all unite?
Did anything happen in Lynchburg yesterday?"
Cyril nodded.
"After his dinner with the town's elites, Leo hosted another feast—for all the small farmers."
Smack!
A slap rang out. Cyril's face bore the clear mark of a handprint.
"Why didn't you tell me something so important?!"
"You were busy entertaining the big shots from D.C., weren't you?"
Cyril clutched his face, looking wronged.
The rare spectacle had drawn most of the townsfolk.
Even some of those dissatisfied with Patrick joined the protesters, chanting:
"No votes for Patrick!"
Patrick was fuming—furious at Leo's audacity and at Cyril's carelessness.
But more than that, he was scared.
Leo had struck at his vital weakness: the ballots.
Patrick knew too well—the only reason his dirty deeds continued to run smoothly was because he was the mayor.
If he lost that title, everything would collapse.
This was the first time in 30 years as mayor that he had seen such a scene.
He picked up the phone and called Virginia's Lieutenant Governor, Harry Biles.
"Patrick, you've been calling me a lot lately,"
came an impatient voice on the line.
"Sir, I'm in trouble."
Patrick quickly explained his dilemma.
A long silence followed.
"Sir, I—"
Patrick started again, only to be cut off.
"The National Guard is not an option. Not during sensitive times.
It's your job to solve problems for us—
not to create them.
Patrick, handle it yourself.
Don't drag the rest of us down."
Click.
The phone slammed down hard.
Crash!
The receiver smashed against the wall, shattering into pieces.
"Damn it! Goddamn bloodsuckers!"
Just as Patrick roared in rage, the office door flew open.
A terrified receptionist burst in and shouted:
"Mayor! It's bad—they've broken in!"