novelnext Chapter 110 Let's Move Forward
Chapter 110 Let's Move Forward
Chapter 110 Let's Move Forward (Bonus Chapter for Alliance Leader "Gu Yue Zhi Yin")
Leo sat on the sofa, leaning slightly forward.
Cigar smoke swirled between the two men, blurring Morganfield's face.
It was so quiet here that Leo could hear his own heartbeat.
When confronted with Roosevelt's question, Leo did not answer immediately.
He closed his eyes.
In this brief darkness, the fast-forward button of thought was pressed.
A heavy, viscous sensory experience instantly overwhelmed Leo.
The musty smell of cheap instant pasta mixed with old paper seemed to creep into my nostrils again.
He felt as if he were back in that cramped, dark apartment, the stark white light from the computer screen stinging his dry eyes.
In the center of the screen, the email from the Federal Student Aid Office displayed a bright red $137.50.
42.89
That number wasn't just a debt; it was a mountain weighing on his chest, making every breath he took carry the taste of despair.
Curled up in that creaky secondhand chair, he naively believed that as long as he understood the history on the bookshelf, he could see the path to the future.
Then came the bone-chilling cold.
The damp, chilly air characteristic of a Pittsburgh winter morning relentlessly seeped in through the collar of his thin overcoat.
He could feel his fingers stiff from the cold, yet he had no choice but to clutch the stack of flyers that no one else wanted to take.
The pedestrians hurried along, their scarves wrapped tightly around their necks, their eyes as indifferent as the snow piled up on the roadside.
He tried to shout, tried to change things, but his voice was drowned out by the city's noise, without even a single echo.
Immediately, the red numbers and gray streets transformed into the glaring police lights in front of the city hall that night.
Screams, roars, and the dull thud of shields hitting flesh exploded in his eardrums.
Margaret's face, which always wore a kind smile, was twisted into a painful shape in the chaotic light and shadow.
The old man who always called him "good boy" lay curled up on the cold, hard cement floor, like a cat.
Before her stood a row of steel machines, each holding a riot shield and devoid of any expression.
The sense of powerlessness he felt at that moment was heavier and more suffocating than the $130,000 debt.
He thought that as long as he stood on the side of justice, he could protect them, but in the end, he only used his cheap conscience to push them into the meat grinder of violence.
Simply because he has no power.
Simply because he was just a "good guy" with a megaphone but no real power.
These painful memories eventually overlap with reality.
He remembered the meatball sandwich with ketchup in Moretti's office, and Cartwright's sickeningly fake smile in front of the camera.
Those people don't need to hand out flyers in the cold wind, and they don't need to worry about being knocked down by shields.
They sat in their warm office, deciding who would live and who would be sacrificed.
The reason they can sit there so comfortably is not because they are noble, but because they are ruthless, evil, and have no bottom line.
Leo's fingers dug deep into the leather of the sofa armrest.
Looking back on this journey.
He rose to power through anger, gained power by inciting public opinion, fought back by exploiting legal loopholes, and survived through political deals.
He was no longer that innocent student.
Although there was no blood on his hands, they were covered in mud.
He wanted to change all of this.
He wanted to drive away those vampires, he wanted workers like Frank to stand tall, and he wanted elderly people like Margaret to live out their old age in peace.
Kindness alone is not enough to achieve this.
Having ideals alone will lead to starvation.
To defeat the dragon, one must grow scales harder and claws sharper than the dragon's.
For a flower to bloom in this muddy pond, its roots must penetrate the deepest, dirtiest mud to draw nourishment.
If Pittsburgh is to survive, someone has to sell their soul.
If that $500 million is to be turned into real bread and milk, someone has to bear the blame.
Let him come then.
He doesn't need to be a saint; a saint can't save Pittsburgh.
He wants to be the one holding the whip.
Leo suddenly opened his eyes.
The lingering hesitation, struggle, and youthful naiveté in his eyes vanished in that instant.
Instead, there was a bottomless, icy pool.
That's the look of a politician.
That was the gaze of power.
He looked at the oligarch in front of him who controlled the city's economic lifeline.
The Leo Wallace of the past, the history student whose last vestige of ivory tower intellect still lingered deep in his mind, died at this moment on the sofa of the Allegheny Hilltop Club.
Sitting opposite Morganfield at that moment was the mayor of Pittsburgh.
He is a gambler who is prepared to make a deal with the devil and take all of the devil's chips in the deal.
"Mr. President, I am ready."
"Very good." Roosevelt's voice was unreadable. "Since you've decided to sell, then sell it for a good price."
Don't stare at the small amount of charity like a beggar; act like someone who possesses it.
"Douglas," Leo's voice was no longer tense, but relaxed, "I'm ready."
"Prepare for what?" Morganfield narrowed his eyes. "Prepare to bow down to me for that pitiful amount of credit collateral?"
"No."
Leo shook his head.
"I'm ready to sell you the whole of Pittsburgh."
Morganfield was stunned.
Even he was taken aback by this unvarnished statement.
He leaned forward, trying to see through Leo's true intentions.
"Anyone can talk big, Leo. But business is about leverage." Morganfield's eyes sharpened. "What do you have? What can you give me?"
I can give you everything.
Leo spread his hands out as if the entire city of Pittsburgh were in the palm of his hand.
"Rules, land, concessions, even the city's right to breathe for the next fifty years. I'd even tear down the city hall's bronze doors and sell them to you for the right price."
Leo stared directly into the oligarch's eyes, refusing to budge an inch.
"The question now isn't what I can offer, Douglas. Since I'm going to put the whole city on the table, the question is—what price can you afford?"
"I want a pass to Harrisburg, I want the credit backing of $500 million in bonds, I want all your resources to stand on the side of the Democrats, stand on the side of Murphy."
"Stand on my side."
Leo took a pen from his briefcase, grabbed a sheet of Allegheny Hilltop Club paper, and slammed it heavily on the table.
Morganfield stared at Leo for a full five seconds, then suddenly burst into laughter.
"Great! Excellent!"
"Since you want to sell, then I'll see if your goods are really worth the price."
Leo uncapped his pen and wrote the first line on the paper.
Single franchise.
Leo tapped the line of text with the tip of his pen.
"If you're just involved in port construction as a contractor, then every five or ten years the city hall will have to review the contract again, your competitors will be watching you, the media will be watching you, that's too much trouble."
"Therefore, I will push the city council to pass a new local bill next month—the Strategic Logistics Unified Management Act."
"In this bill, we will redefine the legal status of inland ports."
"We will define it as a special utility."
Leo looked up at Morganfield.
"Just like tap water, natural gas, and electricity."
"Based on this definition, and in accordance with Pennsylvania's public utility law, in order to ensure the stability and security of services and avoid the waste of public resources due to cutthroat competition."
"The city of Pittsburgh will have the authority to grant a qualified company an irrevocable, exclusive franchise for 50 years."
Leo repeated the number.
"In these fifty years, no matter who the mayor has changed, no matter how the council has changed, as long as your company does not go bankrupt, no one can take away the operating rights of this port from you. This is a monopoly granted to you by law."
"To avoid vicious competition that leads to resource waste." Morganfield pondered this sentence, a slight smile appearing on his lips. "What a perfect excuse."
Leo didn't stop; he wrote a second line on the paper.
Exclusive technical barriers.
"Although we have the concept of franchise rights, according to the procedure, the issuance of such franchise rights still needs to go through a public bidding process."
"To prevent others from interfering, or some reckless out-of-town companies from trying to cause trouble."
"I will have Ethan add a supplementary provision to the technical specifications section of the tender documents."
Leo wrote down a number on the paper: 500.
"To ensure seamless integration of port and rail transport and minimize transshipment costs, the successful bidder must have proof of ownership of at least 500 acres of existing rail transshipment yards within Allegheny County."
Leo put down his pen and looked at Morganfield.
"Douglas, as far as I know, throughout Allegheny County, and even throughout western Pennsylvania."
"There is only one private railroad transfer station of this size located right next to the Ohio River."
"That's your Morganfield Railway Company."
"This means that the outcome of this game was already decided the moment the tender notice was issued."
"Even if someone wants to bid, they have to buy the land first. But they can't buy the land because the land is all in your hands."
Morganfield's eyes lit up.
He was very familiar with this tactic; they used it frequently in business competition decades ago.
However, in the current political climate, there are not many politicians who dare to so openly tailor conditions to individual preferences.
"Radish tender."
Morganfield exhaled a smoke ring.
"It's traditional and rough, but I like it. This is how business should be done."
Leo wrote the third line.
Overall developer.
"A port is not just about docks and cranes; it also includes surrounding warehousing areas, logistics parks, office buildings, and even supporting commercial centers."
"This involves a large number of land development rights."
"I will invoke the relevant provisions of Pennsylvania’s Urban Redevelopment Act to formally declare the proposed port area and the surrounding two-kilometer radius as an urban wasteland."
"Once an area is designated as an abandoned zone, the municipal government has the legal basis to exercise its expropriation power, and we can forcibly expropriate the scattered land within that area."
"Then, I will designate your new company as the sole overall developer for the area."
Leo's voice became deep and seductive.
"This means that you are not just the operator of the port, but also the lord of that land."
"Any company that wants to do business in the port area, whether it's Amazon wanting to open a warehouse, Maersk wanting to do freight forwarding, or a street vendor wanting to open a hot dog stand."
"They all need your permission first."
"They must lease the land from you or obtain your signed permission."
"You hold the power of life and death over all commercial activities in that land."
"You are the god there."
After writing these three points, Leo pushed the letter in front of Morganfield.
Black and white on white paper.
What's written above isn't just ordinary business terms; it's a detailed operational manual on selling off city sovereignty.
Morganfield picked up the paper.
He raised his head and examined the young man in front of him with a completely new perspective.
He had always thought that Leo Wallace was a radical idealist, a street fighter who rose to power by inciting populism.
He thought that even if this young man learned to compromise, he would just be like other politicians, engaging in power-money transactions.
But he was wrong.
This young man is more ruthless than the most greedy capitalist when it comes to selling state-owned assets, and his methods are more professional than those of the most seasoned lawyer.
He not only understands politics, but he also knows how to exploit legal loopholes to build an indestructible business empire.
If this plan is implemented, the Morganfield family will completely lock up Pittsburgh's economic lifeline for the next half-century.
This is much more than he had previously wanted.
Morganfield stared at the letter filled with antitrust clauses for a long time.
"Leo, these three points are indeed perfect from a legal standpoint."
Morganfield extended his finger and gently flicked the paper, making a crisp sound.
"However, in practical terms, this is simply a pipe dream."
He looked up, his eyes fixed intently on Leo.
"Do you think this is a hundred years ago? Do you think I can just walk around the streets like a madman just because the city hall stamps my name?"
"We also have the federal government, the Antitrust Bureau, the Federal Trade Commission, and the FBI above us."
"Such blatant monopoly, such naked transfer of benefits, once it starts, will inevitably attract the sniffing of those hounds in Washington. They will examine my accounts with microscopes, checking every single transfer record of this land."
Morganfield let out a cold laugh.
"You're just a mayor, Leo. In Pittsburgh, you might have the final say, but in front of those federal agents, your executive orders are worth less than toilet paper."
"Do you have the ability to block the Department of Justice's subpoena? Do you have the ability to handle an antitrust investigation?"
"If you can't do this, then this piece of paper is a ticket to jail."
Despite the oligarch's questioning, Leo remained calm and composed.
"Of course I can't do that," Leo readily admitted. "I'm just a mayor; my reach doesn't extend to the Department of Justice in Washington."
"However, there is one senator who can."
Morganfield raised an eyebrow, a hint of mockery playing on his lips.
"You mean Sanders?"
"That old man from Vermont? Don't be ridiculous. He does have a loud voice in the Senate, but he's an oddball."
"He has no friends in the Department of Justice, and he has no roots in Pennsylvania. Once the federal agencies actually start investigating, he can't do anything except rant on TV."
"No, Douglas."
Leo leaned forward and lowered his voice.
"The senator I'm talking about isn't Sanders."
"Who is that?" Morganfield chuckled twice. "Are you talking about Warren?"
Leo shook his head: "It's John Murphy."
Morganfield was stunned.
"Murphy?" He frowned, as if to confirm whether he had misheard the name. "That John Murphy who's just coasting along in the House of Representatives? He's just a congressman."
"That won't be the case for long."
Leo's eyes sharpened.
"As I just said, this $500 million bond is not only for building the port, it is also the seed money for John Murphy's campaign for the U.S. Senate in Pennsylvania."
"We are pushing him toward that position."
Morganfield was silent for a moment, then shook his head.
"This is absurd. Senator Warren is a Republican and a longtime friend of mine. He's deeply entrenched in Washington and has a seat on the Judiciary Committee. Why would I betray an existing ally for the sake of a Murphy whose future is uncertain?"
"Because Warren will soon no longer be a senator."
L
Leo's voice was chillingly calm.
Morganfield narrowed his eyes: "What makes you say that? Based on your confidence?"
"Because I stand behind Murphy," Leo leaned forward, "and because the Democrats are determined to take back Pennsylvania this time."
"Douglas, you may not realize how much the Democrats are prepared to pay to win Pennsylvania, a key swing state, in this midterm election."
"This isn't just Murphy's war. Sanders, the progressive super PACs,..."
Even those establishment figures who usually only focus on Wall Street have reached a consensus: Pennsylvania must turn blue.
"A massive amount of funding, a top-notch campaign team, and statewide union mobilization. This combined force is so powerful that even a veteran politician like Warren couldn't stop this wave."
Leo extended a finger and tapped it lightly on the table.
"Warren will lose. It's not a matter of probability, it's a matter of time. If you keep betting on him, the day he loses, you'll really be all alone in Washington."
"Why should I?" Morganfield put down his cigar.
"Leo, don't take me for a fool. I know the Democrats want to win, but the Republicans can't afford to lose."
"Pennsylvania is the keystone, the only way to the White House. The Republican National Committee will pour hundreds of millions of dollars into this state; they will turn every inch of it upside down."
"Senator Warren has a religiously strong base of support in the vast rural and mountainous region of central Pennsylvania."
Morganfield leaned forward: "What makes you think that Murphy, that nice guy who's just coasting along in the House, plus you, the newly elected mayor, can stop this wave?"
Leo didn't avoid his gaze; instead, he revealed a confident, almost arrogant smile.
"Because I'm the mayor of Pittsburgh."
Leo extended a finger and tapped it lightly on the table.
"Douglas, let me explain this to you in detail."
"The formula for Republicans winning Pennsylvania hasn't changed in decades: they abandon the deep blue strongholds of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, and then flood the vast rural areas with votes."
"But this time, I'm going to rewrite this formula."
Leo drew a heavy line on the table with his finger.
"The first step is to hold the fortress and maximize the absolute difference."
"As mayor, I have the infrastructure boom fueled by those $500 million in bonds. This isn't just about building roads; it's about votes."
"Every unionized family that benefits from the recovery plan, every construction worker who receives a wage on the site, will become Murphy's vote. I don't need to persuade them; their jobs will convince them."
"If I can get 200,000 net votes here, the Republicans could run themselves ragged in those small towns with only a few thousand people and still not catch up."
Morganfield gave a noncommittal snort: "That only guarantees you won't lose too badly, but it won't win the whole state."
"That's right, so there's a second step."
Leo mentioned several counties surrounding Pittsburgh—Westmoreland, Beaver, and Washington County.
"This is the Republican backyard, a traditional deep red area, which Senator Warren thought was his unshakeable territory."
But he was wrong.
Leo's eyes turned cunning.
"The people who live here aren't die-hard ideological fanatics; they're real blue-collar workers. They voted for the Republicans because they felt the Democrats had abandoned industry and only cared about environmental and gender issues."
"But now, I have an inland port expansion plan."
"The logistics chain of this port will extend like blood vessels to these surrounding Republican counties. Most of the warehousing bases, supporting factories, and transportation fleets I need will be located in their territory."
"I want to bring the most tangible benefits to voters in Republican counties—dockworker jobs, logistics driver contracts, warehouse manager salaries."
"While Warren is on TV talking about God, guns, and traditional values, Murphy will be standing at their factory gates with a $500 million bond-backed procurement contract."
"I will turn them from ideological voters into check voters."
"I don't need to win these counties. I just need to steal five percent, or even ten percent, of the white working-class votes from Warren's plate. Once that line of defense breaks, the Republican Party's chances of winning in Pennsylvania will collapse."
Morganfield's expression turned serious. He picked up the cigar again but forgot to light it.
Leo continued to throw out his third card.
"Thirdly, and this is the energy you're most concerned about."
"The Republicans' most vehement attack on us is that the Democrats are against energy and want to suppress Pennsylvania's shale gas industry."
"But this time is different."
"Murphy won't talk about environmental restrictions. He'll stand on the newly built inland port dock, point to those brand-new automated cranes, and tell everyone: I'm going to sell Pennsylvania's shale gas and our steel to the whole world through this waterway!"
"We will use the narrative of industrial renaissance to counter the Republican culture war."
"For energy workers who are worried about their jobs, a Democrat who can help them sell their products is far more attractive than a Republican who just talks slogans."
Leo continued, "Finally, there's Philadelphia."
"Republicans love to attack Democratic candidates as puppets of the Philadelphia elite, but I'm different. I'm the mayor of Pittsburgh. In Pennsylvania, Pittsburgh is Philadelphia's natural rival."
"Murphy will publicly clash with the Philadelphia establishment during the campaign. He will criticize Philadelphia's policing and their tax policies. We will cultivate an image of a tough Westerner who is anti-elite."
"This will help us win over moderate voters who hate Philadelphia but are uneasy about the far right of the Republican Party."
Leo withdrew his hand, leaned back on the sofa, and calmly looked at Morganfield.
"This is my path, Douglas."
"The $500 million bond brought us more than just money; it was a huge magnetic field."
"Its influence will spread like ripples along the Ohio River and the interstate highways to Erie and Bethlehem."
"The Republicans think they own rural Pennsylvania, but they forget that people in rural areas also need to eat and work. Philadelphia can't provide them with jobs; the Republicans are just making empty promises."
"And I have real money in my hands and the state's largest logistics upgrade plan."
"Warren can't stop this wave because all he has are slogans."
"If you still bet on him now, the day he loses the election, you'll be all alone in Washington, with no one answering your phone."
Morganfield stared at Leo as if he were a monster.
He had expected to hear a cliché about idealism or a dry report on municipal construction.
But what he heard was a highly operational election campaign simulation.
"This is not something a mayor should say."
Morganfield spoke slowly, wisps of smoke rising from the cigar in his hand.
"What you just said—about constituency infiltration, about using economic interests to erode the Republican base, about reshaping the state's political landscape—"
"That sounds more like something Murphy's campaign manager would say."
Morganfield shook his head, his tone carrying a complex mix of emotions.
"You've chosen the wrong profession, Leo."
"You shouldn't be holed up in that run-down city hall fighting with a fool like Moretti. You should be a campaign manager, go to Washington, and manage those elections that decide the fate of the nation. That's your arena."
After finishing his reflections, Morganfield took a deep drag on his cigar.
He certainly knew the Democrats' offensive was fierce, but he still didn't believe Murphy was the only option.
"Even if you're right, the Democrats will win," Morganfield retorted. "Then why does it have to be Murphy? As far as I know, the party leadership prefers that lieutenant governor from Philadelphia. He's a darling of the establishment, and if the Democrats are truly unstoppable, he should be the one to take office, not Murphy."
"That's right, that Phillies guy definitely has the advantage."
Leo smiled.
"But that's precisely why you should pray that Murphy wins."
"Think about it, Douglas. That lieutenant governor of Philadelphia, he grew up in the East Coast elite circles, his money comes from Philadelphia conglomerates and New York bankers. Does he have any connections with you? Does he need your money? Does he care if Pittsburgh lives or dies?"
"If that Philadelphian wins the primary and then defeats Warren in the general election."
"Well then, congratulations."
Leo spread his hands.
"You will completely lose your voice in Washington. The newly elected senator owes you nothing, and he might even target your industrial groups to establish his authority in order to appease environmentalists in Philadelphia."
"At that time, you won't even have anyone to relay your message."
Morganfield's hand, holding the cigar, froze in mid-air.
"But what if Murphy wins?"
Leo's voice became deep and seductive.
"Murphy climbed up right under your nose, thanks to your port project and these $500 million in bonds. He's a Pittsburgh native, but more importantly, he's one of yours."
"Only if Murphy wins the party primary and gets the Democratic nomination can he take over the party's resources to defeat Warren in the general election."
"This is your only way out, Douglas."
"You must support Murphy, not to help me, but to prevent that Philly guy from taking over."
"You lost Warren, an old friend destined to fade into obscurity; but you gained Murphy, a rising new power."
"Did you lose money on this deal?"
Silence fell over the cigar room as Morganfield's mind raced.
If Murphy loses the primary, Morganfield will risk losing his voice in Washington, regardless of who becomes senator.
Only by pushing Murphy to the top can he remain undefeated in this upcoming political reshuffle.
With this man in Washington, coupled with the legal monopoly framework provided by Leo in Pittsburgh, the port empire was truly impregnable.
Morganfield finally reached out and picked up the sheet of paper on the table filled with terms and conditions.
He folded the paper and carefully put it into his suit pocket.
"This price is reasonable."
Morganfield stood up and straightened his suit.
"Later, I will have my advisor contact your chief of staff, and they will finalize all the details."
"Everything you want, whether it's a guarantee agreement or corporate support, will be on your desk before sunset tomorrow."
"Those five hundred million dollars in bonds must be approved."
His tone left no room for argument.
"In addition, tell Murphy to get his campaign account ready."
Morganfield walked to the wine cabinet, poured two glasses of wine, and handed one to Leo.
"I will fully support his campaign in Pennsylvania. Not just Pittsburgh, but Philadelphia, Erie, Scranton—I will use all my business networks and media resources across the state to campaign for him."
Leo took the glass and raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"So generous? That's not like you, Douglas. I thought you'd be like before, just giving a little bit of friendly support."
"The past is the past."
Morganfield shook his head and took a sip of his drink.
"In the past, it was just small-scale betting. I could place bets on both sides and not lose money no matter who won. But this time is different."
"This is a full-blown war between the two parties, a life-or-death struggle for control of the Senate. In a battleground of this magnitude, no one will tolerate a fence-sitter."
"It's either winner takes all, or lose everything."
Morganfield looked at Leo.
"I have already acquired the port of Pittsburgh, and my interests are now completely tied to Pittsburgh."
"Now you're the mayor of Pittsburgh, and unfortunately, you're a Democrat."
1
"I can only apologize to Warren."
"For this port, for these five hundred million dollars, I want Murphy to win more than anyone else."
"Go do it, Mr. Mayor."
Morganfield extended his hand to Leo.
"Get the money back and build the port."
"Together, we will rule this city."
Leo grasped that hand.
This time, his hand was clenched very tightly.
He knew that every word he had just written was an act of selling his soul.
He personally sold the city's economic lifeline for the next fifty years to a greedy oligarch.
But he had no choice.
"It's a pleasure working with you, Douglas."
Leo released his grip.
Without pausing, he turned and left.
Morganfield's earlier words, "We're together," echoed in his ears.
Leo paused, his lips moved slightly, but he didn't make a sound; he just mouthed the words.
It wasn't us.
it's me.
He strode towards the door.
Ethan, who had been waiting at the entrance of the cigar room, came to greet them.
Through the crack in the door, which was not yet fully closed, he could see what was inside.
Morganfield sat on the sofa, holding a wine glass.
Immediately afterwards, Leo came out.
Ethan instinctively wanted to ask about the outcome of the negotiations, but the words caught in his throat.
Leo stopped in front of him, straightened his cuffs, then looked up and gave him a brief, indifferent glance.
His face was expressionless, like a bottomless pool of stagnant water, swallowing up all emotions.
The moment their eyes met, Ethan froze.
A strange chill instantly crept up his spine and spread throughout his body.
He followed Leo for almost a year, witnessing the young man's easygoing nature when eating boxed lunches on the construction site, and also seeing his sharp rebuttals to his opponents on the debate stage.
But at this moment, the person standing in front of him felt completely unfamiliar.
This person is not Leo.
He could be a politician.
He could be a schemer.
It could be a monster undergoing a transformation in its pursuit of power.
But he is definitely not Leo Wallace.
The two walked out of the Allegheny Hilltop Club, the cold night wind blowing fiercely against their faces.
Leo stopped and looked up at the dark night sky.
"Mr. President," he thought to himself, "please speak to me."
"What do you want me to say to you, Leo?"
"You want me to comfort you? You want me to tell you that you're still a pure idealist? You want me to pat you on the head like a kindergarten teacher and say, 'It's okay, this is just a temporary measure, your heart is still pure'?"
What you just did was filthy.
"You made a vampire a legitimate lord, that's a fact."
"But you traded your own moral stain for the survival of 300,000 people."
"This was a worthwhile investment."
Roosevelt's voice turned low.
"When you decide to save the lambs trapped by crocodiles, the only way is not to stand on the shore and pray, but to jump in."
"You must become more ruthless than a crocodile, more greedy than the devil, and better at manipulating people's hearts than a despicable politician."
"You must seize fate by the throat."
"Don't look back at your shadow, child, for there you will only find your lost conscience."
"Keep moving forward, even if it's a mountain of knives and a sea of fire."
The black Lincoln sedan was already parked at the door, its engine running and emitting white exhaust fumes.
Ethan stood by the back door, opened it, and waited.
Leo stopped in his tracks.
He glanced at the open car door; the interior was warm and comfortable, with leather seats and a tranquil atmosphere that isolated it from the outside noise.
That's where a mayor should be.
"No."
"Leo spoke up."
Ethan paused for a moment: "Mayor, this place is far from the city center, and the roads are difficult to navigate—"
I said no, thank you.
Leo didn't explain, nor did he look at Ethan.
He simply waved his hand, a gesture that seemed both like a shoo-away and a farewell.
"Go back by yourself, Ethan. Take the documents with you; I want to see them turned into official contracts by tomorrow morning."
"But----"
"That's an order."
Ethan opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.
He closed the car door and got into the passenger seat.
The black Lincoln sedan slowly glided into the night, its red taillights fading into the distance along the winding mountain road until they disappeared.
Leo stood alone on the mountaintop.
The surroundings were deathly silent, with only the lights of Pittsburgh twinkling in the distance, like embers of a fire.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting the cold wind blow into his shirt and beat against his burning chest.
He slowly began to walk along the asphalt road leading down the mountain.
The sound of leather shoes stepping on gravel was exceptionally clear in the empty night.
One step, two steps.
Suddenly, Leo felt an unusual itch on the back of his neck.
It was an itch that seemed to emanate from deep within the skin, even from the bone marrow.
It's as if something is breaking through the soft skin, trying to grow out forcefully.
Leo instinctively reached out and touched the back of his neck.
His fingertips touched a patch of skin.
It became hard, cold, and rough.
He scratched hard, his nails scraping against his skin, the sensation like a hard scale just covering the back of his neck.
Leo stopped in his tracks.
He stood in the middle of the dark mountain path, his hand still resting on that strange spot behind his neck.
There were no scales.
But he truly felt that texture.
That's crocodile skin, and dragon scales.
That was the armor he had to evolve in order to survive in this cruel arena.
You can't defeat a monster if you don't become one.
If fangs don't grow, they can't bite through the chains.
Leo lowered his hand.
He looked down at the city nestled in the Monongashira River.
In the darkness of night, that steel jungle seemed to transform into a sleeping beast.
And now, he is a wild beast.
He was even hungrier and more ruthless than that beast.
Leo straightened his wind-blown collar, covering the non-existent "scale" on the back of his neck.
He started walking again, heading towards the lights at the foot of the mountain.
He walked toward the world that awaited him to tear apart, to conquer, and to rule.
>