“Borrow from someone else?”

The emperor, seated in his chair, rubbed his temples and glanced at the world map on the wall to his left. Without a doubt, this someone else referred to the Baylor Federation.

But would the Baylor Federation really lend him money? He had serious doubts.

Everyone knew the conflict between Gephra and the Baylor Federation was irreconcilable. He enjoyed seeing Baylor suffer, and he was sure their president and his cabinet would be just as happy to see Gephra in trouble.

They were probably popping champagne right now, celebrating the unprecedented crisis Gephra had found itself in. And in such a moment, he was supposed to ask them for a loan? Would they agree?

As he mulled it over, his gaze briefly passed over Jania, who stood nearby.

“You can sit down,” he said casually. Strangely, Jania didn’t sit.

The emperor’s brow twitched. In better times, he might’ve frowned, but now he merely twitched. So many frustrating things had worn down his temper. He also noticed something off in the room—an unclean smell.

A smell… that suggested a lot without saying anything directly.

“He didn’t rest, did he?” the emperor asked, then sighed. “They’re probably still celebrating. Of course, they didn’t rest. Call him for me. I want to speak with him.”

Jania walked over to the desk and picked up a telephone that looked more like a piece of art. The handset was made of rhino horn, wrapped in a thin layer of gold, engraved with elegant patterns, and inlaid with gemstones for grip.

She was a bit afraid of the emperor. After all, this man—who didn’t appear that imposing—had fought his way to the throne in a bloodbath, killing off all opposition. Anyone would feel a sense of awe toward him.

The call connected quickly, and she handed the phone to the emperor.

“It’s been a long night. You should go get some rest…”

After bowing, Jania turned to leave. But just as she reached the door, the emperor suddenly coughed, making her stop and turn back.

“I don’t usually meddle in others’ personal affairs, but you’re my sister, a royal princess, so…” He struggled to find the right words—something clear but not offensive.

After a moment of awkward silence, he simply made a vague, unnatural gesture. “Do you understand?”

Jania nodded. “I understand. I’ve already cleaned myself. I won’t get pregnant with his child.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for the royal family…”

She bowed again and left. This time, she slammed the door shut. She believed the emperor wouldn’t mind her little act of defiance.

After the door closed, the emperor shook his head. Lynch would never marry Jania—not because he wanted to keep them apart, or because he had plans to marry her off to some noble. It was just a fact.

Their age gap was significant, and Lynch held a certain status and influence in the Federation.

Even if Jania, as a Gephran princess, could marry outside the empire—and was willing to marry Lynch—would he marry her?

Clearly not. The emperor had already heard the rumors: Lynch had ambiguous ties with daughters of several major consortium leaders. Compared to a fading imperial princess, those rising powerhouses of the Federation were much better matches for him.

The emperor didn’t want to admit it—Gephra was in decline—but he couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

Shaking off those messy thoughts, he picked up the phone again. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m here,” Lynch’s voice was gentle and warm. The emperor, speaking to him for the first time, was surprised. He didn’t hear aggression or hostility—just warmth, like sunlight.

What a liar.

The emperor chuckled. “I spoke with Jania just now. I have some questions about your proposal.”

“Go ahead.”

The emperor hesitated for a couple of seconds. “Do you really think Baylor would lend us money?”

“Let’s not avoid the issue—do you think your president would step in and help us stabilize things?”

At a time like this, only Lynch could answer that. He was not only a citizen of the Federation with rising status—rumor had it he’d been invited to the president’s victory party, even before the elections—but also a businessman and capitalist.

He understood the Federation’s rules of the game far better than the emperor or his ministers. His opinion carried weight.

Lynch gave a short and firm reply: “Yes.”

This was what baffled the emperor about the Federation. Despite being rivals, why would Baylor be willing to lend money now?

If the roles were reversed—if Baylor needed funds to weather a crisis—he would never help them. He’d just sit back and watch them drown.

He couldn’t understand the Federation. He didn’t grasp what capital first truly meant.

As long as there was profit, the capitalists of the Federation would push for laws to protect their gains—no matter who the president was. They would never turn down profit.

Presidents come and go. Profits don’t.

Moreover, if the emperor really wanted that money, he’d have to agree to some of Baylor’s additional terms. Only then would the Federation be willing to lend.

That was the end of their conversation. The emperor thanked Lynch for his advice and hung up.

On the other end, Lynch also ended the call and rejoined the crowd, continuing the celebration.

Even if the emperor contacted the president of the Federation right now, and they struck a deal, it would take time for the money to reach Gephra—at least until early or mid-November. There was still at least a week left for everyone to make more money.

The next day, things didn’t improve. Major banks continued limiting withdrawal counters and caps. They had shut down a large number of windows, claiming it was to prevent chaos.

By slowing service and keeping only a few windows open, the banks made their limited cash reserves stretch just enough to maintain appearances—We’re not out of money; we’re just working slowly. Everyone will get theirs.

That was the message they wanted to send.

Sometimes, the people are foolish. They’re quick to believe absurd lies and take them as truth—like when someone says the banks have run out of money, and they actually believe it.

Other times, they’re incredibly sharp. No matter how hard the government tries to stabilize the situation, they see it as a ruse, a tactic. They trust only themselves.

What’s more fascinating is how easily they deceive themselves. Everyone knows the banks probably can’t cover withdrawals for everyone.

But they still line up, convinced that when it’s their turn, the bank will have money. Even more ironic, they voluntarily maintain order in those lines.

A discreetly luxurious motorcade passed along the roadside. The Prime Minister watched the crowds queuing to withdraw money, his face expressionless.

In truth, he had orchestrated this bank run.

Without a politician of his rank—Prime Minister of a nation—pushing things behind the scenes, mere rumors would never have caused such a wave.

Had things started to escalate without high-level involvement, the so-called the emperor’s hounds, the Seventh Police Department, would’ve already rounded up anyone spreading such rumors.

Gephra is not the Federation. There is no freedom or equality here. People taken by the secret police often just vanish. Everyone has heard of such cases.

Someone had allowed these rumors to spread. Some nobles had even helped fan the flames, which is why everything unraveled so quickly.

As the Prime Minister reflected on the shifting state of the country, a faint sense of guilt stirred in him—but only faintly.

This was necessary to gain leverage against the monarchy, for a greater justice. He had to make a difficult choice.

Thinking of it that way, he felt more at ease. The guilt faded.

Compared to a monarch hungry for greater power, a brief disruption in economic order was an acceptable cost.

He turned his gaze away from the window, beginning to plan for the changes ahead.

By the third day, a shift finally came.

“I plan to fully open the treasury to calm the storm.”

In the Great Hall, the emperor’s words made the Prime Minister, who had been lounging with his eyes half-closed as if still half-asleep, slowly open them.

He looked at the emperor seated on the dais, then at the finance minister nearby, who looked utterly defeated. The Prime Minister frowned slightly.

“Your Majesty, while I fully support your intentions, using treasury funds to counter the bank run is not the right solution.”

“We don’t know how much money this will take to fix the issue, and we still need reserves as a guarantee for national security. What we can use is already quite limited.”

It was the Minister of Defense who spoke, his expression grave.

Running a country isn’t simple. Countless factors are involved, and above all, the treasury must have money.

Whether it’s implementing a policy, pushing reforms, or paying salaries, subsidies, or pensions to officers in Amellia—it all requires funding.

Withdrawing money from the treasury is easy. But if a crisis arises and the treasury is empty, the consequences will be far worse.

Yes, a bank run can cause prolonged economic turbulence, but it’s mostly confined to the economy.

Gephra is a monarchy. In critical times, they can rely on force.

But if the treasury runs dry, what’s at risk is not just economic stability—but national security, even the very power of the ruling class.