But now, he took a bite.

The taste in his mouth was dry. He couldn’t taste the original sweetness anymore.

The hall remained quiet. The gazes of several dozen workers were fixed on him like spotlights.

Leo raised his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd to Margaret, then to Frank and Old Qiao standing at the front.

"Margaret... and everyone."

Leo’s voice was a little tight.

"Did you... did you all read that article?"

He didn’t specify which article, but he knew they all understood what he was talking about.

The air froze for a few seconds.

No one answered.

A few coughs came from the crowd.

"You mean that article online?"

Old Qiao took two steps forward and spat on the ground, a gesture both crude and natural.

"Read it," Old Qiao said. "Saw it last night. My grandson read it to me."

He scratched his messy gray hair, a trace of disdain on his face.

"That bullshit article was written by a bunch of college kids. The words they used were more complicated than my excavator’s instruction manual. All that talk about monopoly, procedural justice, and exclusive clauses... I got a headache halfway through."

Old Qiao paused, his cloudy eyes staring at Leo.

"They said you’re a traitor. Said you sold us out."

Leo lowered his head.

He was awaiting judgment.

Waiting for the words "get out," waiting for badges to be thrown in his face like in the auditorium before.

"It’s true."

Leo admitted in a low voice.

"The legal analysis in the article is correct. I did sign that contract. I gave the operating rights for the Inland Port to Morganfield for a term of fifty years. I gave him an exclusive position, allowing him to monopolize future logistics pricing."

"I made that deal to get those bonds."

Leo looked up, his eyes full of honesty.

"If you feel betrayed, if you think I’m a liar, you can curse me out. I’ll take it."

He steeled himself, ready for an eruption of anger.

However, there were no roars of anger.

"CREAK—"

The sound of the wheelchair was heard again.

Margaret wheeled herself over until she was in front of Leo.

She reached out, grabbed Leo’s hand, and pulled him a little closer, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Look at me, child."

Margaret’s voice sounded somewhat forceful.

"You look at the people in this room."

She gestured around her.

"Us old-timers, we’ve spent our whole lives dealing with coal dust, rust, and bills. We don’t understand the Sherman Antitrust Law, and we don’t know what a franchise right really means. To us, those legal statutes are less real than a coupon from the supermarket."

"We only know a few things."

Margaret’s grip was strong, pinching Leo’s hand until it hurt a little.

"When the road in front of our homes was ruined for ten years and no one cared, who sent people to fix it?"

"When I was pushed over by the police, broke my leg, and was left to die in my bed, who helped me get my compensation?"

"On that freezing cold morning, who stood on the City Hall lawn, risking arrest, to point and curse at that high-and-mighty Mayor and speak up for us poor folks?"

Margaret let go of his hand and pointed at Leo’s chest.

"It was you."

"Leo Wallace."

"The people who write those articles sit in their air-conditioned rooms, drinking coffee and typing on their keyboards, calling you a traitor. That’s because they don’t have to worry about next month’s heating bill, and they don’t have to worry about their kids not being able to go to school."

"They can afford to talk about morality because their stomachs are full."

"But we don’t have that luxury."

Frank walked over from the side.

He looked at Leo.

"Leo."

Frank reached out and clapped Leo heavily on the shoulder.

"THUMP."

"You think the workers weren’t cursing up a storm? Of course they were."

Frank said frankly.

"Last night at the Union bar, everyone was cursing. Cursing this damn world, cursing why we have to beg that Vampire Morganfield for a nod just to get a road fixed or find a job."

"We hate Morganfield’s guts, and we hate the feeling that we’re nothing but disposable parts."

"But."

Frank stared into Leo’s eyes, his gaze like a torch.

"You need to get one thing straight."

"They’re cursing this world, cursing the deal that had to be made."

"They’re not cursing you."

Leo was stunned.

"Not... cursing me?"

"Of course not." Frank pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and stuck it in his mouth. "The boys may not be well-read, but they have the instinct to know who’s good to them and who’s just using them."

"We know who you signed that paper for."

"If it wasn’t to get money to pay our wages, you could have just sat in your office drinking tea like all the politicians before you, telling us, ’We’re in financial difficulty, please wait.’"

"You dragged yourself through the mud just so we could eat."

Frank took the cigarette down, holding it between his fingers as he pointed at Leo.

"Leo, listen up."

"If you have to sell your soul to the Demon to get us poor bastards some bread..."

"Then we only have one thing to say to you—"

"Don’t let the Demon eat you alive."

Leo looked at Frank, at Old Qiao, and at the workers around them who were nodding silently.

An indescribable, bittersweet feeling stung his nose.

He thought he had lost his base, that he had become a public enemy.

But he had forgotten. These were people who lived in the mire, and they understood the rules of the mire better than anyone.

When it comes to survival, being a stickler for cleanliness is a sin.

They didn’t need a perfect saint. They needed an alpha wolf who could lead them to survival.

Even if that wolf had to roll in the mud to hunt, as long as he brought the meat back to the pack.

He was their leader.

Margaret took a thermos from the side, poured a steaming cup of black coffee, and pressed it into Leo’s hands.

The warmth from the cup spread to his palms, chasing away the chill in Leo’s fingertips.

"Drink it."

Margaret commanded.

"No matter what you become in a courtroom, no matter how many dirty tricks you learn in that City Hall full of lies."

"And no matter how the newspapers and the internet curse you."

"As long as you remember the way back, as long as you still recognize this door."

"There will always be hot coffee waiting for you here."

"Go do what you have to do, child."

Margaret patted the back of Leo’s hand.

"Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty."

"You can always wash your hands. What matters is that your heart hasn’t turned completely black."

Leo lowered his head, looking at the black liquid in his hand.

In that moment, he felt something inside him shatter.

In its place, something harder was forming.

It was a strength drawn from these people at the very bottom.

It was coarse and primal, but this was the true foundation of power.

’That’s more like it.’

Roosevelt’s voice rang out in his mind at just the right moment.

’You finally understand, Leo.’

’Power never comes from the legal statutes written on paper, nor from the gavel in a judge’s hand.’

’Power comes from the consent of the governed.’

’It is the trust of these people that grants your power legitimacy.’

’They don’t care if you’re perfect. They don’t care if you meet the moral standards of the elite.’

’They only care about one thing: whether you are one of them.’

’As long as they still stand behind you, as long as they’re still willing to save you a cup of hot coffee...’

’...then even if every court in the world finds you guilty, you will still own this city.’

Leo raised his head.

He devoured the remaining half of the muffin in a few bites. The taste that had been so dry just minutes ago now seemed impossibly sweet.

He tilted his head back and drained the hot coffee in the cup.

Bitter, scalding, and invigorating.

The anxiety that had been swirling in his chest, the desperation of searching for a legal loophole and finding none—it all vanished in an instant.

The calm resolve to destroy and rebuild everything returned to him.

Leo wiped his mouth.

He looked at Margaret and at Frank.

"Thank you."

Leo’s voice was soft, but steady.

"I know what I have to do now."

"What I have to do is break that chain."

Leo’s eyes grew sharp.

"The chain that binds me to Morganfield, and also separates me from the people."