Dragon Raja 4; Chapter 67: The Requisitioned Bride (3)

Dragon Raja 4

All his self-rescue measures had failed. Anjou sat back in his seat, exhausted. “EVA, EVA, do you copy?”

“The signal is weak. Rescue is expected in two minutes. They might be planning to blow up the tunnel,” EVA’s voice crackled.

“This is a trap capable of killing a dragon. I guess in some people’s minds, I’ve already become a dragon,” Anjou said, surprisingly able to laugh.

“There’s still hope. I’m coordinating nearby police cars to assist. Even if the tunnel collapses, there will likely be air pockets in the debris. Your car shell might hold out.”

“Forget all that. Pull up the document. I’m signing it now, voice verification. I, Hilbert Ron Anjou, am able to clearly express my personal will at this moment, under no coercion. I agree to merge the Council of Elders with the School Board, granting the Cadmus family, Saint George family, Sigurd family, and Beowulf family equal voting rights with the other board members. If I am no longer able to fulfill my duties as principal, my successor will be elected by the newly formed decision-making committee. For a period of ten years, the principal’s office and all documents within are to remain sealed.”

Anjou paused. “Leave a message for Flamel. Tell him the plan is in place, and the rest is up to him. Also, leave a message for Lu Mingfei. Tell him I’m sorry—this war between adults should never have involved children.”

“Rescue is expected in one minute and fifteen seconds! Please hold on! The tunnel is about to be sealed, and communication may be interrupted. Keep your car cameras active!” EVA’s voice was quick and urgent.

Anjou sat silently for a moment. “The message for Lu Mingfei—it was also meant for you.”

The last remaining gap at the end of the tunnel was sealed, and the signal cut out. Anjou didn’t hear EVA’s response. All that remained was the hum of the ventilation fans.

He turned on the car’s headlights, two beams cutting through the darkness, but they didn’t illuminate the end of the tunnel. The countdown on the screen continued. His rescuers would arrive in a minute, but Anjou was sure his killers would act within that minute. Besides, his rescuers wouldn’t be able to break through the tunnel’s barricades so easily.

He leaned back in his seat. “EVA, you know, I’ve often wondered what I’ll think about in the final moment of my life. My life has been too long. I’ve met too many people, said too many words. I’ve worn different masks in different situations—so many that sometimes I get confused about what I was really thinking in certain memories. My stances have blurred. Perhaps it’ll only be in that last moment of clarity that I’ll finally know who I am and who I’ve loved.” His eyes grew misty. “Now I understand. I think I can see the lawns of Cassell Manor again, with boats floating on the peaceful lake, my friends fishing and playing the harmonica, Manecke adjusting his camera. That was the youth I never got to fully experience, and I knew who loved whom among them. I also loved one of them, but before that love could be expressed, the story had already ended…”

The sound of rain suddenly came from outside the window, startling Anjou for a moment. He slowly sat up, his golden eyes lighting up.

The rain grew heavier, and it was no illusion. Through the cameras at the front and rear of the car, raindrops could be seen splashing onto the lenses.

“Does this mean you’ll do the honors?” Anjou murmured as he opened the folding knife. The countdown on the screen showed that the rescue team was 15 seconds away.

A torrential downpour, seemingly from nowhere, was now drenching the tunnel. Faintly, there was the sound of thunder, like the moment before the heavens and earth were created, or as if the gates of hell were about to open.

Havana, Cuba.

In the evening, an unexpected torrential downpour enveloped the colorful city.

In just a few minutes, the residents had gathered their laundry from the rooftops, and shortly after, the streets had cleared of nearly all vehicles, leaving only the unrelenting rain to wash over the ground. Tall royal palms and jacaranda trees swayed violently in the wind. In a small corner bar, Daniya listened to the sound of the rain as she polished the glasses on the shelf.

She was the owner and bartender of the small bar.

The downpour was bound to affect tonight’s business. Many houses in Cuba had been in disrepair for years, and after such heavy rain, people would be busy repairing their roofs. For Daniya, it was a financial loss, but she didn’t care much. Her family was well-off, and she ran the bar purely out of passion. Rainy nights always stirred her imagination—what kind of customer would push open the door tonight? What secrets would they carry that brought them out to drink on a stormy night? After a few drinks, would they share their story?

Suddenly, the door opened, and a gust of wind and rain blew in. Along with it came a man, soaking wet, clutching a laptop tightly to his chest.

He leaned against the wall, panting heavily, then glanced out through the small window. It was clear someone had been chasing him—the screeching sound of brakes could be heard from both the front and back of the bar.

Daniya was about to ask this unexpected guest to leave when he smiled at her, saying, “Beautiful lady, may I have a mojito, please?”

It wasn’t often someone could smile in such a situation, and such a radiant smile at that, as if it could chase away the storm outside.

The man sat at the bar, opened his laptop, connected a mechanical keyboard, and began typing furiously. From both the front and back doors came the sound of guns being cocked—a deadly trap had been laid around the bar. But the man seemed oblivious, biting down on a cigar while typing passionately. His worn-out plaid shirt and dripping ponytail made him look disheveled, but his energy was undeniable.

Daniya was both excited and terrified. Was this finally the kind of novel-ish scenario happening to her? Was this man a spy with no way out, trying to send the last piece of information he had collected to his headquarters? Or was he a journalist, standing firm for justice, turning every letter he typed into a spear aimed at the enemies in the shadows? The man hit the send button with a flourish and, exhausted, collapsed onto the bar, a relieved smile on his face.

Moments later, he sat up straight again. “Brothers and sisters, please come in.”

A pistol nudged open the door, held by a handsome man, followed by six gunmen in black trench coats. They were all young, with different skin tones, heights, and builds, but they shared a similar aura—polite yet dangerous. They quickly took up advantageous positions, pointing their guns at the man’s head from all directions.

The man slowly raised his hands. “Thanks for your patience in letting me finish today’s update. There must be some of my readers here, right? Would you like to know what I wrote in the latest chapter?”

The gunmen exchanged glances. Some of them did follow his work, but few had any real respect for him. They read his novel for fun, often leaving mocking comments afterward. They never expected that in this moment, what he cared about most was his writing. Yet his unshakable demeanor, even in the face of danger, reminded them of the heroes in his stories. Could it be that a man who writes of heroes truly possesses a hero’s heart?

The man swirled his mojito, his voice filled with a distant, melancholy tone. “In today’s story, our hero finally stands before Osho. Osho tempts him, offering to share the divine blood in the Holy Grail and rule the shadowed world together. But if our hero chooses to stand against Osho for the sake of his friends, his head will be displayed at the top of Tokyo Skytree. The hero smiles and says, ‘What does it matter? This world is so lonely it made even someone like me consider giving up. The only reason I’ve survived this long is because I had a few friends with me. Without them, I too would want to become a demon and destroy this world. So for them, I’ll gladly bet my life!’”

“Finger, think carefully!” someone shouted. “Don’t say we didn’t give you a chance!”

“What a masterpiece,” Finger said, downing his mojito and letting the glass fall and shatter on the floor. “Those beautiful boys fighting in the blood and wind, falling as the sun rises! Too bad there won’t be any more chapters.”

He knelt down, tears in his eyes. “I confess! The gold stored at the Cuban National Bank by the college was sold by me! But I didn’t mean to embezzle the college’s money. I was just waiting for the gold prices to drop a little before buying it back to cover the hole. Who knew the price would skyrocket… But I confess, and I’m guilty! But do you really need to push me this far? Embezzlement is a legal issue—you could call the police and have me arrested, but what’s with the guns? Have you even read the Execution Bureau’s regulations? Matters of the public world are governed by the law and government. Even though I’m from the college, I didn’t use my bloodline to sell the gold. So shouldn’t the police be the ones to arrest me? Punish the past and treat the future, right? Why do you have to be so violent…”

“We didn’t know about the gold,” the lead agent interrupted, “We’re here to ask about Lu Mingfei.”

“Lu Mingfei?” Finger froze. “What’s happened to my brother?”

“This morning, the principal was assassinated near Chicago’s airport. Lu Mingfei is the prime suspect.”

“Wha… What the hell!” Finger’s eyes widened. “The old man kicked the bucket? And that scoundrel turned on us?”

“There are still many unresolved questions, so the college hasn’t issued a warrant for him. We’re just here to ask you a few questions. When you suddenly jumped out the window, we misunderstood.” The agent holstered his weapon and placed it on the bar. “We know you’re a friend of his, but we hope you’ll understand this situation is bigger than you can handle.”

“My God! Thank heaven! I thought my scheme had been discovered!” Finger clutched his chest and stood up. “Thank you, brothers, for chasing me halfway across the city. What a misunderstanding! Boss, bring my brothers the best drinks—on my tab!”

“We’re not here to drink,” the agent said, staring into his eyes. “We want to know if you’ll cooperate with us.”

“Of course! Do you even need to ask?” Finger grabbed a glass and crushed it in his hand. “If he really did something like this, betraying the college, I’ll sever all ties with him! You can say I’m loyal and selfless! The principal treated me like a father, and without him, I wouldn’t have graduated—my life would have been a failure! It’ll break my heart, but I’ll turn him in if that’s what justice demands. I know what’s at stake here! But while we’re at it, since this is mutual aid, shouldn’t I get something out of this too?”

He pulled the agent close, whispering in his ear, “Can we forget about that gold thing? How about it, huh?”

Witnessing this scene, Daniya suddenly felt deeply disappointed in writers as a whole.

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