How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly) Chapter 31: How to Take a Journalist’s Daughter on a High-Ri

The weight of his answer made the room feel smaller.

"This story touches powerful nas. People with too many tentacles. Malderra isn't just a rival city, Dante. Malderra is the center. They control the national narrative. They decide what counts as news and what's labeled 'rural terrorism.'"

"You're saying you're just gonna bow your head?"

"I'm saying if I publish this based on flimsy evidence, with no credible witnesses, no verified records... the paper shuts down in two days. I get accused of libel, inciting revolt — maybe even of orchestrating an ard political attack for a competing faction."

He ran a hand over his face, worn-out.

I blinked slowly. The fire inside was still there, still fighting, but sothing in his voice carried the weight of too many buried stories.

"So what do you suggest? That I just stash this away? Pretend nothing happened?"

Marlow kept spinning one of the pages between his fingers, not like he was reading it — like he was weighing it. As if that scrap of story was about to beco either a real bomb or a paper trap.

"Listen, Dante... you did good," he finally said. "Better than I expected. But this — it's not publishable yet."

"Why not? We've been through this. You're scared?"

"It's not fear. It's strategy."

He stood, walked over to the window, and pulled the curtain aside with two fingers, peeking out like he expected to see ghosts in suits.

"You brought seals, contracts, records... but this, by itself, won't hold up."

"Why not?"

"Because it can all be interpreted. Fabricated. Forged. Even the paper could be questioned by so conveniently chosen expert. You get ?"

I stared at him, waiting for the useful part of the conversation. And it ca.

"For a story like this to be undeniable, it has to be validated. Officially."

"What do you an, 'validated'?"

"Sealed. With an imperial runic seal of authenticity. Preferably from the Imperial Registry or the Historical Validation Bureau."

"You want to go to the Empire and ask them to validate a docunt that accuses the mayor of Ashveil of trafficking?"

"I want you to go there like you're researching an old contract, doing genealogical inquiries, any excuse that works. And if you can't get a seal, then at least get a neutral witness. Soone with clout. A bureaucrat, a historian, an archivist — soone reputable enough to say: 'this is real.'"

I crossed my arms.

"You could do that. You've got a na."

Marlow smiled. But it wasn't a good smile. It was the kind that cos with a truth you don't want to hear.

"That's exactly why I can't."

"What do you an by that?"

"Nothing," he answered too quickly. "Just that... I'm an old piece on the board. Too many people know who I am. And too many have started paying a bit too much attention to what I publish."

"You're being watched."

He didn't answer. But he didn't deny it either. He just turned back slowly, eyes fixed on the pile of docunts like it was a veiled execution request.

"They've already co to warn ," he said quietly. "Nobles. rchants... people from Malderra. So with smiles. Others with threats. All of them with interests."

He let the silence settle for a few seconds before continuing:

"If I take one wrong step, they'll shut the paper down. And they won't stop there."

He looked at again. And that's when it ca — the part I knew was coming.

"That's why I need soone like you."

"Soone like ?"

"A fresh face. A na that's not on their list. Soone who can go there, snoop around, ask questions, deliver docunts... and vanish without a trace."

"And if it goes wrong?"

"Then it was just a curious kid. A nobody. Nothing to do with the paper."

I smirked.

"How convenient."

"How necessary," he corrected.

The room went quiet for a mont.

And in the next, the door creaked with that tired old wood sound, followed by a voice that cut through the tension like sunlight through a storm cloud.

"Dad, I brought coffee. Ti to stop sniffing old paper and eat sothing."

Thalia entered carrying a tray, balancing two steaming mugs and a plate of roughly cut bread slices. She wore an apron over her clothes and her hair was tied up any which way, like soone who'd had a morning too busy to care about looks. Ah, I was going to eat well — breakfast at Lina's, now this gift from the Marlow household. Lady Luck was clearly flirting with today.

But Thalia froze mid-step, like she'd just walked into a minefield — and I'm sure it wasn't because of .

It was her father's expression.

Gideon Marlow — that grumpy old man made of dry jokes and chronic sarcasm — looked serious. Dead serious. Eyes fixed on , forehead tight, like he was reading the devil's will.

"Whoa," she murmured. "What's going on here? Did you two fight?"

"No," I answered before the old man could speak. "We're just discussing how to prevent the collapse of public order without ending up dead in the process."

She blinked.

Marlow grunted, grabbed one of the mugs and took a long sip like the coffee might wash away his conscience. I also began tasting the delicacies. I was a hungry orc today.

"Your dad's a well of secrets," I said, accepting the other mug. "And now he wants to sneak into a nest of bureaucrats, validators, and would-be assassins in fancy coats. Alone."

Thalia's eyes widened, tray still in her hands.

"Alone? Why aren't you going with him?" she asked, pointing at her father.

And that's when I looked at her — like the idea had just blood right there in the air, shiny and stupid. But perfect.

"Why don't you co with ?"

Marlow swallowed.

Or tried to.

Because the next second, he spat his coffee back into the mug, the floor, and onto a pile of probably important papers.

"What?!" he shouted, slamming his hand on the table. "Are you insane?!"

Thalia stared at . Then at her father.

"Wait. Seriously?"

"Of course it's not serious!" Marlow barked, now red in the face. "You're not going anywhere with that... that..."

"Careful with the racism, Marlow," I warned.

"That empty-headed, mud-booted lunatic!"

"Don't be rude, old Gideon," I said with my mouth full. "I'm only diving into political traps because you need a fresh face. And let's be honest — as handso as I am, I attract attention."

"Well..." Thalia stepped forward. "I'm not registered in any political flyer."

"And I've got charm and a sword," I added, hoping for a laugh that never ca. I didn't like how quickly they skipped over the irony of being ugly.

"You've got a screw loose, Dante!" Marlow snarled.

"Chard to hear it."