How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly) Chapter 76: How to Go Home as a Semi-Hero (3)

The air inside Marlow’s office felt denser than ever, as if the wooden walls and cramd bookshelves had absorbed all the voices of the city just to give us back pure silence. The sll of damp paper, fresh ink, and burnt coffee mixed with raw anxiety.

The mayor — chubby, his face slick with sweat — fanned himself with an embroidered handkerchief that did nothing to hide his panic. He sat in a heavy oak chair that creaked with every sigh. Marlow stood behind his desk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as blades. And us: and Thalia, lined up like defendants in the makeshift courtroom of the city’s most stubborn newsman.

No one spoke for several long seconds. Until Marlow, in that tone that sounded civil but spat knives, broke the silence:

"I want the truth. No flourishes. Start talking."

I took a step forward, too tired for ceremony.

"Antoril’s rotten underneath. Literally. Tunnels, secret compartnts, magical contraband, sealed mories sold like spices. A whole hidden market, with people paid to shut up — or to shut the throats of anyone asking too much."

Thalia took a deep breath. Her voice ca out lower, almost fragile:

"They locked up. Wanted to pack in a cart like rchandise. I would’ve disappeared. No trace."

The mayor swallowed hard. But he didn’t look shocked. Just uncomfortable.

Marlow didn’t blink.

"And you saw proof?"

"I saw crates with fake seals. Burned sigils. Guards paid to smile while they bag the bodies." My tone was acid. "Their undercity is a graveyard of consciousness."

Thalia let out a stifled sob.

"I just wanted to know who was paying for the illegal licenses. They caught when I got too close."

The tension in the room turned into sothing alive. But not because of the mayor’s outrage.

He fanned himself even harder. Avoided our eyes. His breathing was louder, more ragged.

Marlow noticed first.

"You look a little too nervous, Mayor."

The mayor jumped. Lowered the handkerchief. Tried to straighten his ridiculously tight vest.

"Nervous?" His voice cracked. "M-? Of course I’m nervous! What you’re saying is... is... very serious! This could..." He stopped, swallowing. "...could hurt Ashveil."

"Hurt who, exactly?" Marlow shot back. "You, or the city?"

The silence that followed was as heavy as an iron gate slamming shut.

I stared at the mayor, narrowing my eyes. And I saw it. The way his gaze slipped. The mouth opening without words. The fat fingers squeezing the chair’s armrests hard. It wasn’t fear of Antoril. It was fear of losing his own ground.

"Oh, of course," I growled. "Now it all makes sense. You knew. Didn’t you?"

He shrank.

"No... I..."

"You’ve always been a man of ’deals.’" Marlow practically spat the word. "What did you get from them? Lower tariffs? Easier trade? Cheap herbs?"

The mayor raised a hand as if to ward off the accusation.

"IT’S NOT THAT!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I... I just..." He lost his breath. Wiped his forehead with the soaked handkerchief. "I did... what was best to keep the peace! You don’t understand the risk!"

I stepped forward. Thalia grabbed my arm.

"Peace?" I spat. "You call disappearing people peace? You call corruption security?"

The mayor sank in his chair, stamring.

"I didn’t... I didn’t know everything!"

"But you knew enough to stay quiet." Marlow stepped closer, finger pointed like a knife. "You knew enough not to ask questions. To sign paperwork without reading. To pretend Ashveil was just an innocent custor buying from kindly suppliers."

The mayor snorted like a cornered pig.

"You have no idea!" he squealed. "Antoril is bigger. Richer. Better ard. They have allies in Malderra! You want to start a war? IS THAT IT?"

I smiled. A cold smile.

"Mayor, I don’t want war. But I’m very comfortable watching you shit yourself in fear."

Thalia swallowed hard. She was shaking, but her voice was firm:

"We don’t need war. We need people willing to talk. To show what’s really going on."

The mayor shook his head. The handkerchief was already soaked.

"I can’t... I can’t allow that," he whispered. "If you spread this... you’ll kill the city."

Marlow took a deep, long breath. Looked at . Then at Thalia.

"He won’t help," he said. "Not the right way."

The mayor lifted his face, desperate.

"I... I just want you not to publish anything. For everyone’s good."

I laughed. Low. Ugly.

"For your job’s good, you an."

Thalia trembled even more, fists clenched in her dress.

Silence fell again, thick.

And that’s when Marlow slamd his hand on the desk, making everyone jump.

"Enough." His voice was a controlled thunder. "We’re settling this. Now."

And that was the tone that ended the argunt.

The promise that nothing from here would end calmly.

The heavy silence after Marlow’s hand slamd onto the desk was almost unbearable. The office walls seed to close in, like they were trying to hear every single breath.

The mayor was breathing hard, handkerchief trembling in his fat fingers. Thalia still held her own wrist, as if that could keep her from shaking completely. And ... I just watched. Waiting. Knowing this was the mont when the truth would co out—not because anyone wanted to say it, but because no one could swallow it anymore.

Marlow leaned back against the desk, face hard as stone.

"Let’s go, then," he said coldly. "Let’s talk like adults. Mayor, you want to stop this story from blowing up, right?"

The man sniffled, eyes red from mopping sweat.

"I... I want to avoid panic," he croaked. "Antoril... they’re not an enemy we want. You know that. A public scandal could cost us everything."

Thalia ground her teeth.

"And the people? The ones who disappeared? Who died? Who got sold like... like cattle?" Her voice cracked as she nearly spat the words. "Don’t they deserve to know?"

The mayor shook his head violently.

"The people will know. But not everything. Not like this." His voice pitched up, almost hysterical. "It has to be... controlled! Limited! You’re journalists! You know how this works!"

He looked at and Marlow like he was begging us to be reasonable.

Marlow didn’t blink. But he lifted a hand to stop when I tried to speak.

"What do you suggest?" he asked, voice ice-cold.

The mayor choked.

"Talk about the tunnels. The conditions underground. The rats. Talk about local corruption if you want. But..." His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "...don’t officially na Antoril. No officials’ nas, no trade routes, no shipping marks. Nothing they can trace back."

Thalia’s face turned bright red.

"You want to cover up the cri!"

He slamd his fat hand on the desk.

"I WANT TO SAVE THE CITY!" he roared, voice cracking. "You don’t know anything about governing! About choosing between a big evil and an even bigger one!"

His breathing faltered. He wiped his face again. Marlow watched him like a man dissecting an insect.

I exhaled slowly. Lowered my head. When I spoke, my voice was low, dragging, almost lazy.

"And if we do that..." I said slowly. "...if we write it without the nas, without the routes, the brands... you guarantee no one here will lock us up again? That we’ll be allowed to print?"

Marlow raised an eyebrow at , intrigued.

The mayor hesitated. Then nodded, exhausted.

"Yes. You’ll have... freedom to write. But the version... needs to be acceptable."

Marlow smiled. Thin. Cruel. Professional.

"Deal."

Thalia exploded.

"NO!" She lunged forward, voice choked. "That’s a lie! It’s complicity! You’re selling out, Marlow!"

He didn’t flinch. Turned to her.

"I’m saving what can be saved," he replied flatly. "And you, Thalia, should know that. You grew up here. You learned that from . No one wins by handing over everything on a silver platter."

She went scarlet, her chin trembling.

I cleared my throat. Adjusted my coat. Spoke without looking at anyone in particular.

"You know what? Fine. I’ll take it." I sighed. "I’m not here to take down Antoril. Or to kill Ashveil. I just want to publish." I looked at Marlow. "I want that damn headline. And if I have to do it with pretty adjectives and redacted nas... fuck it."

Thalia looked at , wounded.

"You don’t care?"

I t her gaze.

"I care about what I can change. And I can change what goes on the page."

Marlow watched for a long second. Then he tapped the desk lightly, satisfied.

"Finally. Soone who understands the craft." He turned to the mayor. "It’s settled. We’ll prepare the version. Print tomorrow. I’ll sign it."

The mayor sniffled, relieved, almost crying.

"Thank you... thank you..."

Thalia was breathing hard. She swallowed. Tears ran down her cheeks. But she didn’t leave. Didn’t yell anymore. She just whispered, defeated:

"You’re all the sa..."

I stepped closer to her. Gently laid my hand on her arm. She didn’t push away, but she wouldn’t look at either.

Marlow cleared his throat. Peered at over his crooked glasses.

"Congratulations, Dante," he said, almost smiling. "You’ve got potential. Really. One day, who knows... you might even replace here."

I snorted.

"Don’t be cruel."

He laughed.

Thalia glanced sideways at , eyes red but shining. There was hurt there, but also... sothing else. Sothing that made uncomfortable.

[RELATIONAL SYSTEM ALERT]

→ Thalia Veil – Emotional Status: Conflict / Attachnt

→ Chance of Bond Advancent: High

Now I had confirmation that if I acted like Thalia’s father, she’d fall for . Did that an she was in love with her father?

[ANALYZING...]

Ah! I definitely did not want to know the answer!

I ignored the panel. Gave her a smile. Fake, but gentle.

"It’ll be okay. We’ll write. It’ll get out. It’ll work."

She sniffled. But she didn’t deny it.

The mayor got to his feet, fumbling with his vest.

"So we’re... agreed?"

Marlow raised his hand.

"We are." And then, with no ceremony, he turned to us. "Now get out. I have to draft this before I regret it."

I nodded. Touched Thalia’s shoulder. She took a deep breath, turned, and walked out first. I stayed a mont longer, staring at Marlow. He t my eyes.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Go see soone."

I left before he could ask who.

Outside, the sky was already a dark canvas brushed with red. The street was almost empty. The cold wind slipped through alleys, rattling old posters against walls.

And I thought of her.

Lina.