Oran paced back and forth now, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted across a field.
“That pathetic bastard,” he growled, eyes wild. “That little upstart farmer. What the hell’s his name—Isaac. Right. Isaac.”
The word left his mouth like it was poison.
“If that bastard hadn’t appeared, I would’ve had Selene dancing around my fingers by now!” he snapped. “We were this close! Then she started acting distant, and cold!”
Oran stopped pacing, his breathing slowing slightly.
He knew everything. The change in Selene showed right after she ordered the Economic Council to leave Isaac alone.
Before that, she had been his.
What he didn’t realize—what he’d never realized—was that Selene had never been close to him in the first place.
She’d tolerated him because of her position. She’d always kept a certain distance, and had always spoken with her friendly tone that didn’t let him step past her personal boundaries.
It only felt cold now because he’d been delusional because she finally showed open resistance when she supported Isaac.
Oran slammed his fist into the edge of his desk.
“I’ll destroy that bastard,” he said. “I’ll bury him so deep, not even his grains will grow again.”
He turned to the secretary, who still stood silently with blood trailing down his cheek.
“Buy all the land next to his farm,” Oran said. “Everything surrounding it. If someone tries to buy it from us later, raise the price to ten billion per hectare.”
The secretary blinked. “Ten billion, sir?”
“Yes,” Oran snarled. “Let’s see how he expands then.”
The secretary hesitated, then nodded and jotted down the order.
Oran wasn’t done.
“That’s not enough. I want more pressure. Buy everything from his shop. Every damn grain, vegetable, and whatever they’re selling. Hold it. Don’t let any of it hit the market.”
The secretary’s pen paused mid-stroke.
“Sir…” he said carefully, “with all due respect, that could create serious backlash. The market already relies on his Tier 1 grains, and Titan Edge Guild publicly announced support for—”
“Then use another top guild!” Oran roared, slamming his fist on the table. “We have money. Use it!”
The outburst echoed through the room. The secretary bowed his head again.
“Yes, sir.”
“Pay Black Wing or Crimson Vault to support us. If it’s not enough, then bring the Radiant Dawn. I don’t care how much it costs.”
“I understand.”
“Don’t let Titan Edge to force us to let the supply flow. Hold it until we can, and then, let the grains hit the market with increased price. Sell them as our product.”
“Already prepared, sir.”
Things like this could cause serious backlash.
But Oran had his own plans.
He could use a top guild to support him. Moreover, there was Selene.
She would support him. He would force her to do it if she wanted the support of Economic Council.
If she refused?
He would warn her – blackmail her, that he would support the people band-wagoning behind her sister, and make her sister the chairman.
No matter what the current Chairman said, with Alice’s qualification and executives demand, he would have to change the heir from Selene to Alice.
Oran was done playing nice, acting like a little dog who jumped around Selene at her orders.
Now, he would force her to come to him.
And he would crush that farmer bastard at the same time.
Oran sat down heavily in his chair, still fuming.
His leg bounced, hands tapping against the armrest as he processed the plan. It wasn’t perfect. Cutting off Isaac’s product lines would trigger some disruption—maybe even draw attention from the Sanctum if it went too far—but it was a risk worth taking.
The bastard needed to be squeezed.
“I want regular updates. Control the media to make sure we aren’t painted in bad light. Advertise us as the good guys to the public before the matters come out in the open.”
“Yes, sir.”
Oran leaned back, eyes narrowing. “We’ll choke him out slowly. First, block his expansion. Then block his sales. Then…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. But the message was clear.
The secretary cleared his throat gently. “Sir, if I may… what if he approaches the Sanctum directly for land expansion?”
Oran looked at him with a cold smirk. “Doesn’t matter. We have enough money to disrupt his farm expansion wherever he buys the new land. Besides, we already have three agents in the Sanctum’s Land Office. If he files anything, I’ll know before his signature dries.”
“And the Titan Edge Guild?”
“They’ve got good PR, but they won’t fight a quiet market shift. Not unless someone draws blood. As long as we don’t start a conflict, they’ll stay neutral.”
The room fell into silence for a moment.
Oran stood up again, walking slowly to the bar in the corner. He poured himself a drink, neat, and downed half of it in one go. The burn felt good.
“He embarrassed me,” Oran said suddenly. “Do you know how that feels?”
The secretary said nothing.
“In front of the Council. In front of Selene. That little stunt with the economic protection bill? That was my department. She stripped it out of my hands. Because of him.”
He refilled the glass and sipped this time.
“I can’t touch Selene. Not directly. But I can make her regret protecting him.”
Outside the window, the lights of Sector 3 had begun to shimmer brighter, reflecting off the mirror towers. Traffic buzzed faintly in the distance. Somewhere out there, Isaac might have been planting his crops or walking his fields like some pastoral saint. Probably thinking hard work and decency could win this game.
But the city didn’t reward decency.
It rewarded leverage.
And Oran Fennel had spent his entire life building it.
He turned back to the room. “Send a gift to Selene’s office,” he said. “Something tasteful. Expensive, but quiet. No message.”
The secretary raised his brow. “As a peace offering?”
“As a reminder,” Oran said, smirking again. “That I’m still relevant.”
He downed the rest of his drink and stepped toward the window one more time. The world outside continued as usual—people walking, drones zipping past, lights blinking in their set rhythms.
But beneath the surface, he was already shifting pieces. Cutting off supply lines. Drawing borders.
And soon, Isaac would feel it.
One squeeze at a time.