While dragons clashed in chaos elsewhere, here there was music and laughter.
Some fought and bled; others savored peace and leisure.
Inside the elegantly decorated dining hall of the Russell Estate—
"Crab and strawberry salad. Fresh king crab, boiled and shredded; seasonal strawberries made into a sauce, served over a mixed salad. Best enjoyed with crispy bread." The Slavic chef spoke in gently accented English with a distinctive rolled R.
Clang.
Each guest received a round plate. Fine strips of crab meat were mixed with seasonal greens, drizzled with a faintly pink dressing made from strawberry purée and salad sauce. It wasn't much—just an appetizer to awaken the palate.
"Please enjoy," said the burly Slavic chef with a broad smile.
"Thank you," Ashley replied politely.
Before picking up her fork, she glanced at Vela, who was multitasking—reading a PDA file while absentmindedly eating her salad.
Noticing Ashley's gaze, Vela looked up, smiling warmly at her and the slightly nervous students beside her.
"Relax, this is a private dinner. Take it easy—pretend I'm just your senior, treating you to a meal and some conversation."
She twirled her fork playfully. "Just don't mind that I didn't invite a live band or dancers to turn this into a party. Everyone says I'm a workaholic relic obsessed with tech and allergic to fun—that's my label, after all. Hopefully tonight won't have the tabloids calling me a lesbian again."
The room filled with laughter at once.
The girls relaxed; the tension melted away.
"Well, that wouldn't be so bad," one cheeky girl teased, licking her lips with a mischievous grin.
Vela responded by taking a tactical sip of her water.
You again! she thought.
Snap! Vela snapped her fingers.
"Yevgeny, please serve this young lady a few more dishes," she ordered lightly.
Translation: no more flirting—fill her mouth with food instead.
Laughter erupted once more.
"Jessica, you're so bold!"
"Got rejected, didn't you, you little flirt?"
"Hmph, at least I tried."
...
The girls began chatting freely, whispering among themselves, no longer stiff or self-conscious.
Smiling faintly, Ashley chatted quietly with her friends while gently stirring her crab salad and tasting it.
Mmm—refreshing, tender, sweet-and-sour, appetizing.
Vela, of course, noticed everything.
Ashley's friends were no ordinary crowd.
The President's daughter had her own social circle—her peers were the daughters of senators, CEOs, scholars, and elite families. Even the ones with lesser grades were Ivy Plus students, admitted by recommendation or legacy; wealthy, well-connected, every one of them a future power player.
Take that flirty girl, for example: a lively middle-class sweetheart, the typical American darling, yet she stuck close to Ashley—clearly using the connection to gain exposure, make headlines, and pave her way into high society or even Hollywood.
Not malicious—just transactional. Mutual benefit.
Still, Vela never dismissed the possibility of genuine friendship. But she'd long learned to see things through the lens of interests—both her strength and her flaw. The trick was moderation: people were complex. If everyone acted purely out of self-interest, human behavior would be far easier to predict.
She didn't resent ambition. Not at all.
"To your dreams, sweetheart," Vela said, raising her glass. "May they all come true."
The wine was a semi-sweet white. Vela hadn't paid attention to the brand—her private chef team had chosen it.
Jessica—the bold girl—quickly stood, surprised and flattered.
This time, she didn't overstep or joke again. With a respectful smile, she lifted her glass and replied, "Thank you, ma'am," before drinking it down.
The brief exchange ended gracefully, and the dinner continued.
The phonograph needle glided along the record's grooves; soft classical music floated through the air.
Behind the frosted glass, the orange-red flames of the electric fireplace flickered, their rippling glow like the shadows of passing figures.
The servers moved in quiet order, and Yevgeny, the Slavic chef, stepped forward again to introduce the next dish...
"Sturgeon and pike roe dumplings. Fresh sturgeon meat combined with sautéed pike roe, onions, sauerkraut, and carrots—served with a special house sauce."
The appetizer was a Russian-style dumpling—round, thin-skinned, and generously filled, garnished with edible safflower petals, green herbs, and a touch of caviar.
"Next, veal borscht," the chef continued.
A classic dish—beef, beetroot, cabbage, potatoes, tomatoes, carrots, sour cream. Rich, hearty, and warming.
Then came the trio of hot entrées: "Halibut fillet with baby vegetables; venison with wild mushrooms; caramelized duck with asparagus."
Seafood, game, and fowl—three courses of distinct delight.
The halibut was slow-poached in oil, served with almond garlic sauce, broccoli purée, and butter glaze, topped with a hint of spiced oil. The venison was seared, paired with wild mushrooms, sautéed vegetables, and potatoes, finished with a reduction made from minced meat stock. The duck—caramelized and glistening—was roasted to perfection, much like the famed Peking duck.
Unquestionably, the Russell family's dinner leaned French in style tonight.
Naturally so—considering Ashley and her classmates' Western palates, French cuisine was the safest bet.
As for Vela, her health was excellent; she had no dietary restrictions. As long as it looked, smelled, and tasted good, she was content.
Clang.
The soft sound of silverware against porcelain.
Good food brings good cheer. Smiling sweetly, Ashley speared a glossy strip of duck skin and tender meat, topped it with a bit of caviar, and took a bite. "Vela, is tonight's theme a mix of French-Russian and Asian cuisine? The dishes remind me of banquets at the White House—or the Kremlin."
"Because Mr. Yevgeny hails from St. Petersburg," Vela replied with a smile, sipping her wine.
The Slavic chef, in the middle of serving Ashley, simply smiled at her words, uncovering the next dish with a flourish and giving a thumbs-up. "Karelian fish soup. Please enjoy." After serving, he retreated silently.
...
Night deepened, the fine feast nearing its end, and everyone was pleasantly tipsy.
On the table lay jade plates of delicacies worth a fortune.
After eating and drinking their fill, Ashley leaned her cheek on one hand, lazily scooping a spoonful of vanilla ice cream into her mouth with the other. As she savored the post-dinner sweetness, she watched Vela with a teasing smile.
By now, Ashley and her friends had reached the dessert stage.
Yet someone was still happily feasting.
Ahem. Vela, of course, noticed the girls' covert glances.
Unbothered, she set down her knife and fork. Seeing that Ashley had only a cup of iced tea, a pudding, and a small bowl of ice cream before her, Vela cheerfully offered, "Would you like some more? Texas-style smoked beef ribs with pickled pear kimchi—a fusion of East and West, quite delightful—"
"No, no, no." Ashley waved her hands in refusal.
After a full French-course meal, plus Yanji cold noodles and sweet-and-sour pork, she was absolutely stuffed.
Smiling, she stopped the waiter—who had already stepped forward to fetch another plate at Vela's cue—and turned back toward Vela. Her green eyes sparkled with curiosity as she tapped her smooth, pale chin. "All those health experts and trainers always say: for wellness and to keep a good figure, never overeat—discipline is key. Vela, what's your take on that?"
"I eat and then think about it," Vela replied casually.
"Russell!" Ashley pouted, dissatisfied with the evasive answer.
Chuckling, Vela picked up her chopsticks again, grabbing a piece of kimchi from the hollowed pear bowl. She chewed leisurely. The pickled cabbage leaf wrapped around pear, cucumber, bell pepper, and carrot—Yanji-Korean style—crisp, tangy, and slightly sweet. A perfect palate cleanser.
She knew exactly what Ashley was after—trying to uncover her secret to maintaining a flawless figure, or perhaps her slimming formula.
Too bad—she had none.
Any caloric surplus she had was balanced instantly through Divine Gift adjustments. Why would she ever worry about getting fat?
Taking a sip of fruit wine, Vela smiled faintly. "Eating well is a blessing. Don't imitate me."
"Come on," Ashley said, her delicate face bright with playful mischief. "Vela, do you even know how bad body-image anxiety is for college girls these days?"
"No idea," Vela replied immediately.
"Ugh!" Ashley puffed her cheeks, pouting adorably as she clenched her tiny fists.
Vela laughed and set down her glass. "Alright, alright, no more teasing. You want to know how I stay in shape? My method's simple—it's just..." she drew out the words deliberately.
The other guests—some still enjoying dessert, others chatting quietly—fell silent, all ears. They too were curious.
Everyone loves beauty, especially those living in the spotlight.
"It's natural."
"Oh." ×N
Vela glanced around at the disappointed faces and shrugged. "Truly. I've just been blessed with a good build and fast metabolism. And given my workload, I burn plenty of calories each day. That's all."
It was the truth—and also a lie.
"You're stingy," Ashley huffed, folding her arms and turning her head aside.
Still, despite her mock annoyance, she didn't push further. She was tactful enough to know when to stop.
A little playfulness could strengthen bonds—but too much would only backfire.
Ashley wasn't a spoiled brat. She had no interest in making a scene or embarrassing her father's allies.
Besides, she believed Vela.
There was no reason for Vela to lie about something like this.
If Militech really possessed a safe, side-effect-free body-shaping technology, she would've marketed it already—sold as part of the Trauma Team's wellness and physical enhancement services. Easy money.
Even if it were an experimental byproduct from cyberware research, why not offer it to elite clients like Ashley and her peers? Free advertising for Militech.
Meanwhile—
[Middle East Biohazard Outbreak – Iraq War: Battle of Fallujah Begins] / [Washington – President Graham Addresses the Nation] / [Los Angeles Riots: Federal Law Enforcement Clashes with Illegal Immigrant Protesters Attempting to Storm a Detention Center; Looting Hits Hollywood] / [Ivy League Entrepreneur Forum & 2004 Elite Alumni Spring Talent Day Event] ...
The split-screen broadcast wasn't random.
Each program corresponded precisely to a person present.
The Middle East—Vela's current focus; her father, the President; Jessica, the ambitious girl eyeing Hollywood and high society; the studious honor student friend—
Even the sound from each broadcast resonated clearly around the dining table, transmitted through the built-in smart audio nodes embedded in the furniture.
A small demonstration of Militech's cybernetic smart-home ecosystem—already performing beautifully.
The thought sparked something in Ashley's mind. She turned toward the elegant figure at the head of the table.
"Can I—"
"No."
Vela tapped her temple lightly. "Don't be impulsive. Cyberware implants require surgery. You're the First Daughter—any operation, even minimally invasive, must be approved by President Graham and the First Lady."
"What about me?" Jessica chimed in, ever eager to seize an opening.
"You can—if your guardian signs the consent form." Vela smiled, cutting a piece of cod and lifting it elegantly to her mouth. "But I don't recommend it. Wait another year. Once the anti-rejection systems are upgraded, production stabilized, and the procedure further refined—when it officially launches, I'll endorse it."
The other girls didn't see it as favoritism. None of them had a president for a father, after all.
Blinking, they returned to their chatter, peppering Vela with questions.
"Will remote controls become obsolete?"
"Will cyberware implants be able to make phone calls?"
"If they replace smartphones, how will the visuals work? Is it VR-based projection?"
...
Between bites and sips, Vela answered them one by one. From luxurious next-gen cyberware to visions of future living, the questions flowed naturally. Eventually, the product talk tapered off.
Conversation turned casual again—Vela and Ashley chatting lightly, others joining in from time to time.
Dinner was long over, but the clinking of glasses continued, and the mood grew warmer.
Outside, the Filoli Estate was tranquil and vast. In the distance, the city skyline shimmered with light. Music and laughter intertwined, painting a serene, dreamlike scene.
The girls whispered in pairs and trios, sharing stories and gossip—about food, fitness, relationships, or their fantasies about cyberware enhancements. Some exchanged raunchy jokes, drifting between celebrity scandals and current events.
Naturally, the holographic TV became part of the discussion.
"Jesus Christ—what's happening to Los Angeles?" someone muttered. "Is that still the City of Angels? Looting again?"
On the holographic screen: crowds protesting, bloodied victims, stores smashed and plundered, shirtless men howling before cameras, masked rioters, immigrant-rights activists giving fiery speeches.
"Is this another repeat of the 1992 LA Riots? Federal losses back then exceeded a billion dollars."
"Unlikely. LAPD's already working with the city government to request reinforcements from San Francisco and Sacramento. Militech's official site just updated—they've signed a new security support contract with the LA City Council."
"Forget it. Let's skip LA and head straight back to campus. Except for the rich districts like Hollywood, that city's a mess. What do you think, Ashley?"
Ashley nodded in agreement, brow furrowed.
As the President's daughter, even though Los Angeles wasn't her father's constituency, she couldn't help but feel disapproval toward such chaos. Disorder offended her sense of civic pride.
Then her gaze drifted back to Vela.
"How will Militech handle the situation in LA...?" she began to ask—but paused when she saw Vela watching another broadcast with keen interest.
Curious, Ashley leaned closer. "What are you watching?"
"Iraq," Vela replied softly.
The holographic TV displayed an exclusive Militech-linked news feed:
[Coalition Launches Operation New Dawn in Fallujah!] / [BSAA Hero Chris 'Blackhand' Redfield Joins the Fight] / [Coalition Troops Encounter New Type of B.O.W.!] / [Iraq War Inquiry Confirms Discovery of Mass Biological Weapons in Fallujah]
"Now the war has its justification," Vela murmured, chin resting on her hand. "Casualties don't matter. All that's left is to purge the so-called evil forces, rescue a few 'innocents,' take some photos, and wrap the act neatly."
The Iraq War had just been officially enshrined in history as a righteous war on terror.
...
At that very moment, half a world away in Iraq—under the blazing sun of Fallujah.
The heat was merciless, the flames monstrous, the screams unending.
The city lay in ruin—a realm of ghosts.
In its narrow, blocked streets, the battle had long devolved into brutal, close-quarters combat.