The Tycoon's Odyssey

Walter Thompson's Office, Federation Headquarters.

Walter Thompson leaned back in his chair, skilling through the flood of reports from various departments.

His secretary, a reserved and diligent man, stood nearby, ready to summarize the day's briefings. Walter waved his hand lazily, his sharp eyes betraying an impatience for routine.

"Skip the usual updates," he ordered, his tone edged with authority. "Get straight to Evan's matter."

The secretary nodded, quickly shuffling through his files. "Sir, he refused."

Walter raised an eyebrow as he leaned forward, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Refused?"

"Yes, sir. He flatly declined the Federation's proposition."

Walter let out a long, deliberate sigh before leaning back once again. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the polished wood of his desk absentmindedly. A heavy silence fell over the room as he processed the implications.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Refused…" Walter murmured, his voice low and contemplative. After a brief pause, he exhaled sharply. "Everything has been running smoothly these past months. So, is this man trying to stir trouble intentionally, or does he simply not care about peace?"

His eyes narrowed, a storm brewing beneath his calm expression. "Does he not understand the consequences of his decisions? It won't just be him who faces the fallout—it will destabilize Indra as a whole."

The secretary remained silent, sensing the tension thickening in the air. Walter's mind raced through potential scenarios.

"If he really wants to play this game," Walter said, his voice growing colder, "then there's no point in wasting time on useless warnings. Start imposing restrictions—tariffs, sanctions, the words—one by one. Cut off their oil supply first. Then start blocking their imports. Notify our allies in advance and let them know what's coming. If they refuse to comply, inform them that they'll face resolutions against them at the next council meeting."

The secretary gave a hesitant nod and quickly left the room to carry out the orders.

_____

The USL Presidential Office.

The Joint Secretary rushed into the President's office, slightly out of breath. Without waiting for formalities, he handed over a thick file.

"These are the Federation's latest directives, sir," the secretary said.

The President frowned as he flipped through the pages, his expression darkening with every line.

"Restrictions…" he muttered, slamming the file shot onto his desk. He pinched the bridge of his nose, frustration etched across his face. "Damn it! This is going to trigger another global crisis."

The room fell silent as the weight of the impending situation sank in. The President turned toward the window, looking out at the sprawling cityscape while his thoughts churned.

He knew what would be the consequences of such a move. Cutting off oil supplies and blocking imports would send Indra scrambling to respond. The country would undoubtedly retaliate, escalating the conflict even more. If more nations were to be dragged into the mess, the global economy could spiral into chaos in no time.

The ripple effects loomed in his mind. Currency markets would plummet, especially in developing nations that relied heavily on trade with Indra.

Exports of critical resources like rare earth minerals, pharmaceuticals, and agricultural goods from Indra would cease, leaving several countries scrambling for alternatives. Meanwhile, Indra's own imports of advanced technology, luxury goods, and essential machinery would also be cut off, slowing the industrial growth of Indra and affecting USL's GDP.

The global stock markets would take a hit, with investors pulling out amidst the uncertainty. Commodity prices, particularly oil and gas—would skyrocket while Indra seeks alternative suppliers, causing inflation to spike worldwide. Trade-dependent nations, especially in Southeast Asia and parts of Africa, would suffer severe economic downturns.

Even the USL wasn't immune. Though the Federation believed its restrictions would cripple Indra, the President knew it wasn't going to be so simple. Indra had diversified its trade routes and resources in recent years, reducing its reliance on traditional alliances. Meanwhile, the USL's dependence on Indra's innovations—particularly Evan's contributions through Macrosoft and other channels—posed a different problem.

The President sighed, recalling the reports of Evan's growing technological prowess. Much of the recent advancements in defense, AI, and infrastructure had stemmed from his companies.

In fact, Macrosoft's joint ventures had revolutionized the soldier training simulations, bolstering the USL's military capabilities.

The revenue generated from these collaborations had also bolstered the USL's economy, especially during a time of global instability.

"Why now?" the President muttered bitterly.

"We were in such a honeymoon period. Things were stable. This fool could've just avoided all this by simply accepting the offer."

He clenched his fists, thinking back to the naval carrier war. Though they lacked full details, the glimpses they had seen of Evan's capabilities had been enough to deter the USL from making any rash moves. The demonstration of his military and technological prowess had left an indelible mark that even the President couldn't ignore.

And yet, here they were, teetering on the brink of another cold war. The President shook his head, frustration and resignation mingling in his expression.

"If this escalates," he said grimly, "it won't just be Indra that suffers. The entire world will bleed."

His secretary stood silently, unwilling to interrupt the President's train of thought.

"We'll hold off on direct involvement for the time being," the President finally said, his tone measured. "Relay my concerns to the Federation. Let them know we're monitoring this closely. We're not diving into the chaos without weighing the consequences. For now, just impose some minor measures."

The secretary nodded and left the room, leaving the President to brood over the precarious situation.

_____

Daxian Prime Minister's Office.

The sprawling skyline of Beijing shimmered under the afternoon sun as the Daxian Prime Minister, Zhao, sat behind his ornate desk, sifting through the reports. His Secretary-General approached with a folder, a glint of urgency flickering in his expression.

"Prime Minister Zhao, these are the latest directives from the Federation," he said while placing the document on the desk.

Xiang Zhao raised an eyebrow, flipping through the pages with practiced precision. As he read, the corner of his lips curved into a faint smile—a mix of intrigue and calculated opportunity.