Chapter 67: Young Man~

Federal Silverport City.

Presidential Palace.

Portraits of past presidents hung on the walls, from the first to the previous one, their frames polished clean.

The portrait of former President Herman Wald hung at the end of the hallway.

The Osteria Federation had always been a presidential system—

The familiar presidential rotation.

BGM:

Young man, there’s no need to feel down.

I said, Young man,

Pick yourself off the ground.

I said, young man,

The secretary stopped at the door to the president’s office.

The door wasn’t fully closed; light seeped through the gap.

He knocked twice.

No answer.

Across from the door was a floor-to-ceiling window.

The curtains were open, and the morning sunlight streamed in from outside, painting a large bright patch on the carpet.

The desk sat in front of the window, dozens of pages spread across its surface, each one densely covered in annotations.

The handwriting in the annotations was small, but clear.

A fountain pen lay next to the documents, its cap off.

A blanket was draped over the back of the chair.

If you ignored the mess on the desk, the room could still pass for a presidential office.

A person was lying face-down on the carpet beside the desk.

This president was nothing like the previous ones in their suits and ties.

Short green hair, the tips just covering the nape of her neck, with bangs trimmed neatly above her eyebrows.

Cat ears poked out from the green hair, the tips bearing a slightly lighter shade of fuzz.

She lay on the carpet, her face turned to the side, her left cheek pressed against a document.

The paper was wrinkled beneath her, with a small patch of drool on the surface.

The collar of her pajamas had slipped to one side, revealing a hint of collarbone.

Her green cat ears twitched occasionally in her sleep.

Her breathing was steady.

If you didn’t know this little girl was the president, you’d think she was some runaway minor—

Though she really was a minor.

The secretary stood at the door, holding a stack of documents.

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

“Madam President.”

The green-haired cat-eared girl’s ear twitched.

“This is…”

Her eyelids moved.

Her green round pupils blinked, then slowly shifted from the carpet up to the secretary’s leather shoes.

They stared at each other for about three seconds.

“Meow.”

“You kicked off your blankets again last night.”

The secretary’s voice was very flat.

It wasn’t a question.

“It’s fine, meow.”

She stood up from the carpet.

Her pajamas were wrinkled, the hem of the top hanging out from the waistband of her pants.

“How did you last night…”

The secretary trailed off halfway.

“Nothing much, meow. I was revising the bill.”

She walked to the desk and gathered the scattered documents one by one.

Then she tapped the stack on the table to align the edges.

“We just got through the recession. I spent a long time revising it, meow.”

“Madam President.”

The secretary took a step forward.

“The Vice President is coming this morning.”

“I know, meow.”

“To discuss the bill with you.”

“Let me change clothes first, okay, meow? Otherwise everyone will think I’m his daughter, meow.”

The secretary waited in place.

A few minutes later, the wardrobe door closed.

When she came out, her demeanor had indeed changed quite a bit:

Her short green hair was neatly combed, the cat ears standing upright among it, the tuft of light green fuzz at the tips nearly translucent in the morning light.

She wore a blue shirt, buttoned up to the top, and over that a dark suit skirt.

The suit had been custom-fitted, the shoulder seams falling right at the edge of her shoulders.

On her feet were a pair of dark low heels.

She turned around to face the secretary.

Her green round pupils stared straight at him.

“Do I look good, meow?”

The secretary adjusted his glasses.

“Madam President. You look very presentable in formal wear.”

“What does ‘presentable’ mean, meow? It’s either good-looking or not good-looking.”

“Good-looking.”

Liliana sat down in the chair.

The back of the chair was wider than her shoulders;

Even sitting straight, she only occupied half the seat.

She scooted the chair forward until her chest was level with the desk edge.

Then she pulled the dark folder in front of her.

“When will the Vice President be here, meow?”

The secretary glanced at the clock on the wall.

“About twenty minutes from now.”

“Tell him to hurry up, meow.”

“He had a problem with that tariff clause last time. I fixed it, meow. If he still has a problem after the revision, then it’s his problem, meow.”

The secretary stood still.

“Madam President.”

“Hm.”

“Breakfast is on the table.”

“Got it, meow.”

After the secretary left the office—

“This clause passed, meow. This one passed too, meow. This one—who wrote this one, meow? It’s so hard to understand. Oh, I wrote it, meow.”

The sound of pages turning.

“Change it, meow.”

“Finally done, meow. I thought the workers were going to cause trouble again.”

A crowd of workers hurling Molotov cocktails at the Presidential Palace—

She didn’t dare think about that scene.

Too intense.