The limousine door creaked open. Cameras clicked. Ministers held their breath. Citizens watching from the streets craned their necks.
But the figure that emerged wasn't the towering presence they expected.
It was Classic.
Dressed sharp in a snow-white suit, his chest glittering with Blackwood insignia, he stepped out with confidence. The crowd erupted into wild chants, confused yet hypnotized by his youthful aura. Soldiers snapped into salute instantly.
Minister 1 (shaking his head):
"That's… that's not the King. That's his son."
The Darnova President narrowed his eyes, suspicion and panic battling inside him.
"Then where is Chris Blackwood?"
The answer was right before his eyes—hidden.
Because among the guards who had poured out of the armored trucks, blending in with their black visors and tactical armor, Chris himself stood silently.
Disguised as one of his own B.A.M. soldiers. Watching. Listening. Measuring the loyalty of both the ministers and his own son.
Classic raised his hand, waving like royalty. His voice carried with practiced calm:
"People of Darnova! You honor me, but the King is greater than me. He is here. He sees all. He knows all. And today… he walks among you."
The crowd gasped. Ministers exchanged frantic glances. The Darnova President's face turned pale, suddenly realizing—
Chris Blackwood was already inside his tower before even being announced.