Chen Mo's calm statement during the ceremony sent shockwaves through the crowd.
No one had expected such a hidden twist—that the two seismographs closest to the super-earthquake's epicenter had been salvaged, effectively crippling Marching Ant's ability to predict the disaster's exact location.
It turned a natural disaster… into a man-made one.
And now, people wanted to know:
Who took the second seismograph?
All eyes turned to the two most obvious suspects.
The island country had already seized one.
The United States had the reach and motive to seize the other.
Beyond them, no other nation had the capability—or the record—to tamper with Marching Ant's deep-sea equipment in that region.
Chen Mo didn't point fingers.
He simply concluded with a neutral tone:
"This is a great regret. I hope it never happens again."
Short and surgical. But the damage was done.
The fallout was instantaneous.
As clips of Chen Mo's speech flooded international media, the island nation's population exploded in fury.
The death toll had already reached 7,264, with 23,140 missing.
When people learned their own government had previously confiscated Marching Ant's seismographs, effectively sabotaging early warnings—the outcry became volcanic.
"We could've known."
"We could've evacuated."
"They sacrificed us to save face."
Protests erupted across major cities.
The opposition party fanned the flames, blaming the current administration for the disaster and calling for resignations.
Some labeled the catastrophe as karma.
On international social media, posts trended under hashtags like:
#IslandGovernmentCoverUp
#MarchingAntsWarnedUs
#ThisIsRetribution
Public opinion turned.
Chen Mo's brief, calculated remarks had ignited a global firestorm—and he didn't need to say a single name.
Island Nation Embassy – China
Ambassador Inada Jinnan stared at the morning paper, his face black with rage.
He had been set up.
What should have been a routine retrieval had turned into political suicide.
Chen Mo's "harmless regret" statement had planted just enough doubt to make the government look guilty—and put him, the attending ambassador, in the public spotlight as the face of the mistake.
Calls from his superiors back home had already started pouring in.
"Why didn't you control the situation?"
"How could you let Marching Ant dominate the narrative?"
"Why were you even on stage?!"
It had nothing to do with him—he didn't fish out the seismograph, and Chen Mo's statements were vague—but it didn't matter.
He was there.
He shook hands.
He smiled for the cameras.
And now, the black pot was firmly on his head.
Just then, Yokoi Yu entered the room.
"The Marching Ant Company sent their reply," he said cautiously.
"Speak."
"They said the returned seismograph is damaged. If we wish to purchase a new one, we must first compensate them at double the cost."
Inada Jinnan's expression froze.
"…How much?"
"One hundred million U.S. dollars."
Crack—
The teacup in his hand nearly shattered.
"One hundred million?! For a single instrument?! Is it made of gold?!"
He was fuming.
Yokoi remained calm. "They say the base price is 50 million. That's the same offer other countries are getting—and that's with a one-year waitlist. Since our unit was destroyed, we need to compensate before purchasing anew."
Inada's face twitched, but he quickly realized:
It wasn't his money.
It wasn't his call.
And frankly, he was too tired to keep chasing after a device that had already ruined his reputation.
He took a deep breath, drained his tea, and reached for the phone.
Marching Ant Company – Executive Office
The mood was quiet.
Chen Mo and Zhao Min sat together in the lounge area of the office. A silent robot poured tea for them. Neither of them spoke for a while.
Finally, Zhao Min broke the silence, giving Chen Mo a look that made him reflexively touch his face.
"…Do I have something on my face?"
"No," she said, her voice flat. "I'm just trying to figure out if you planned all this when you said you wanted a return ceremony."
Chen Mo sipped his tea. "I didn't break any laws. I just told the truth. Not even a single insult."
"I've got to hand it to you," Zhao Min said with a wry smile. "You've got a talent for chaos."
"But you never mentioned the second seismograph to me."
"You never asked why I insisted on releasing the earthquake warning," Chen Mo replied calmly.
She nodded. That part was true. When he'd proposed the announcement, she had already prepared emergency PR just in case things went sideways. And the warning had turned out to be accurate.
Still… "Why take such a risk?" she asked. "What if it turned out wrong?"
Chen Mo shrugged. "Scientific tests fail all the time. That's part of research. But I trust the tech in the Knowledge Library—it doesn't make mistakes."
Zhao Min exhaled. "And you're sure who took the second seismograph?"
"The United States."
Her eyes narrowed.
Chen Mo continued, "I considered exposing them. Let them take the blame, spark a diplomatic mess, have the island country and the U.S. turn on each other…"
"But?"
"But it's useless without hard evidence. They'd just deny it. We'd look petty or conspiratorial. Not worth the trouble."
"Smart move," Zhao Min said. "If you'd named them without proof, we'd have turned this PR win into a liability."
"So it was that obvious?" Chen Mo scratched his head.
Zhao Min gave him a flat look. "Chen Mo, you held a press conference, put their ambassador on stage under a banner about returning stolen equipment, then implied the loss of life was due to someone removing your devices. You might as well have fired a flare into the stratosphere."
Chen Mo laughed. "Still, it worked. Nobody's going to mess with our seismographs again."
She raised a brow. "Are you still upset the U.S. didn't get dragged into this?"
He leaned back, smug. "A little. But as they say…"
"You can't cover fire with paper."
"Eventually, the truth always burns through."