Ashley Merriweather did not bother with ceremony.
That, more than the security shifting around her or the instant silence spreading through the ballroom, was what Phong noticed first. People like her usually wore power with a layer of theater. A smile, a handshake, some flattering line about future, sacrifice, shared values, or history. But the President of the United States took one look at Team Nemean, assessed the room, and chose efficiency instead.
She came straight to them.
The music kept playing softly in the background. Crystal glasses still clinked. Donors and heirs and politicians and researchers still moved through the ballroom with the stiff unease of people pretending not to stare while absolutely staring. Yet a pocket of tension formed around Ashley and Team Nemean all the same, as natural as gravity.
Ashley Merriweather was older than the press liked to admit and harder than the same press liked to discuss. Her dress was dark blue and structured enough to look almost military from certain angles. Her hair was immaculate. Her smile was practiced, but there was very little softness in it tonight. She had the air of a woman carrying too many crises and deciding that one more could be solved by force of will if everyone else simply stopped wasting her time.
She did not waste theirs either.
"I want Team Nemean working for the United States government."
Just that.
No appetizer, no polite framing. Not even pretending this was anything other than a bid to put a leash on a growing military asset.
The room around them seemed to hold its breath.
Phong understood the reasoning immediately.
America had fallen behind. It was not on television, or in GDP, or in missiles war heads. It was more subtly, in the place that now mattered most: the New Frontier. Floor 3 - unknown and still full of ruins to discover and bosses to harvest their Celestial Skeletal.
China had Yue Ting. Germany had Kaiser Jäger.
Even Vietnam, a country whose effort in the Vietnam's war had been given to US citizens protests by exceptionalism, a country who was still a shit hole of war, chaos and corruption in the eyes of most US thanks to the talks and speeches of the refugees, had Vân.
The United States—the loudest superpower, the self-appointed center of every map drawn after the twentieth century, the country who always proclaimed as the best in the world—still had not established a truly stable footing on Floor 3.
That failure irritated them in ways men with flags and old instincts could barely conceal.
And now Phong understood something else more clearly than before.
Josh had been tolerated so long, indulged so thoroughly, and protected so aggressively by the elites not only because he was a Harlan, but also because he had survived Floor 3. They did not need him merely because he was born in the right household or because his father had Springwell Inc. They needed him because he was supposed to be the young spearpoint of America. The one who would plant the U.S. flag on Floor 3 and let the country tell itself, once again, that history bent naturally toward its boots. The one who convinced the world and America itself that it had a brighter future than most, that it would remain "the best".
But Josh had been dissapointing.
On the surface, the story was simple enough: obsessed with Phong, too personal, too reckless, too eager to settle old grudges.
But Phong understood the deeper truth.
Josh was not a conqueror, or a pioneer.
He was a bully.
The sort of player who over leveled in games so he could stomp easy content and call it dominance. The kind of man who liked victory only when the odds had already been rigged in his favor. Floor 3 was not that. Floor 3 demanded too much uncertainty, too much adaptation, too much willingness to suffer where no applause was guaranteed. That was why Josh had stuck at the goblin zone for weeks even after he had triple the level of a goblin.
Josh scared things he had lost against.
He did not dare to take camp Stymphalian head-on, but decided to move around the problem.
He did not dare to go for team Nemean, for an exhausted and wounded Alex had nearly killed him.
And by the same logic, he did not dare going back to floor 3, not until he was sure that he was relatively the biggest down there.
But after the Sky Emperor had turned nuclear weapons into mountain architecture and introduced Celestial Skeletal, the U.S. government had panicked. They had lost more nuclear weapons than anyone worth noting. Now they could not afford to lose the next race too. This, by extension, meant their patience for Josh was running out.
So here stood Ashley Merriweather, looking at Alex and Dominic and seeing hounds she could collar if the right pressure was applied. Alexandra Vogel. Dominic Torres with a relic shield. Team Nemean, wealthy in talent and now dangerous in ways politics could not comfortably ignore.
Ashley looked between them, but the weight of her attention settled naturally on Alex first, then Dominic.
"You would operate under federal authority," she said, voice low and controlled. "Access to classified information. National resources at the beck of your call. Better security for your friends and families than any country in the world can offer."
Ashley's eyes went to Phong when she said the last sentence, as if to spell it out for him: "yes, we will even forgive your grandfather for daring to resist the will of the US and let him come here. Aren't we so generous?"
Emma's posture changed beside Phong. It was subtle, almost no person in the room recognized that. Almost, for Hans Tannenbaum was presented.
Dominic said nothing.
Alex said nothing as well, but she gave Phong one single look.
Phong answered calmly.
"No."
The word left him calm enough that several nearby people flinched harder than if he had shouted.
Ashley looked at him.
Just him.
Not because she respected his place in this. Because she had already decided he was the problem.
Phong met her gaze and thought, with cold clarity, that politicians seemed to have another kind of entitlement to spoiled heirs and heiresses. One was spoiled by wealth, the other thought Phong came pre-packaged with unconditional gratitude, loyalty and the willingness to serve a country that had turned a blind eye to his aunt and uncle death.
Ashley's eyes narrowed by a degree.
"You should think carefully," she said.
Phong almost laughed.
Instead he kept his expression still.
He knew what she meant. America had fallen behind. The administration needed wins. Divers were no longer only athletes or celebrities or even explorers. They were strategic actors now. The old world had watched its warheads become toys, their nuclear weapons neutered, and now needed people who could still kill in the new order.
Alex, Dominic, Emma, team Nemean.
That was what Ashley wanted. Dogs with relics and medals.
"You want us to take orders," Phong said.
Ashley did not deny it.
"You would be serving your country."
There it was. The line.
The thing she had probably said to soldiers, donors, grieving families, rising stars, and useful monsters in different forms her whole career. Serve your country. Give something bigger than yourself. Be loyal, be grateful, especially when you were abandoned, riddled with PTSD after the "serving" was done.
Phong felt the laughter rise in him like acid.
Serve what?
A country that had looked away when his aunt and uncle died because richer people were important and their money was needed for electoral campaigns? A system that let the powerful close ranks around itself and then came calling only when his team became nationally inconvenient to ignore? A state that wanted him loyal now, after his life had already gone beyond anything its laws or sympathy had protected?
Ashley must have seen some reflection of that in his face, because her own expression tightened.
She was about to say something else—something sharper, uglier, perhaps dressed up as patriotism and delivered like a warning—when Hans Tannenbaum stepped in.
He was as silent as a still lake, as calm as a mountain, unreadable, immovable.
That was what made it effective.
He moved to Phong's side with the smooth confidence of a man who understood both boardrooms and knife fights, and had no intention of letting this evening become one more crisis if a better option could be purchased with diplomacy. Or verbal blackmailing, whatever worked better.
"Madam President," Hans said, courteous enough to be impossible to call disrespectful. "Team Nemean is sponsored by the Tannenbaums."
Ashley's attention shifted to him.
Hans continued, voice calm, almost conversational.
"They are law-abiding citizens and residents with, if I may remind the room, at least three non-American nationalities represented among them." He let that settle. "There is no need for coercion. It would only worsen matters."
That was the public version.
The polite one. The one everyone nearby could hear and nod along with.
Then Hans stepped a fraction closer and said something quieter to Ashley.
Phong did not hear it fully.
But from the way Ashley's gaze sharpened, he could guess at least sixty percent of it.
Hans must have painted her a future she did not want, yet a very simple one that even a baby could understand.
Push too hard, and Team Nemean walks.
Phong could move back to Việt Nam tomorrow if he wished. He and his aunt and uncle had kept their Vietnamese nationality, the reason was obviously his grandfather. Alex and the Vogels would go with him. There was no version of this universe in which she stayed behind because Washington felt entitled.
Without Phong and Alex, Dominic might decide America was no longer worth the hassle either. Janet would follow him to Spain. And they would moved through the dungeon, maybe disguising it as just another dive. That would be the end of it. In one pressure move, Ashley's party would lose both Alexandra Vogel and Dominic Torres—their two most valuable public diver figures outside Josh, whose reputation had already rotted.
And that loss would be devastating.
To her next presidential campaign. To her standing in the party. To every donor in this room who wanted strong divers under the American flag while still pretending freedom mattered.
Ashley's jaw tightened once.
She must have thought of keeping hostages, forcing team Nemean into obedience. Then her gaze caught Alex's. And she immediately shivered.
Alex's look was so cold it almost froze the air around them, and filled to the brim with killing intent. It was almost as if Alex was warning her that, if Ashley touched her parent, or Phong, or her community, Alex would personally make sure no US diver would comeback alive if they stepped foot in the dungeon.
Ashley did not want to test that theory. Especially because she knew the rival party would jump at that chance to back team Nemean up against her, and won their votes in the next election.
Ashley decided stepping back was the right choice. The smile she wore now had no heat in it at all.
"Of course," she said. "No coercion."
The sentence sat in the room like perfume over rot.
Then she looked at Phong. Really looked at him.
And he read the meaning in her gaze cleanly enough that he almost admired the audacity of it. Ungrateful. Disloyal. A man who had benefited from the country's opportunities and now refused the call when it mattered. A man who should have known to bow just enough and be thankful the machine wanted him at all.
Phong felt something cold and almost joyful flicker inside him.
The entitlement of it.
A country that had turned away when his aunt and uncle were killed by the rich yet expected love in return as if patriotism were a reflex and not a contract broken long ago.
He almost laughed in her face. Almost.
But Hans had stepped in for them.
That mattered.
So Phong gave Ashley nothing. No anger, no apology, no visible triumph either. Just a level stare that refused both guilt and gratitude.
At last she turned and left with her security detail, taking the pressure pocket with her but not the sourness she had dropped into the room.
The gala tried to continue.
Music resumed its volume. Conversations restarted in cautious fragments. Glasses clinked again. But the mood had changed irreversibly around Team Nemean.
Phong had lost almost all taste for the evening.
He stayed anyway.
Not for the rich, or for the president. For Hans.
Because Hans Tannenbaum had put his own capital, reputation, and leverage between them and the state in a room full of witnesses. Walking out immediately after would have made him lose face, and Phong would not repay that kind of help with petty discomfort.
So he stayed.
Hans leaned against the wall in the corner with Phong, then whispered so only he could hear:
"You don't have to worry about CIA getting rid of you. Using fire-arms to get rid of the best option that still work against the dungeon is not only stupid, it's suicidal. Ashley is a lot of thing, but you can be certain she's patriotic. She love this country too much to burry it with her own two hands just to protect that ego of her. That thing is too big for her own good anyway."
Phong thanked him.
He had also learnt something useful about Emma's family.
The Tannenbaums were as successful as they were not only because they knew where to invest, but because they knew what repelled their investments. They understood aversion. Understood the importance of avoiding the exact pressure points that turned gifted people into enemies. Hans had seen in seconds what Ashley either did not see or thought she could ignore.
That made him dangerous in a different way than Daniel Harlan had been.
By the time Team Nemean finally left the ballroom, Phong felt like his nerves had been sanded down with silk.
Emma, perhaps recognizing the look in his face, did not even try to tease him on the way out.
They went straight to the airport.
A private terminal, because of course the Tannenbaums had one available, and because after an evening like that nobody wanted one more camera in their face while boarding.
The private jet to New Jersey waited under clean floodlights, all polished metal and quiet engines and the sort of understated luxury meant to signal that real wealth never needed to shout.
Team Nemean boarded in varying states of exhaustion.
Jake collapsed first into one of the wide seats and announced that if any more presidents tried to recruit him this season, he would start charging appearance fees. Joanne kicked off her shoes and said she would have told Ashley to eat glass, which made Janet tell her that was exactly why no one let Joanne do delicate diplomacy.
Dominic stayed near Phong for a moment longer than usual before finally sitting.
"You good?"
Phong looked out the window at the lights of DC.
"No."
Dominic nodded like that was enough.
Then Alex sat beside him, her shoulder touching his, without saying even a word.
That helped more than patriotism ever had.
As the jet lifted into the dark sky over a capital still pretending control, Team Nemean left behind chandeliers, presidents, and the particular smell of elite desperation. Ahead of them waited New Jersey, the next stretch of the league, the new shape of the dungeon age, and all the battles still coming.
Phong leaned back, closed his eyes, and thought that if this was loyalty's asking price, then America had never truly understood what it meant to deserve any at all.