In front of the cameras, the future president of Maliro looked like a little adult.
He was very handsome, with slightly naturally curly hair. Combined with his cute yet dashing features, it made everyone certain that he would grow into a handsome young man.
What was even more special were his eyes. They were a deep blue—the most orthodox eye color of the Malori People, and one that made many girls scream.
He was a living, breathing prince, standing right there in front of the camera.
Facing the camera, he secretly glanced at the butler, then took a deep breath and struck the pose he had prepared. Immediately afterward, he began reciting the speech.
"...My people, I know that some of you are currently lost."
"You can't tell who is friend and who is foe. All of this is because of my father's death."
"It was a conspiracy!"
"But it wasn't a conspiracy by the Federals. It was a conspiracy by the Peng Joe People. They used my poor father, then killed him."
"It was the Peng Joe People who killed him!"
The boy's emotions began to grow agitated. Where the camera couldn't see, he was forcefully pinching his own flesh. The tips of his nails had sunk into his skin, and threads of red blood rapidly spread outward along its texture.
His face also flushed slightly from the pain, but on camera, he looked as though his complexion had reddened from agitation.
His voice grew louder as well. "I don't believe a group of people from the other side of the world would kindly give us wealth, weapons, and food, then send us to fight my 'enemies.'"
"No, I don't believe anyone could be so friendly. This is the conspiracy!"
"They fabricated a false facade to deceive all of