"Broken String (live)"
Seven days later, at the White House.
The oval-shaped presidential office was filled with a strange, pervasive aroma of roasted meat.
If you zoom in, you'll find --
The once solemn administrative hall has now been completely transformed into a giant BBQ barbecue site.
The expensive wool blanket that was originally laid out in the hallway was roughly rolled up into a sausage and kicked to the base of the wall.
I looked to the side.
The " Resolute Desk," which has signed countless bills, is in a terrible state.
The century-old mahogany table was shoved into a corner by a few rude guys, and a ring of sticky beer foam still clung to the table.
The empty Heineken can lay haphazardly on the ground, and a cigarette butt was casually stuffed into the crumpled aluminum can.
There were even several disposable paper plates haphazardly stacked next to it, soaked in butter and covered in yellow mustard.
The most sinister thing was the fireplace in the very center of the room.
A makeshift iron grill rack was placed on the Lincoln fireplace, which was usually used for decorations.
Several dozen Angus beef skewers sizzled and dripped with oil as they grilled over charcoal.
Golden butter seeped out along the edges of the crispy meat pieces, dripping into the fire with a "plop".
The next second, the aroma of burning wood mixed with the smell of charcoal filled the entire room.
Butcher stood imposingly in front of the grill.
He rolled up both sleeves, holding two skewers of golden-brown, juicy roasted meat in his hands, while tilting his head and looking around.
"Damn, I always thought this place was paved with gold bricks."
I used to watch these sanctimonious politicians on TV, talking nonsense all the time, and I thought even their shit was gilded.
So that's all?
Butcher casually flicked the charcoal dust off the iron skewers.
"They're all just ordinary oak planks, exactly like my drafty old house in the countryside."
After saying that, he stuffed one of the skewers of meat into his mouth, bit off a large piece viciously, and chewed his cheeks until they bulged out.
On a single sofa diagonally opposite in the room, Neuman sat upright, one hand supporting his forehead.
Yes, that's right. Neuman was not purged after the White House showdown.
John had seen the original world's storyline and was quite satisfied with Neuman's political methods, and his underlying character wasn't too bad either.
Her life was mostly forced upon her.
Half of it is for myself, and half is for my daughter.
So, after signing all sorts of unfair terms for the Boys Squad, Neuman finally got his wish and secured the position.
Today she was wearing a dark gray suit skirt, her legs were pressed tightly together, and she was holding a glass of red wine.
But I haven't touched that glass of wine yet.
The expression on his face was hard to describe in words, though if I had to...
It's similar to the feeling of "Why am I sitting with these lunatics?"
"Well..."
She looked at the fireplace rim, blackened by cooking fumes, and sighed, rubbing her temples in exasperation.
"You lit the fireplace..."
"Oh, our President Neuman, this is called 'lifestyle,' you know nothing about it."
Butcher his head, Butcher used tongs to flip the meat on the grill.
"... That's the fireplace Lincoln used; it's considered an antique."
"Isn't that perfect?"
Butcher grinned.
"This old ghost has been down there for over a hundred years. He might just come back to life after smelling the aroma of meat today."
"Fuck..."
Neuman took a deep breath, his chest heaving slightly, as if the nodules were about to pop out.
Trying to reason with these people is a complete waste of your breath...
She simply put her wine glass on the table, stood up, and patted the wrinkles on her skirt.
"I fucking can't stand you guys anymore."
Neuman rubbed his temples, his voice revealing a deep weariness.
"The Secret Service just messaged me asking if there's been a fire or a terrorist attack inside..."
Neuman remained expressionless.
"I'll go work on the documents now."
She was wearing high heels and was about to walk towards the door.
As he passed the grill, Butcher casually grabbed a skewer of freshly grilled beef from his hand.
Neuman paused for half a second.
She stared at the steaming skewer of meat for a moment, then looked up at Butcher's stubble-covered, lewd, and roguish face.
She didn't say anything, then grabbed the meat skewer.
Then he quickly opened the office door and walked out.
"Crack!"
Butcher, with half a piece of beef in his mouth, looked at the closed door and chuckled slyly.
"See... I told you she'd be much easier to deal with than that old fox Edgar."
"Saying no with your mouth, but your body says yes."
On the other side of the office.
The art style has become unusually abstract.
The Deep squatted down in front of a huge "Made in China " glass water tank.
The water tank occupies almost half of the wall and is filled with circulating seawater.
A nearly three-meter-long, robust bluefin tuna was slowly circling, its dorsal fin occasionally brushing the surface of the water, creating ripples.
That was the Deep's major creditor, Sang Biao.
The Deep held a white porcelain plate in his hand, on which was served top-quality king salmon that had just been airlifted from New Zealand that morning.
Silver skin wrapped around tender flesh, gleaming with a warm orange glow, its fine, rich marbling crisscrossing and translucent white.
The Deep smiled obsequiously, pinching a large piece between two fingers and dangling it back and forth above the water's surface:
"Come on, Sang Biao, try this..."
This isn't some cheap, contaminated stuff from those backwater stores; it's all-natural and pollution-free! The best stuff from New Zealand!
With a muffled "crash".
The massive, dark blue-green body of the Sang Biao burst out of the water at an incredibly terrifying speed, its huge mouth opening wide.
"Clatter!"
Boil it all in one gulp!
Then, its huge tail fin slapped comfortably against the water's surface.
"Splash!"
Water splashed up half a meter high like a torrential downpour.
"Hold!"
The Deep was completely drenched.
His meticulously styled slicked-back hair collapsed instantly, and his thousands-of-dollars haute couture shirt clung to his body, soaking wet.
" Sang Biao! Can't you give me any face at all?!"
The Deep, looking dejected, wiped the water from his face.
Then he pointed at the fat fish in the tank and started cursing.
" Hughie and the others are watching!"
The Sang Biao in the water tank contentedly blew a string of bubbles, flicked its tail, and didn't even glance at him.
"Well..."
The Deep wiped the water off his face and sighed.
Then he picked up an even thicker piece of belly meat from the plate and pressed it against the plate again with great enthusiasm:
"Alright, alright, one more..."
Not far away.
Next to a picnic table that was temporarily brought in from outside.
Frenchie held a juicy roasted chicken leg in his hand, his mouth slick with oil as he ate it.
He chewed on the meat while gesturing enthusiastically at Kimiko:
"Let me tell you, Mon cœur... I've already thought it all out. I'll buy a piece of land in Ohio when the time comes."
It doesn't need to be too big, but it must be a large house with a yard.
Plant two Apple in front of the yard, and build a huge temperature-controlled greenhouse to cultivate various kinds of rosemary and basil leaves...
Of course, if you occasionally want to seek some excitement.
We filled the basement with explosives and vodka, and drove our pickup truck wildly through the cornfields!
"Let's get another dog... a Golden Retriever or a Labrador would be fine, what do you think?"
Kimiko sat quietly beside him.
She barely touched the greasy grilled meat, holding a glass of bubbling lime soda in her hand.
She rested her chin on one hand, tilted her head to the side, and her long eyelashes cast soft shadows under her eyelids.
Then, watching Frenchie wildly as he described his vision for the future, a sweet smile curved his lips.
"I feel my plan is absolutely perfect..."
Frenchie said, spitting the chicken bone into his plate and wiping his hands with a tissue.
He turned his head and saw Kimiko squinting at him.
He paused for a moment, then scratched the back of his head:
"Am I wrong? If you don't like Ohio, Provence is fine, or you could go to Marseille..."
Kimiko shook her head.
She put down her cup, her lips moved slightly, and she said clearly:
"Nothing."
Her voice was as gentle as a breeze passing through the hall, softly caressing Frenchie's heart.
Frenchie for a moment, then blinked somewhat helplessly.
Then he quickly lowered his head and pretended to take a chicken wing from the baking tray to cover up his panic.
When people are nervous, they often pretend to be very busy.
In the corner by the window, Cate and Maeve were each nestled in a large armchair.
Cate ate slowly, holding a bunch of zucchini and cherry tomatoes in her hand, taking small bites, and occasionally wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
Maeve, standing next to her, appeared much more casual, wearing only a simple black tank top.
A whole plate of grilled beef ribs was laid out in front of her, but she only occasionally tore off a small piece of meat and chewed it slowly.
Holding a glass of Bourbon in my hand, the ice cubes clinked crisply against the glass.
At this moment, Frenchie, at the picnic table, finally finished off his third large chicken leg.
"Burp----So satisfying!!"
He leaned back in his chair, completely satisfied.
He patted his slightly bulging belly, opened his mouth, and let out a loud burp without any regard for his image.
Everyone in the room was instantly drawn to him.
"Seriously, everyone."
Frenchie wiped his mouth.
" Edgar got a life sentence. If the boss really dumps Vought's mess on Hughie and Starlight, does that mean we don't have to do any work?"
Hughie and Starlight were huddled in a small double sofa in the corner, each holding a small bone china plate.
The top piece is a half-eaten mousse cake.
Hearing Frenchie's words, Hughie swallowed the cream in his mouth with difficulty.
With dark circles under his eyes, his face was wrinkled like a bitter gourd.
" Frenchie, please, have some decency..."
Hughie, holding a small silver fork, had a face etched with the despair of being brutally beaten by capitalism:
" Vought is now a cesspool full of idiots!"
The public relations department handles hundreds of ridiculous lawsuits caused by Superman every day, and the finance department still has half of its accounts not matching up.
The legal department staff are lining up on the rooftop every day, threatening to jump, and those old fogies on the board are forcing us to hold twelve-hour multinational meetings every day...
Annie and I barely get three hours of sleep a day. We're practically dying from exhaustion; we just can't keep up!
Starlight, though silent, nodded frantically with an expression of utter despair.
The meaning is already quite clear:
"Every word he said was true, and he was even being too conservative in his assessment."
Hughie pitifully pointed his silver fork at Frenchie and wailed:
" Frenchie, I'm begging you, when can you come to the Vought Tower and help out?"
Even just coming over to help us manage the logistics warehouse, or helping the legal department intimidate those troublemakers would be great!
"What the hell?! I... I'm going to work in an office?!"
Frenchie waved his hands repeatedly as if he'd been pricked in the butt, shaking his head like a rattle drum.
"Spare me, little Hughie! I was born to be the free wind, and you want me to write reports and clock in at work?"
"You might as well just shoot me dead."
As he said this, Frenchie subconsciously turned to look at Kimiko beside him.
"Besides, I'm very busy... I'm going on my honeymoon in Ohio with Kimiko soon!"
This is the most important part of our life plan!
Starlight, holding the cake plate, couldn't help but laugh at Frenchie's smug, arrogant expression.
She blinked and joked:
"Going on a honeymoon? When are you planning to officially get married?"
This question was raised as soon as it was put forward.
Frenchie's hand, which was about to reach for the chicken wing, froze in mid-air.
His breathing stopped; he was tense, his heart pounding.
Yet, with a hint of indescribable anticipation, he quietly turned his head and looked longingly at the girl beside him.
Kimiko was taking small sips of her soda water.
Hearing Starlight's teasing, she calmly placed the glass on the wooden table.
Then, under the watchful eyes of everyone present, Kimiko turned her face and said sweetly:
"We'll get married after our honeymoon."
Holy shit!
Frenchie blinked twice.
One second, two seconds.
His mouth stretched wildly to both sides as if out of control.
"Awooo—did you hear me! Did you all hear me?!"
Frenchie grabbed the chicken wing, waved it vigorously in the air at Kimiko, and shouted to the entire audience, his face flushed:
"I'm going to order a church and a suit tomorrow!"
Butcher, sitting by the fireplace, couldn't help but tease:
"Damn, that's really touching, Frenchie."
I've known you for almost ten years. Back then, you were always yelling about being a bachelor, saying you wouldn't even date a dog...
"Get lost, William! This is just naked jealousy!"
Frenchie shouted back, but there wasn't a trace of anger on his beaming face.
"Why..."
Looking at their brains, Hughie felt a wave of fatigue wash over him, and he couldn't help but laugh along.
He shook his head and turned to look at Maeve by the window:
"Seriously, Maeve... have you ever considered coming back?"
The Seven is now almost entirely empty.
Without a respected elder to oversee things, public opinion and those restless Superman will inevitably cause chaos sooner or later.
"Hey, what do you mean by 'all the positions are vacant'?"
The Deep creature suddenly poked its wet head out, clutching two pieces of salmon covered in scales, its face contorted with rage:
"I'm now the head of the Seven! The active captain!"
Starlight didn't even bother to lift her eyelids, scooped up a spoonful of cream and stuffed it into her mouth:
"You are indeed the captain now."
However, the A-Train has been retired.
That useless guy, Black Noir, is still cosplaying as a vegetable in the lab. After that, he'll be gone...
The Deep gaped open, but found it couldn't find a single reason to refute it.
He could only shrug his neck dejectedly, and somewhat unwillingly turned to Maeve to egg her on:
" Maeve, I'm doing a great job as captain, don't you dare come back suddenly and steal my favorite office!"
The view from that floor-to-ceiling window is amazing!
Maeve leaned back in the down armchair, her long legs casually crossed.
"I've already discussed it with Elena."
Maeve's voice remained unchanged, conveying a sense of relief.
"We chose a small town by the sea, far from New York, far from the media... and far from those damn PR contracts."
I plan to live there with her for a while... maybe a year, maybe two."
She paused, a slight smile playing on her lips:
"When I finally get completely fed up with this boring, peaceful life... maybe I'll consider coming back to see you all."
Upon hearing this, the Deep immediately poked its head out:
"Then you'd better enjoy it a little longer, until I've firmly secured my position as the top leader and have absolute power."
If you want me to return it to you then... well, that'll be too late!
"Oh?"
Maeve glanced at him sideways.
The Deep creature had a PTSD attack, shuddered, and then pulled its head back behind the tank, obediently shutting its mouth.
Laughter and banter filled the office, along with the sizzling sound of barbecue and the aroma of various drinks.
The noisy atmosphere subsided imperceptibly, transforming into a pleasant, languid feeling.
At that moment, the Deep grabbed a jar of Petrossian caviar from beside the tank, scooped out a large dollop with a small spoon, and put it in his mouth.
Then, with some curiosity, he turned his head and his gaze fell on the main seat in front of the office, which was always shrouded in shadow.
The entire afternoon.
John sat quietly in the president's high-backed leather chair.
He was wearing only a dark blue fitted casual suit, with his hands casually in his pockets.
Her blonde hair appeared somewhat dull in the firelight reflected off the wall.
His eyes were half-open, as if he were meditating or pondering something.
The Deep took two steps closer, somewhat awkwardly, and while licking the caviar off the back of his hand, he said:
"Boss..."
The Deep cautiously watched John, who had his eyes closed.
"You've left the entire Vought to Hughie and Starlight, so what about yourself? What are you planning to do next?"
The sound of the Deep echoed in the empty office.
At that moment, everyone's gaze turned in unison, their curiosity focusing on the high-backed chair.
John slowly opened his eyes and slightly raised his head.
His gaze slowly swept over everyone present, and then he slowly said:
"Everyone, if you could go back in time, would you choose... to make up for past regrets?"
The Deep was smacking its lips, savoring its delicious treat, when it heard this, and carefree, it grinned wide:
"Is that even a question, boss! If we go back in time, we have to get revenge on everything we can't stand, and by the way—"
"Wait a minute!"
The Deep's smile suddenly froze.
He looked at John's calm, seemingly genuine face, and his Adam's apple bobbed nervously.
"Wait... Boss, are you... are you serious?"
John didn't return to the Deep.
Instead, he slowly stood up from the chair and walked with steady, composed steps to the open space in the center.
Then, under the watchful eyes of everyone present, John slowly raised his right hand.
Spread your palms out completely, palms facing up, and lift your fingers slightly upwards.
"Buzz--!"
A faint buzzing sound burst forth from the air.
The next second.
A soft, holy object, radiating brilliant golden light, materialized out of thin air and then quietly hovered in his palm.
It looked like a very small book.
It's miniature and small, smaller than the palm of your hand, and has a wonderfully rustic feel to it.
The spine and edge of the book, gleaming with a faint light, were adorned with a delicate, pulse-like gold thread that pulsated lightly.
But each movement carries with it an unknown resonance.
Everyone present could feel their heartbeats beating in sync with this vibration.
Hughie jumped up from the sofa, his eyes fixed on the glowing little book.
"... What is that?! Some kind of magic?"
In the center of the arena, golden light reflected off John's calm face.
He lowered his eyes slightly, gazing at the small booklet that hovered quietly above his palm.
He then raised his eyelids and calmly looked at each of his dumbfounded companions in the room.
"You could say I obtained it by chance."
"Let me introduce it; its name is [ The Book of Destiny ]."
" The Book of Destiny?"
The entire audience asked in unison.
"Yes..."
"Choices are like a scale; in life, this scale may tip to the left or to the right."
Even the slightest deviation can lead to different trajectories and thus different results.
"For most people, this kind of deviation is often filled with pain, regret, and even a lifelong burden."
"And it."
"It allows you to return to a previous branch of the story and make a choice again."
"Thus, we can see another consequence arising from selection skew."