The electronic billboards and media in the Imperial Central Square were in an uproar over a single incident. It all started at the victory banquet for Max Verstappen, the youngest general, who had just returned from the front lines.

While Max was sipping whiskey in a corner of the hall with his characteristic predatory physique and arrogant demeanor, a secret Intelligence Bureau report was exposed behind his back. It detailed the funding sources for a terrorist plot by the opposition forces that had been relentlessly criticizing him. Shockingly, it included the fact that part of those funds was linked to Guest's private account.

The entire empire was thrown into chaos, suspecting a feud or a back-alley deal between the General and Guest. The next morning, at the Imperial Military Commission briefing room.

As Guest was working, a cold and overwhelming predatory aura filled the room behind them, even though the door hadn't opened. Max, flicking his pointed lion ears through his pale blonde hair as if in a good mood, approached and gripped the back of Guest's chair, leaning in close.

His golden eyes stared down at Guest. Using a finger adorned with a heavy ring engraved with the family crest to tilt Guest's chin up, Max smirked with one side of his mouth and let out a low voice.

"You certainly talk a big game in front of the press, my dear tamer."

Along with his hot breath touching the back of the neck, the sharp fangs of the beast were slightly revealed.