Chapter 472: Wrong, Wrong, Wrong

Night fell over the officers' family compound of the military district, where armed sentries lined every post, inside a villa that, though vast, was nearly bare of furnishings.

"Isa?"

Watching her daughter, tall and slender, sit motionless on the sofa clutching a giant plush toy, the middle-aged woman walked over anxiously, pressed her chin to the girl's forehead to test its warmth, then drew her into her arms and asked softly:

"What's wrong? Are you unwell?"

Feeling the familiar warmth of her mother's embrace, the policewoman snapped back to awareness, shook her head, then wrapped her arms around her mother's waist and buried her face deep in her chest, muffled:

"I'm fine, really—just… some work things haven't gone well…"

"I see."

Hearing her daughter wasn't sick, the middle-aged woman exhaled in relief, gently stroking her long, smooth hair as she asked quietly:

"Still about the Lyon family? They're still refusing the investigation?"

"No, this time it's something else…"

Recalling the scene she'd seen at noon and the findings on "Leon Lyon," the policewoman lifted her head from her mother's arms, her eyes complex:

"Mom, three months ago—did the military cut off a lot of survivor pensions ahead of schedule?"

"There was something like that…"

At her daughter's question, the middle-aged woman paused, then sighed helplessly:

"You know the military's expenses have been soaring these past years—the kingdom's treasury can barely hold up. This year's budget was slashed by a third. Your father comes home every night sighing… Isa, why are you asking about this now?"

"I just think it's unfair…"

Recalling the family of four in the file she'd reviewed that afternoon—nearly driven to death by desperation—the policewoman's eyes softened with pity, her voice growing louder.

"The military has forty-seven departments, each with massive expenses. There are so many places to cut—why target survivor pensions?

Mom, do you know? Most of those still receiving pensions are survivors from the six-year-old National Defense War—even orphans who lost both parents!

Many of them can't even support themselves—they rely entirely on those pensions. Cutting them off early is practically forcing them to die!"

"Isa?"

Hearing her daughter's words, the kind-faced woman froze, then immediately grew stern, frowning coldly:

"Who taught you to say these things?"

"No one taught me—I thought of them myself!"

"You never thought like this before! You used to be…"

"People change!"

"But you used to… sigh. Never mind…"

Seeing her daughter's lips pressed tight, stubbornly set, the middle-aged woman rubbed her temples in resignation, then lowered her voice again:

"I don't care where you heard this—but you tell me, and only me. Don't say any of this to your father…"

"Why not?"

The policewoman's eyes brimmed with resentment:

"Even if he didn't propose it, this insane decision passed only because he at least approved it! If he did it, he should…"

"Isa!"

Cutting off her daughter's rising words, the middle-aged woman scolded sharply:

"You're grown now—you should be sensible! So much has happened this year. Do you know how much pressure your father is under? Don't add your problems to his burden!"

"Then what about the burden he's added to mine?"

Thinking of the man at noon, clad in an old overcoat, happily eating pudding scattered on the table, the policewoman, heart aching, spoke out:

"Mom, I met someone today. His parents died in the National Defense War six years ago. The military's pension payments only reached him for a third of what was owed—forced him, at thirteen or fourteen, to support his family: hauling sacks under the summer sun, scrubbing cargo ships all day in freezing harbor water!

That sounds insane, right? But you know what? After your father signed the order, even his remaining third was cut off—and he has two younger siblings, only six or seven! His sick sister stopped taking medicine to save money and nearly died in the hospital!"

"Ah…" Seeing her daughter's eyes reddening, the middle-aged woman, aware of the military's situation, sighed, her gaze heavy with guilt:

"Your father… he truly has no choice… Isa, how is that family now? I still have some money—would you like me to…"

"No need. He probably doesn't lack money anymore."

The policewoman took a deep breath, turned away, and whispered with complex eyes:

"He joined the rebels. Now he's an informant inside the Police Bureau. This morning, he sabotaged our raid and rescued a rebel who took part in the Princess's assassination."

"…."

"So now it's not me adding trouble to my father—it's him adding trouble to me, isn't it?"

Looking at her mother, speechless, the policewoman sneered and sank back onto the sofa, her eyes fixed again on the doorway.

"Can I ask now? I want to know—what kind of heart did he have when he signed that filthy, rotten proposal?"

"…."

Watching her daughter, clutching a soft toy yet bristling like a hedgehog ready to strike, the middle-aged woman could only soothe gently:

"Isa, listen—just go…"

"Don't try to comfort me!"

The policewoman turned her head away, stubborn:

"You taught me—do your own deeds, and have the courage to bear them yourself!"

"But he also taught you that some responsibilities are meant to rise above all else."

Patting her daughter's back, the middle-aged woman's gaze dimmed:

"The National Defense War didn't just take others' loved ones—your brother, your two uncles—they all died six years ago. And this pension cut started right with our own family…

Stop! Don't argue!

I know we don't rely on pensions—we're fine. I mention this only to say: don't think too badly of your father. To keep this crumbling military afloat, he's done everything he can."

Looking up at the empty room upstairs, remembering her eldest son lost six years ago, the middle-aged woman's eyes welled with tears:

"At the start of this year, the former head of the military was executed for his excesses, leaving behind countless holes to fill—just as the budget was slashed.

Everyone knew the holes couldn't be patched. Whoever took over would be blamed for incompetence. The few qualified candidates refused the poisoned chalice—only your father stepped forward…"

Recalling how her husband had grown quieter, thinner, his back bent over the past year, the middle-aged woman gripped her daughter's hand, voice trembling:

"The National Defense War six years ago was your father's eternal pain. Now the military's problems are too great—if we let it collapse or hand it to a weak successor, the same disaster will repeat. He can't walk away.

I know cutting pensions early is cruel—but since he took this burden, barely a year has passed, and half his hair has turned white. He's nearly been drained dry by the military's burdens."

"But couldn't he just…"

"Isa, your father has truly done everything he can."

Interrupting her, the middle-aged woman sighed softly:

"This year, I've watched him do everything possible—but even so, the holes remained. Only then did he reluctantly agree to cut pensions.

He also issued strict orders: pension officers must visit each household at least three times over two months before cutting payments, ensuring the family can still survive.

But he has only two eyes—he can't watch everyone. No matter how much he prepares, tragedies like this still slip through…

Ah, Isa, I'm begging you—go to your room. Don't make him worry anymore, okay?"

"…."

"Okay?"

"Alright…"

The stubborn policewoman, at last, yielded to her mother's pleading, reluctantly pulled from the sofa, eyes filled with resentment.

Back in her room, curled on the soft mattress with her plush toy, she was too exhausted to sleep as usual—instead, she stared blankly at the ceiling lamp.

My father, struggling to hold the military together—wasn't wrong… I, hunting rebels who attack and destroy—wasn't wrong… He, forced into rebellion by cut pensions—wasn't wrong…

Then who is wrong?

(End of Chapter)