Chapter 129: Thoughts, the Game, and the Bureau

Alberto watched to see if Lans understood what he had just said: “You think the film industry can help us?”

Lans nodded once. “I believe you have a lot of money that needs to go into the bank.”

Alberto certainly wouldn’t deny that—Lans himself had over four hundred thousand needing to be deposited, but he never did, because the money couldn’t withstand scrutiny.

He could’ve easily deposited it in the bank; banks didn’t care whether the cash on the counter was stolen or earned—they only wanted your money in exchange for a deposit receipt costing them less than two cents.

But the tax bureau cared. The bank would report to the tax bureau: someone deposited four hundred thousand at once. The tax bureau investigated and found this person had never filed high-income taxes or paid any. They’d check him.

And then Lans would be done for.

Under the tax bureau’s gaze, no one was innocent.

So until the money was cleaned, it could only sit in a safe, and even when needed, only small portions could be withdrawn.

Lans had so little money already, and yet it was this “painful.” Alberto and the higher-ups of the Pasreto family, whose main business was smuggling and other high-profit crimes, had far more dirty money to clean.

Alberto nodded—he didn’t deny it. “But what does this have to do with the film industry?”

“A ticket costs five cents. How long would it take to clean it all?”

“This isn’t three or five thousand, Lans. This is…” He didn’t finish, but Lans could infer from context: at least three to five million, maybe even thirty to fifty million.

Lans had a different view: “One person pays five cents for a ticket, but then buys a soda for another five cents, and then a two-cent bag of popcorn.”

“If we add a three-cent shoe-shine coupon and attract enough people, each moviegoer can generate fifteen cents of legitimate income for us.”

“One theater, four screening rooms, eight hundred tickets, one hour!”

“Eighteen showings a day? That’s twenty-one thousand six hundred.”

“If you have ten theaters, you can clean twenty thousand a day.”

“A month? Six hundred thousand. A year? Seven point two million.”

“I pay the Koda family fifteen or twenty thousand to clean my money. Why not just take out a loan and build a few theaters first?”

“And it’s not just theaters—every part of film production can be used to launder money.”

“More importantly!” Lans’s tone sharpened significantly. “Building theaters creates jobs, boosts local government revenue, and enriches cultural exchange.”

“And there will never be zero viewers. Even if there are few, as the money is cleaned, our losses drop to the minimum!”

“Most importantly, it’s respectable. No one can accuse you.”

When your theaters spread across the entire Federation—even into the wilderness of the West—people will respectfully call you “Movie Tycoon Corti.”

After hearing this, Alberto felt tempted. They had their own money-laundering methods.

They’d smuggle the dirty cash out of the Federation’s mainland, bring it back to Sumuli Island, and use local influence through a shell company to turn it from illegal to legal.

By then, a million would be down to just over eight hundred thousand—each link got its cut, and only then could the money enter the local bank without issue.

Then the money would return to the Federation through legal channels—cash or wire transfer. Federals never questioned how incoming investors got their money.

But the money couldn’t go directly into the Pasreto family’s accounts—that would draw attention from Federation banks and the tax system.

Some merchants from Sumuli Island would buy legitimate businesses and “lease” them to the Pasreto family.

Cars, houses, or anything else.

Though they held no actual ownership, this shielded the assets from potential entanglements.

If the Federation’s tax bureau, police, or Justice Force couldn’t prove the assets were linked to the family, then even if the family ran into trouble, the assets remained safe.

It seemed efficient, with low losses—but it still carried risk. Simply smuggling the money out of the Federation wasn’t easy.

Without connections, if caught, the money vanished entirely. Establishing those connections to ensure stable exit from the Federation cost money and carried risk.

Overall, a million cleaned would leave roughly seven hundred fifty to eight hundred thousand—this was the limit. Less than that was impossible.

Alberto had thought this method efficient enough, but now, hearing Lans’s simple explanation, he suddenly felt Lans’s approach might be better.

“I don’t know much about these things. Perhaps you should speak directly with Mr. Pasreto.”

He paused. “But we do know people in this field. You can bring your friend to them—they’ll give your friend a role.”

Alberto didn’t take this seriously. He was only interested in Lans’s idea of laundering money through film production and screenings.

They chatted a while longer, then Alberto suddenly remembered something: “Do you have plans tomorrow morning?”

Lans shook his head. “The cops are watching me closely. Wherever I go, they follow. I’ve got nothing to do.”

Alberto burst out laughing. “You’ll get used to it. They used to follow me too. Everyone goes through this stage.”

“Since you’re free, why not come watch a baseball game with me?”

“You’ll love the atmosphere there!”

Lans thought for a moment and agreed.

The next morning, Alberto came to pick him up—Fordis drove. The three headed straight to Jinguang City’s baseball stadium, home of the Sailboats. Even before the game started, it was packed!

Outside the stadium, many sold snacks. Lans even saw people openly selling beer. But the police maintaining order seemed uninterested.

This tied into how many didn’t understand Prohibition—even many cops thought the ban was absurd and were part of the resistance.

Some cops even changed into civilian clothes after work to drink at nearby underground bars.

After Fordis parked, the three entered the stadium. Lans noticed Alberto had Teyi worn a Sailboats jersey and a baseball cap!

“Our seats are the best—right in front of the batter. If we’re lucky, we might catch a ball!” Alberto grew excited once inside, clearly a true baseball fan.

Many around him were equally enthusiastic—all wearing Sailboats jerseys and caps, holding gloves, passionately debating.

Lans didn’t understand the game. Fordis sipped beer and chatted with him.

As the players entered, the crowd erupted in the Sailboats’ anthem. Alberto stood up, cheering wildly—hardly like a Sumuli man.

“Isn’t it incredible?”

Suddenly, an old man behind Lans tapped his shoulder. “Why aren’t you singing?”

Lans stared at him with a “What the hell are you talking about?” expression. Sensing Lans and Fordis weren’t easy targets, the old man reined in his temper.

“You’re sitting in the Sailboats’ home stand—you have a duty to cheer with us!”

Alberto snapped back, wrapping an arm around Lans. “This is my friend. It’s his first baseball game. I’m sure he’ll soon be a Davie fan.”

The old man’s stern face softened into a smile. “Yes, no one can resist Davie’s charm.” Then he gave Lans a look that said: “I’m waiting for you to become a fan.”

Lans suddenly regretted agreeing to come to the game.

When the Sailboats’ star batter stepped up and adjusted his stance, the entire home crowd rose to their feet.

Lans had no choice but to stand too. He couldn’t grasp their frenzy, but to avoid the old man bothering him again, he complied.

The pitcher was tense. The Sailboats’ home field was far from comfortable—the standing fans exerted immense pressure.

And fans back then weren’t obedient. Some actually charged the field to beat up players.

Baseball was also one of the more dangerous sports of the era.

Not because athletes died suddenly during games—but because many got injured accidentally due to either outstanding or terrible performances.

Davie, a potential Hall of Famer, was hugely popular here!

The pitcher threw hard—the ball arced impossibly through the air and landed in the catcher’s glove. Davie swung and missed. The umpire called it a strike. The crowd erupted in boos and insults.

Of course, not aimed at Davie—but at the pitcher. Federation language couldn’t curse very creatively, but even ordinary greetings, shouted by thousands, were unbearable.

On the second pitch, the pitcher’s pressure increased. When the bat cracked with a “bing!” the atmosphere exploded!

Watching Davie sprint around the bases, chased by the catcher, for a moment, Lans almost understood why people cheered for games.

It was truly a match of power, speed, and passion. Every eye in the stadium fixated on the “running spirit,” as the announcer called him.

But a spirit weighing over a hundred pounds… wasn’t that a bit too big?

Alberto had been swinging his fists and cursing nonstop—but not out of anger. This was his way of cheering.

Like shouting “Go!” or “Run!”—except now it was all “Fuck!”

The hit was far enough to prove Davie’s value as a star batter. Before they could retrieve the ball and tag him out, he reached home.

The old man behind laughed loudly. Alberto hugged Lans with both arms—and also the guy on his other side…

Undoubtedly, the Sailboats won. Davie delivered an outstanding performance. From a neutral standpoint, Lans thought the others played well too.

But… stars and fans come with built-in filters. That’s just how it is.

After the game, Alberto dragged Lans and Fordis toward the exit, hoping to get an autograph. But the players were exhausted. Only the first few signed autographs on cards; most fans got nothing.

Alberto didn’t get one either. He was disappointed.

“You could invite him to dinner, and get his signature then,” Lans said, not understanding Alberto’s approach—he could’ve easily gotten Davie’s signature himself.

Alberto put away the prepared card and shook his head. “That would ruin its meaning, Lans. You don’t get it.”

His tone carried disdain. Lans truly didn’t understand.

On the way back, he pulled out a card and scribbled on it. Lans leaned in to look—it was the schedule.

“I’m one step closer to ten million!”

Alberto tucked the card away. “That’s the magic of baseball. You don’t just get passion and excitement—you can gain even more joy if you know the players well and have a bit of luck.”

“Has anyone ever won the big prize?” Lans asked curiously.

For a single game, it wasn’t hard—but guessing every game’s outcome, even without predicting scores? That was nearly impossible.

Even if you knew every team inside out, things could still go wrong!

He didn’t believe anyone could win. Maybe someone had—but was it luck… or was it rigged? He didn’t know.

Alberto gave examples: every few years, someone won the jackpot—from two million at first, now up to ten million. All Federation baseball fans watched the annual league and bets.

He hoped they were playing for real!

At noon, Lans had lunch with Alberto—a Sumuli-style meal—then took his leave.

Alberto needed a nap. The morning’s game had exhausted him; he needed rest to recover.

Some envied the President for his power—but they didn’t realize that while ordinary people napped, the President still worked.

The President was also a devoted baseball fan. As a federally promoted sport, nearly every male of every age adored baseball.

The President even owned several championship-signed baseball caps from his hometown team!

But at this moment, he had no leisure to watch a baseball game; he had just finished a meeting.

Before him now lay a document—the one establishing the Tobacco, Alcohol, and Dangerous Goods Administration, pushed forward by Congress and multiple departments.

As soon as he signed his name on this document, the department would be established immediately.

The new department’s duty would be to investigate all smuggled alcohol.

The Church, certain capitalists, and politicians were deeply dissatisfied with the current federal prohibition’s intensity.

Although the nationwide alcohol ban had been in effect for nearly a week, their investigations revealed widespread, semi-public drinking across the country.

The so-called prohibition merely meant that lower-class citizens could no longer afford alcohol due to its inflated prices.

Those who could still afford alcohol continued to drink excessively, and in some regions, robberies and thefts had emerged solely to obtain money for drinking.

This severely violated the very purpose of enforcing prohibition; thus, under pressure from multiple departments and factions, they ultimately decided to strengthen the management and enforcement of the ban to eradicate alcohol’s harm to federal citizens!

The President held his pen, waiting for a long while; several staff members standing by, eager to carry out the order after his signature, grew impatient but dared not urge him, so they waited in silence.

Perhaps he had finally come to a decision—the President finally moved, and the pen tip touched the signature line.

His name appeared in one swift stroke; after signing, he handed the document to the waiting staff, put away his pen, and said, “That’s it…”

At 2:15 p.m., the Presidential Press Secretary held a press conference, citing specific cases where the alcohol ban had led to violent crimes in certain regions.

Both Congress and the President expressed strong disapproval, believing that some regions had failed to fulfill their obligations in enforcing the alcohol ban.

They also recognized that adding more duties to city police was unwise, so they established the “Tobacco, Alcohol, and Dangerous Goods Administration” to exclusively oversee the distribution, sale, and use of these goods.

Officer Lu Ka, sitting in his office, froze for a moment upon hearing the news; before this, alcohol inspections had been jointly handled by the Tax Bureau and the Police Department.

Now they were forming an independent enforcement agency—he wondered who would be assigned to oversee it in Jingang City.

As he pondered this, someone knocked on his office door. “The Director wants to see you.”

Officer Lu Ka lowered his legs from the desk, straightened his uniform, and hurried to the Director’s office.

The Director sized him up, then pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit…”