As soon as Drake spoke, it was like someone had flipped a switch in President Holland. He immediately tried to shout at Arthur in rage—tried. But both his arms were broken, bound in thick casts, hanging awkwardly in front of his round body. Even pointing at Arthur took a ridiculous amount of effort. It took him so long just to gesture in Arthur’s general direction that the others in the room couldn’t help but feel… secondhand embarrassment. President Holland’s eyes were bloodshot with fury, tears of humiliation welling up. He finally opened his mouth and wailed, "Dammit he is such a meanie!!!" And then he froze. The entire room stared in silence. With all his front teeth missing, his words whistled through the gaps—each syllable mangled, barely intelligible. So much for a dramatic outburst. When Arthur had knocked him out, the pain had been so severe he hadn’t dared open his mouth. Only now, desperate and unable to hold back, had he tried to speak. But he hadn’t expected this—his missing teeth had turned his speech into gibberish. For a beat, President Holland stood stunned, caught in the echo of his own ridiculous voice. Then the shame hit like a tidal wave. The way everyone was looking at him—he felt utterly humiliated. He’d never been so thoroughly disgraced in his life. And he couldn’t take it. He shot to his feet, his legs still intact, and stormed toward the door in a fury. But he hadn’t even taken more than a few steps when Drake’s indifferent voice called out behind him. "Sit back down." President Holland froze. Even with all the humiliation and fury bubbling inside him, here on Heaven Island, all he could do was grit his teeth—what teeth he had left—and shuffle back to his seat. Some in the room thought they might’ve imagined it, but Drake’s cold voice just now… had it carried a trace of amusement? Could Mr. Drake—normally so stern—have actually smiled? No one could say for sure. But they could say this: even the people standing on President Holland’s side couldn’t help but stifle a laugh when they heard the way he spoke and saw his defeated, pitiful expression. The tension in the room shifted, subtly but unmistakably. President Holland, consumed by rage and shame, didn’t notice any of it. Drake cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the men standing behind Holland. "You tell me," he said. He leaned back in his chair, posture more relaxed now. His face remained stern, but the sharp edge had softened. As soon as he gave permission, the men rushed to speak. "Governor, you have to stand up for President Holland!" "He just said a few words to Arthur and got beaten! Can you imagine? On Heaven Island of all places? What kind of lawless behavior is this?" "This is supposed to be your territory, and Arthur dared to lay hands on someone here. That means he has no respect for your authority!" "We were all there! We saw everything! President Holland only scolded Arthur because the kid had been rude. That’s all! And then Arthur threw a slipper at his face—left a big red sole print! And then he charged out and beat him into this state!" They all rushed to speak over one another, painting Arthur as the aggressor. Whether they meant it or not didn’t matter. Because they knew one thing for sure. President Holland was their ally. And when Falls had walked in earlier, they had been the ones openly berating Arthur. If Falls reported what he’d seen to Drake, they’d be in trouble too.So right now, defending President Holland wasn’t just about loyalty—it was about saving their own skins. They had already scoped out the area when Drake arrived. There were no surveillance devices nearby. And before that, there had been no one else near Arthur’s courtyard—only them and Solivair. Falls had shown up briefly but left soon after. They watched him go with their own eyes. Meaning: everything that happened afterward, Falls didn’t witness. As for Solivair—he had been there, yes. But they were sure of one thing: as long as Arthur’s life wasn’t in danger, Solivair would love nothing more than to see him suffer. That much was obvious, even without a word spoken. These men were seasoned veterans of power games. They could read Solivair like an open book. So if they all stuck to one version of events—if they all said Arthur was to blame—there was no way Arthur’s voice alone could overpower them. Especially when his status was so vastly beneath theirs. That, at least, was an undeniable fact.