On the east side of Mexican Constitution Square, the National Palace was bathed in soft light. Above the main entrance hung Dolores's Bell, adding a rich historical atmosphere to the palace.
Inside, an extremely luxurious banquet was underway. Looking at the opulence, one would never guess that slums were a common sight in this country. Only "sheer extravagance" could describe the scene.
Mountains of champagne, countless delicacies, and people in lavish attire.
Their every word and gesture exuded an air of high-society elegance.
"Mr. President, under your governance, the country has become increasingly prosperous. Allow me to toast you first," said one of the guests.
"Haha."
The gray-haired man offered a faint smile and was about to raise his glass in response when someone suddenly emerged from his shadow on the ground.
The person was filthy, covered in blood, yet no wounds were visible. He stood there, a stark contrast to the luxurious and elegant surroundings.
