Chapter 877: Creating a Focal Point

“Mr. Lynch…”

The female manager entered the room and immediately dropped to her knees, her face full of guilt. “On behalf of EveryMoment, I offer our sincerest apologies to you and your companion.”

She bowed, pressing her forehead against the carpet.

Anyone who wasn’t an idiot could tell that something beyond control had been happening on the ship these past few days.

Since they weren’t on their home turf, most of the Federation’s tycoons stayed in their cabins, not daring to leave. Meals, necessities—everything was brought to them.

This made it easier for the captain to control the vessel, but also quietly intensified the psychological pressure on everyone aboard.

Pressure works like the saying the more you hold it in, the angrier you get. Without release, it builds up quickly.

Being trapped in cramped cabins, unwilling or afraid to wander around, only worsened the situation—until it finally boiled over with one young man’s outburst.

His meltdown became a lightning rod for everyone’s stress. From what he yelled at the first mate, many people gathered roughly the same impression:

The ship was still under control and speeding up its course—this clear direction allowed everyone to breathe a little easier.

Immediately after, they all sent their personal managers to calm the guests.

Lynch stared at the woman kneeling on the floor, as if forgetting to tell her to stand. “How much longer until we reach land?”

Without his signal, the female manager didn’t dare move. “No more than three days until we arrive at the planned location.”

Lynch did the math in his head. “That’s twice the speed of the original schedule. If I remember correctly, the original plan was two weeks.”

“Yes, Mr. Lynch.”

“When did we start speeding up?”

The question caught her off guard. Shouldn’t he be more worried about his own safety? Why ask something seemingly pointless?

Still, under orders to soothe the guests, she answered honestly, “About four or five days ago.”

“So we’re already in the far northwest sea of the Federation?” In Lynch’s mind, a map of the Federation and its surrounding waters appeared. He frowned.

He hadn’t expected the captain to sprint like a crazed, overcharged rabbit. At this rate, the Sergeant might not even be able to find them—undermining the whole value of the aircraft.

Fortunately, EveryMoment’s stock would provide some compensation.

If they had stuck to the original speed or just sped up a little, they’d still be near the West Coast by now. the Sergeant would probably be searching with aircraft. But now, being this far northwest—that wasn’t ideal.

Would the planes even be able to reach them?

Lynch stayed silent for a long while. The female manager remained prostrated, her forehead against the carpet. She had no idea what Lynch was thinking and didn’t dare lift her head.

The situation on board was tense—so tense that death was a real possibility. And that wasn’t an exaggeration. The warlords in Marilo were known for wiping out entire families. Under such brutal rule, most people didn’t dare make a wrong move.

Penny, sitting nearby, began to look frightened. Deep down, she had always wanted to believe that things weren’t as bad as Lynch made them seem.

But now the female manager had come to apologize—essentially confirming everything Lynch had said. For a girl like Penny, that was more than she could handle.

After twenty or thirty seconds, Lynch snapped back to attention. “One last question—where is the danger coming from?”

Before the manager came, the captain and first mate had already briefed them. They had been told to reveal the truth to the guests.

Being targeted by pirates was, unfortunately, rather routine. Without beyond-visual-range detection or radio tracking, pirates had long been a major threat to maritime transport.

What they hadn’t expected was that the pirates were already on board—and not just one. Worse, they were tied to forces in Marilo. This wasn’t just an isolated case.

They were allowed to disclose the main situation—but certain things were strictly off-limits. For example, the captain suspected someone was using this hijacking as a means to strike at the warlord alliance and EveryMoment itself.

Their goal wasn’t simply ransom—it meant everyone on board was now entangled in something much bigger. And once they got out… well, who wouldn’t keep getting angrier the more they thought about it?

Say what you can. Say nothing of what you can’t.

The female manager explained the situation. Lynch picked up on a few inconsistencies but chose not to dig deeper.

Knowing where the danger was coming from was enough. He felt the girl behind him—her arms around his waist—shaking.

He glanced at the woman still kneeling, then smiled softly after a moment of silence.

“Take your clothes off.”

The female manager took a deep breath, then stripped without hesitation.

Lynch once read a philosophy book called The Best Way to Face Fear.

It sounded like nonsense—like something a shady writer came up with just to make money. At the time, online content wasn’t well developed, and bookstores weren’t places you could casually read through things.

Back then, you went up to the counter, told the clerk what you wanted, they handed it over. You skimmed a few pages—if it looked good, you paid. If not, you swapped it for something else.

There wasn’t time to browse. And if you lingered, the clerk would tell you to get lost.

That’s why magazines and newspapers often introduced books to readers. Strange as it sounds, it was a real thing.

They’d publish excerpts with commentary, becoming early forms of recommendation media.

If an excerpt struck a chord, people went to the bookstore to ask for it—though they didn’t always walk away satisfied.

The Best Way to Face Fear had one particularly interesting idea: sensory stimulation stronger than fear itself can help overcome it.

For instance, intense rage can make someone attack even what they fear.

Or, intense pleasure.

The whole day, the three of them were consumed by extreme pleasure—until evening, when none of them could move.

Penny slept peacefully—no fear, no trembling, completely calm.

After resting for a bit, Lynch got up. He needed to have the kitchen send some food.

It was late February, early March—not yet daylight saving time. Just after 5 PM, the sky had already begun to darken, and it grew dim faster than it would on land.

In the captain’s quarters, the captain stood motionless, staring out the window at the cruise ship, the room thick with the smell of smoke.

He looked like a statue—completely still.

Suddenly, a knock on the door startled him slightly. In a deep voice, he asked, “Who is it?”

“It’s me. We got one!” The first mate’s voice made the captain’s frown ease slightly. He quickly opened the door. The first mate looked excited. “We caught the telegraph operator.”

After sabotaging the radio, the operator had been hiding in the lower deck. There were many compartments, but with a thorough search and locking each cleared room, they eventually found her.

To prevent anyone from using keys, they not only locked the rooms but also hammered nails into the locks, snapping the cores—making the doors impossible to open even with the correct key.

They finally found the operator in an empty crate in the storage room—someone they’d previously thought had jumped overboard.

“Hurry…”

The group brought her to the captain’s room on the first deck. The female operator sat pale and exhausted in a chair, stunned that after nearly a week, these people were still searching like madmen.

She couldn’t run any longer. She had been caught.

Thinking of what they were capable of made her blood run cold.

As the captain entered, the crew greeted him, but he didn’t respond. He walked straight over to her, gave her a glance, then suddenly picked up a heavy ironwood paperweight used to hold down nautical charts and struck her shin with full force.

The result was immediate: her leg was broken—an open fracture. Bone pierced through skin and jutted out from the other side.

She froze for a second. Then, as pain overwhelmed her, she screamed in agony, even losing control of her bladder.

The captain casually tossed the paperweight back on the table, straightened his collar, and looked at her with a cold, expressionless face. “I don’t need to get anything out of you that you think is important.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying or telling the truth, so I’m prepared to be misled or gain nothing at all.”

“But are you prepared to die?”

The female operator trembled violently—partly from the unbearable pain of her shattered leg, partly from the captain’s attitude. He truly didn’t seem to care whether she talked or not—or at least that’s how it felt to her.

She was going to die.

That was her only thought now—facing a fear beyond words.

Meanwhile, the sailor who first discovered her hiding in the crate had already reached the lifeboat davits.

According to federal law and maritime regulations, civilian vessels must carry lifeboats capable of holding twice the number of passengers, with lifeboats placed on both sides of the ship.

This ensures people can still escape if one side is submerged or capsized.

By now, it was very late. Most of the crew already knew someone had been captured, and there weren’t many people on the deck.

The sailor looked around, then lowered one of the lifeboats.

Along with it, he let down four steel-core ropes…