Why it never ends

Chapter 1223 Whale Party
Upon entering the restaurant, Sheena hurried to her seat as if she had been saved. Noticing that her father's seat was empty, she immediately turned her head away to avoid Chloe's gaze as she sat down.

"Where's Dad?"

“He was called away by the governor for a chat around five in the morning,” Fatima said. “No need to wait for him, his breakfast has already been sent over—”

Before he could finish speaking, a cough with phlegm came from the doorway—Trian, looking haggard, stepped into the small restaurant.

Fatima's eyes widened slightly: "You've come, my dear."

Trion muttered a curse, and Sheena and Chloe both paused in surprise—they had both heard it; their father was cursing Arevalo, probably for the first time.

"Let's eat!" Treon sat down in the head seat. "I'm exhausted."

"The governor—"

“Asleep.” Treon raised his neck, letting the servant tie a napkin around his neck. “That old man—”

“Darling?” Fatima raised the corners of her mouth and gave Trion a deep look.

Trion knew that Fatima was reminding him that there might be eavesdroppers. His nasal muscles twitched a few times, and then he spat heavily onto the napkin the phlegm that had been stuck in his throat all morning.

Trion casually tossed his used napkin on the floor, and a servant immediately bent down to pick it up. At the same time, another servant placed a newspaper next to Trion.

Trion had a good idea of ​​what would be on the front page of today's newspaper, but he still burst out laughing the moment he saw the headline.

"Did you go to that speech yesterday?" Treon unfolded the newspaper. "Those guys formed a new party on our farm."

Fatima did not answer immediately, but smiled slightly: "I heard about it, it seems to have been going on until midnight."

"That's hilarious!" Trion shoved the newspaper in front of Fatima. "Look at this!"

Fatima glanced at it, smiled, and exhaled softly.

—Compared to the complicated and awkward name "Askia Freedom Front," the media clearly has a simpler name for this new party founded by Mercury Needle.

“‘Whale Party’!” Treon laughed uncontrollably. “That’s hilarious! How did they come up with that? — It’s because these Mercury Needles hang out with whale people all the time, hahahahahaha!”

Sheena stirred the cereal in her porcelain bowl with a spoon, somewhat bored. She couldn't understand what was so funny about the name "Whale Party," and she had no interest in her father's reaction. Although she had slept soundly through the night, no morning had ever left her as exhausted as this one.

She didn't want anyone to notice the change in her at that moment, and just wanted this boring breakfast time to pass quickly.

Chloe looked at the newspaper with some curiosity. She stood up, pulled it in front of her, and after reading only a few lines, she laughed.

Sheena looked at her sister with some surprise. In her view, Chloe's smile was undoubtedly a surrender to their father, but what was the point? Thinking that Chloe knew everything yet remained silent, Sheena frowned. It wasn't enough that she had played the good sister all night last night; this morning she also had to play the good daughter at the dinner table. Sheena couldn't help but re-examine Chloe at this moment—clearly, something terrible must have happened.

“What are you laughing at?” Sheena asked. “They say Hersta is a ‘naive’ inspector,” Chloe said, pointing from one part of the text to another, “and here, this person says that perhaps Hersta’s ‘naiveté’ will bring a breath of fresh air to the situation.”

"What's so funny?" Sheena was even more puzzled.

“‘Childish’!” Chloe glared at her sister. “Hersta is over twenty years old, and he’s still so immature!”

At the dinner table, Treon paused for a moment, then burst into an even more astonishing laugh. He listened to Chloe's "joke" with great pleasure and couldn't help but slap the table.

“For a political animal, being in your twenties is certainly naive,” Fatima said gently. “In these people’s circles, there are plenty of ‘young people’ in their forties and fifties.”

Chloe laughed along with her father, but gradually her laughter stopped—because Fatima's expression seemed to say that she wasn't joking, that she was serious.

"Forty or fifty years old?" Chloe looked at her mother. "A young person?"

“What do you think!” Treon scoffed mercilessly at his daughter’s shallowness and shortsightedness. “Last year, the Welhorst Interest Party elected a 34-year-old vice-president, who is clearly being groomed as a successor—if the next election goes well, he could become prime minister at the age of 37, which is really young!”

As he spoke, he looked at Fatima and whispered in a playful tone, "Thirty-seven years old, hey, I don't think he's figured out life yet."

Sheena stared intently at Chloe, wanting to stop her father, but it seemed too late—Chloe's expression shifted from surprise to confusion, then to bewilderment, and now it was quietly turning into some kind of intense pain.

“Chloe…” Sheena nervously gripped her cutlery, trying to get Chloe’s attention, “You…”

"What nonsense are you spouting!" Chloe suddenly stood up and roared at Treon, "Hersta is over twenty, she's a woman in her twenties... an old woman in her twenties!"

“You…” Treon brushed the breadcrumbs that his daughter had thrown on him, still not quite recovered from Chloe’s anger, “What’s wrong with you all of a sudden…”

Fatima looked at her daughter with obvious displeasure: "Chloe."

“She’s over twenty, and she doesn’t even have a fiancé. And here, here, and here—” Chloe pointed angrily to her neck and arms, “They’re covered in sunspots! She’s hideous!”

“Chloe!” Fatima snapped, “Don’t say such self-degrading things!”

Trion looked at his daughter, bewildered: "...Are you crazy? What's gotten into you so early in the morning?"

Fatima gently raised her hand to her husband, signaling him to hand over the situation to her. She rose and walked towards Chloe, whispering, "How many times have I told you not to elevate yourself by belittling your opponents, even if it's Kvischk—"

"Don't mention Kvischk!" Chloe pushed her mother's hand away. "This matter... has absolutely nothing to do with Kvischk!"

"Then what are you angry about?" Fatima asked, puzzled. She stretched out her hands to her daughter again. "Hersta is in her twenties; she's certainly not as young as you—"

Chloe broke free of Fatima's grasp and let out a hoarse howl—she clearly felt that the pain she had tried so hard to avoid last night had finally found her this morning…and gripped her throat.

“…You lied to me,” Chloe roared, “You…you’ve all lied to me!”