Chapter 13: After the Disaster, The Funeral

Seven days after the Battle of New York, in Parkwood Cemetery.

Compared to Samira, whose face was etched with sorrow, Luca appeared much calmer.

Since his father, Herman, was half Chinese, Luca had chosen to bury him in this cemetery, known for its excellent feng shui and the resting place of many notable Chinese figures.

Around him, guests came and went, paying their respects, but Luca simply stared silently at the tombstone.

The heavy atmosphere of grief hung thick in the air.

Perhaps out of sympathy for the young man, even those who knew Luca’s parents well refrained from disturbing him, occasionally nodding as they laid flowers.

Yet Luca’s thoughts were far from the funeral.

Though the exact death toll from the Battle of New York was never officially released, it had been far from insignificant. Even in this upscale cemetery, many families were still holding funerals.

After all, the Citarai’s guns and artillery did not discriminate between the high and the low.

A week had passed, and on the surface, everything seemed to have settled.

But in truth, much of New York—especially Midtown and Upper Manhattan—remained in chaos.

Street protests, charity events by politicians, disinfection and reconstruction of disaster zones, treatment of the wounded, burial of the dead—countless ongoing efforts revolving around the aftermath of the battle persisted.

Reality was far from the movies, where heroes defeat the enemy and peace is instantly restored.

In fact, the most “absurd” matters these days were the post-disaster reconstruction and compensation debates.

At the heart of the controversy—the focus of TV networks, street demonstrations, and congressional hearings—was the fundamental question: Was this incident a war loss, a natural disaster, or a terrorist attack?

Seven days on, the argument remained stuck on this basic definition.

The military was pushing hard to classify the Citarai invasion as an “extraterrestrial war,” aiming to expand military authority under the Defense Production Act. Though this meant the Department of Defense would bear some compensation costs, emergency measures would allow the military to take full control of alien technology wreckage.

On the other hand, major insurers and bankers sought to label it an “alien terror attack.” Since 9/11, terrorist attacks had been excluded from insurance coverage, allowing them to dodge compensation and deny the government’s hopes of providing low-interest loans to small businesses and individuals, channeling funds instead to large corporations’ “healthy lending.”

The government’s position was more complicated: both federal and state authorities preferred to call it a “natural disaster” to calm the public, secure voters, and gain international support.

But under the Stafford Act, the federal government would have to cover 90% of reconstruction costs for national disasters, while states only had to cover 75% for state-level disasters. This sparked a relentless dispute between New York State and the federal government.

In sum, Congress, the military, intelligence agencies, capitalists, and even the media—whether directly involved or not—all wanted a piece of the pie.

Beyond initial relief efforts, Stark Industries’ private funds and international aid arrived first.

Meanwhile, even small groups and individuals focused on smuggling alien weapons.

In fact, news had already broken of people using extraterrestrial arms to rob banks.

Yes, even Luca himself had secretly stashed some Citarai weapons.

He planned to hand them over to his company’s weapons development team for covert study, hoping to unlock useful technology.

But this was common practice among arms manufacturers; as long as it wasn’t flaunted or used publicly, even S.H.I.E.L.D. would avoid interfering.

However, the weapons division, once led by his father Herman, was now without its guiding hand. How much quality remained was uncertain.

Moreover, Luca had yet to earn a voice in his own company. Everything would have to wait.

“Master Luca...” Samira, hesitant and struggling for words, finally whispered to him.

Luca blinked, snapped out of his daze, and stepped forward to lay down the flowers.

His father’s death brought a tinge of sadness shaped by circumstance, but fundamentally, Luca’s focus was on his own future.

Just as he placed the flowers and prepared to rise, a harsh, hoarse voice interrupted from behind, jarringly out of place.

“Heh heh~ Luca! You didn’t even inform me of your brother-in-law’s funeral. I’m truly heartbroken, you know?”

Everyone, including Luca, turned toward the voice.

A middle-aged man in a black suit approached, his hair disheveled.

He bore a faint resemblance to Luca’s mother, Gina.

But unlike Gina’s poised, decisive elite demeanor, this man’s frame was slightly hunched, his posture stiff, his steps unsteady. Though his attire was clearly carefully chosen, he gave off the air of a monkey wearing a crown.

Especially his pale, sickly face, sunken eyes, and vacant yet greedy gaze—like a rat starved in a gutter.

“Who is that?” someone whispered.

“Seems to be Ms. Orange’s brother. I’ve seen him at the company before.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

Guests who had been starting to leave paused, murmuring quietly.

Those close to the Orange family tried to approach but were held back by others, hesitant to intervene.

They weren’t cold-hearted onlookers, but the man’s presence seemed linked to private family matters of the Oranges, something outsiders dared not meddle in casually.

As the suited man drew near, Luca’s nostrils flared slightly, a deep loathing flashing in his eyes.

Luca had encountered far too many like him in his past life; he knew them all too well.

Though young in his current life and lacking complete knowledge, his memories contained enough about this man.

Dragan Orange.

Gina’s own brother—Luca’s uncle.

An incorrigible gambler.