"Hey, listen Tom," the middle-aged photographer grabbed the reporter next to him, his face a mix of constipation and confusion, staring blankly yet intently into the void as he muttered, "I swear, I just saw something really, really weird in the lens—someone who absolutely shouldn’t be here today. But for the life of me, I just can’t remember what it was."
"Hey, I get you, Jerry," the reporter struck a pose with his index finger, looking like he totally understood: "Elite reporters like me know that feeling. It’s like having a popcorn kernel stuck in your throat—not up, not down, right?"
"Exactly, exactly! That’s the feeling!" The middle-aged photographer slapped his thigh, getting all excited. "That stuck-in-the-middle feeling—you nailed it!"
"Well, congratulations—you’re about to join the Elite Reporter Club. With our sharp instincts, sixth sense, fearless guts, and superhuman professional nerves, we can sniff out big news even in a sea of people, even when nothing looks off at first glance. Come on, Jerry, all you have to do now is take a deep breath, open your eyes again, and—" The reporter gave the photographer’s shoulder a slap, flashed a starry grin and a thumbs-up: "Go find your big scoop."
"Thanks, Tom! That’s actually super helpful!" The middle-aged photographer was fired up, his eyes shining with determination.
Don’t panic, don’t panic. Let’s sort things out, take another look. Inhale—exhale—three, two, one, open your eyes: See, business tycoon → socialite → rising politician → white-haired woman lounging in a chair with sunglasses, munching on an apple, looking like she’s just here for the drama—she even smiled and waved when she caught me staring → angel investor → trending celebrity. Nothing seems off... Wait, wait! Hold up!
Oh! Oh oh!! Oh oh oh!!!
It was like a flash of inspiration tore through the darkness in his mind—like a can of bug spray wiped out the swarm of bees buzzing around his brain. The photographer suddenly understood, enlightened, awakened, totally got it.
No wonder something felt off! How did I not notice before—am I blind or what? That trending celebrity was just caught in a huge scandal, practically drowning in bad press, and rumor has it he’s about to be sued and thrown in jail. What’s he doing here at an event like this?!
Weird, seriously weird. There’s gotta be a story here—this is big news!
It took me this long to figure it out—ugh, guess age really does catch up to you, and my eyes aren’t what they used to be. But that guy was hiding so well, totally blending in. Not my fault, not my fault! I’ve gotta chase him down and get some good shots!
The cameraman nodded to himself, determined, and swung his camera back to the main hall. But right then, a few agents slipped over and pressed a baton-like device against the back of a London Daily reporter standing next to Tom. There was a faint zap, the reporter rolled his eyes and dropped, and the agents silently dragged him away.
At the same time, within just a minute, MI5 agents swooped in with precision and efficiency on one suspicious character after another. Good news kept coming in over the comms, letting the agents relax a little. No way could this kind of investiture ceremony be interrupted—if anything went wrong, the whole face of Britain would be on the line. Silently taking care of every threat, with nobody outside the loop any wiser—that’s the best outcome.
18:00 sharp.
"All five teams have succeeded. The assassins have been apprehended."
Hearing the comms in their ears, all the MI5 agents instinctively breathed a sigh of relief, but the beautiful female agent suddenly tensed up. Wait—there aren’t just five, there’s another assassin still out there!
"His Majesty—arrives!"
The court master of ceremonies lifted his head, drawing out the words in a high-pitched voice, every strand of his white wig radiating medieval noble vibes. At the same moment, at the highest vantage point, the best-hidden assassin took a deep breath, set up his sniper rifle, and pressed the stock firmly into his shoulder.
As the ceremonial music thundered, the assassin flipped open the scope. Left eye shut, right eye wide, pupils dilating—the whole world blurred except for the tiny round window in his sights, crystal clear. Inside that little circle, the crosshairs were latitude and longitude, the shifting numbers were pure truth. Anyone locked in those crosshairs was as good as dead.
And right now, those crosshairs were locked on Kensington L. Orland’s head.
Finger on the trigger, syncing breath and body, clearing his mind and emotions—making everything sharp and crystal clear.
Today’s the old man’s last day—wait, why did the scope just go black?!
The assassin jolted in shock, snapping his head up—only to find a handsome man suddenly standing right in front of him, one hand covering the scope and flashing a sly smile. Next second—wham! A heavy punch landed square on the assassin’s head. He flew sideways like a dead pig, crashed into the corner, and didn’t make a sound.
Jonathan Black casually checked the sniper rifle while gazing at the kaleidoscopic main hall below, muttering to himself, "Looks like MI5’s efficiency just isn’t up to snuff. Had to step in myself in the end."
"Is that so?" came a voice from behind—the beautiful female agent: "No matter what, I’ve still caught you!"
The beautiful agent gripped her pistol tight, eyes locked on Jonathan Black, keeping a safe distance as she raised her brows and barked: "Don’t move. Put the gun down. Turn around—slowly. Who are you and what’s your business here?"
Jonathan turned around, unfazed by the gun pointed at him. He didn’t put down the sniper rifle, casually inspecting its parts for anything odd, and said, "Used you once, huh? Not happy about it?"
The beautiful agent ignored him, snapping, "Put the gun down! Or I’ll shoot!" At the same time, she raised her left hand and started tracing dazzling symbols in the air—clearly about to cast some kind of spell.
"So, you’re a Chosen One, Miss. No need to get so worked up—I’m not your enemy. Besides," Jonathan looked up with a weird smile, "how do you know that guy was the last assassin? How can you be sure you’ve cleared every threat? Don’t forget, your king is right down there."
Speak of the devil—Jonathan’s words had barely left his mouth when a gunshot exploded in the main hall. Guests screamed, panicked cries burst out like a bomb.
"Wh—" The beautiful agent’s face changed instantly, instinctively trying to check the hall—when, in a blur, her hand was suddenly empty. The pistol she’d been gripping was gone.
"Bye, Miss. And by the way—tonight’s a busy night, so... not happening." Jonathan—no, at this moment, he’s Agent Jason Bond! He flashed the agent a devastatingly charming smile, then leaned back and whooshed down toward the main hall.
Meanwhile, in the main hall, every guest was utterly stunned.
Let’s rewind a few seconds. Just moments ago, Queen Elizabeth arrived at the main hall, radiating royal presence. No matter how politics shifted or times changed, she’d always been the steadfast queen—the Commonwealth’s official head of state.
She might just be an old lady, but the moment you saw her, you’d get what “royal aura” really means. Every move, every word, every gesture, every smile, even the wrinkles on her skin and the age spots on her face—packed full of regal style.
On her, you could almost see the glimmer of the old Empire where the sun never set, and feel how all those so-called gentlemen in the “land of gentlemen” are just second-rate knockoffs, trying to imitate this true royal charisma.
Look at her—look at this radiant old lady. Now that’s a queen!
Yep, everyone was watching her, excited and solemn. The band gave it all they had, playing their best music. And of course, rows of long brass horns were raised high. In the light, those brass horns gleamed like gold—everything was flawless.
Then, one trombonist suddenly swung his instrument thirty degrees. Thirty degrees—just enough to turn from a safe angle to a deadly one, pointing straight at Elizabeth.
More than one person noticed his strange move—bodyguards, agents, even palace officials all went pale in an instant. They couldn’t believe it: a trusted musician who’d worked in the palace for over a decade, doing something like this? People were shouting, drawing guns, grabbing the aging queen.
But it was too late—three trombone buttons were all pressed down, bang! A burst of fire, a thunderous gunshot ripped through the hall, a huge-caliber bullet tore through the air straight at Elizabeth. Every guest was stunned by the shot, and after a split second of shock, chaos erupted.
Women screamed, men shouted, people dove for cover, and furious shouts for capture filled the hall—all in the space of a single second.
But Elizabeth didn’t die.
The elderly queen was shaken, her body trembling, and was quickly supported by a palace official. In that moment, all her royal aura vanished—she was just an ordinary old lady. But she stared wide-eyed at the figure in front of her. In that split-second, someone had stepped between her and the bullet.
That person—the white-haired woman—hadn’t been noticed before. Well, if you think about it, she’d actually been there all along, boldly sitting in a chair, eating an apple, but nobody paid her any mind! But the moment she stepped forward and stopped hiding, nobody could ignore her brilliance.
Her radiance exploded like the sun, stealing everyone’s attention. Her long white hair flew, and even the old lady behind her was dazzled, stunned.
The guests were frozen. The middle-aged photographer slapped the reporter next to him and muttered, "Tom, that hiccup—I think it finally came out... How did I ever miss her? Am I blind or what?!"
He wasn’t blind—it was just one of Jill Young’s little psychic tricks. If you’ve ever had a girlfriend who can vanish in plain sight, you’ll pick up a skill or two. Jill’s not great at using it for big stuff, but fooling a few normal folks? No problem.
"Points off, Agent Jason Bond. There were seven assassins, and you only handled six—the last one I had to deal with myself. That’s a deduction." A flash of dark gold shimmered in her left palm before disappearing. Jill Young opened her hand, revealing the big-caliber bullet. On the other side, Jonathan Black dropped from above and instantly grabbed Kensington L. Orland in the crowd.
"BIG-BOSS, I object. That assassin just tried to create chaos by shooting Elizabeth to make an escape—she was never actually in danger." Jonathan nabbed Orland like a chick and argued into his mic: "Besides, so what if she died? The world doesn’t need two queens."