Capítulo 1377: Chapter 663: Let the Bullets Fly for a While, Right Over Your Skull! (Part 3)

He walked to the desk and picked up a just-received fax, which was an urgent notice from the United Nations Human Rights Council, requesting the Spanish Government to submit a detailed report on the Bernabéu unrest.

“Last night, the President of Brazil called me, saying they are planning to propose the establishment of an anti-colonial racism monitoring agency at the summit. This morning, Uruguay has already announced they are freezing cultural exchange programs with Spain. You see, the longer the bullet flies, the more people gather under the muzzle.”

He pointed out the window: “In Latin America Square in Mexico City, people have already organized a candlelight vigil voluntarily. It’s not a protest, but a prayer for our injured compatriots at the Bernabéu. We must make them understand, Latin America is not a scattered sand.”

The office fell silent, with only a slight sound from the air vent.

The diplomats looked at Victor’s calm profile.

It always felt off; is Donald really such a patient person?

This person… has a pretty petty mind.

But they looked at each other and could only listen to his “nonsense” for now; anyway, it’s impossible for Victor to suffer a loss.

That afternoon, Mexico’s foreign ministry issued a short statement, with no condemnation, no protest, only one sentence: “We trust in the justice of the international community, and believe that history will eventually judge all injustice.”

The New York Times interpreted this statement as “the strategic forbearance of Latin American countries,” while Madrid’s National Newspaper mocked it as “cowardice incapable of counterattack.”

Only a small number of high-ranking officials in Mexico understood…

What Victor was up to!

…

The dinner party at the Madrid Prime Minister’s Mansion was reaching its climax. Gonzalez, holding a champagne glass, was enthusiastically boasting to the Minister of Defense: “See? Those Latin American monkeys made a fuss for three days, and in the end, didn’t they have to obediently shut up? The banner at the Bernabéu is a lesson for them; in European territory, they have to follow our rules!”

The Minister of Finance promptly chimed in: “The Prime Minister is wise! Now even Brussels is praising us for our firm and measured response, saying it’s a model for dealing with immigrant unrest.”

The crowd burst into laughter, and just as the laughter subsided, the Prime Minister’s private secretary suddenly barged in with a pale face, tightly clutching an encrypted phone, the cord pulled taut.

“Prime Minister, Catalonia…” The secretary’s voice quivered like a shaking bladder, “Just now, the President of the Catalonia Autonomous Region held an emergency press conference at the Barcelona City Hall, announcing… announcing an independence referendum in three days!”

“!!!!”

Everyone was stunned.

The champagne glass in Gonzalez’s hand clattered onto the carpet, spilling wine onto his polished shoes. He grabbed the secretary by the collar, “Say it again!!”

“Back to the office, everyone high-level goes.” He took a deep breath, trying hard to compose himself, but his steps were somewhat unsteady.

There was a television in the office.

The screen was broadcasting breaking news, with Catalonia President Hordi standing in front of the blue and yellow two-colored flag of the autonomous region, his expression solemn as a statue: “After an emergency parliamentary vote, with 68 votes in favor, 52 against, and 1 abstention, the Catalonia Independence Referendum Bill has been officially passed. Three days from now, at 9 a.m., we will decide our future with ballots.”

The camera swept across the parliamentary hall, where supporting parliamentarians stood up and applauded. Someone held up a banner reading “Free Catalonia.” In the background, an electronic screen was scrolling paintings of the War of Spanish Succession from 1714, a perpetual pain in the hearts of Catalonians.

“A bunch of traitors!” The Minister of Internal Affairs suddenly flipped the dining table, “Last year they stirred for a referendum, and we sent the National Guard to seal the polling stations. Dare they come again?!”

Gonzalez slumped into a chair, his face gloomy.

On the TV, Hordi was announcing the referendum details: “All residents in Catalonia for over five years, regardless of nationality, can vote. A turnout rate of over 60% makes it valid…”

“Madman! They’re splitting the country!” The Minister of Defense roared, reaching for the phone, “I’ll order the troops stationed in Barcelona to take over the parliament now!”

“Stop!” Gonzalez suddenly shouted, “Do you want all of Europe to see Spanish troops firing on their own citizens?”

“Contact the Constitutional Court immediately!” Gonzalez’s teeth were gritting with a creaking sound, “Declare the referendum illegal for me! Freeze all financial accounts of the autonomous government, put all the people with Hordi on the wanted list for me!”

The TV host suddenly paused as the camera cut to a live shot, showing someone running up holding a piece of paper. He glanced at it, appearing astounded, “Breaking news, in Catalonia Square in the city center, over 100,000 people are gathering for a rally supporting the referendum, and someone has set the Spanish flag on fire.”

The TV screen instantly cut to the live scene in the square, where flames roared, tens of thousands of citizens held up the blue-and-yellow independence flags, chanting in unison “Catalonia free.” Several young men climbed the Columbus statue, tying the autonomous region’s flag around its wrist.

Gonzalez saw black, almost falling out of his chair. He finally understood, the unrest among the Latin American immigrants was merely a smokescreen. The real push was hidden in Catalonia, which had never been at rest since his first day in office, seizing the stalemate between Spain and Latin American countries to stab a fatal blow.

!!!

“Victor, it must be Victor!” Gonzalez’s face had a bit of an iron look.

Outside, the night in Madrid was dense, but the lights at the Prime Minister’s Mansion were as bright as daylight.

The Cabinet members were like ants on a hot pan, phone calls ringing one after another, with urgent calls from Barcelona, warnings from Brussels, and inquiries from the Royal Family.

Meanwhile, in the City Hall of Barcelona, Hordi had just hung up an anonymous call, the receiver still faintly echoing a deep voice: “The money is in the account, the rest, let the Spaniards have a taste of it.”

“Don’t let us down.”

…