I'm a Master in India

Chapter 264: Full of Holes

“The Firefly Project? This guy is quite devious.” Ron raised an eyebrow, holding the phone.

“Yeah, he plans to add something to your Television to create a sensation.”

“Simple and crude, but perhaps effective.” Ron chuckled.

“Very insidious, right? But in Sapphire, they have no secrets.”

“Thank you, Luca. Please send a garland to Mona Lisa for me.”

“Oh! She’ll thank you next time you come.” Luca gave a strange laugh.

“No thanks, I can barely handle myself.”

“You need to try new things, brother. Anyway, I’ll keep an eye on things here at Sapphire for you. Be careful yourself.”

“I’ll buy you a drink another day.” Ron hung up the phone.

Tsk, are the competitors moving too fast? Su'er Television has only been on the market for two months.

It took half a year for the water air conditioner to be counterfeited; the efficiency of the three brothers has significantly improved.

But honestly, Dute from Videocon is truly a talent.

Ron suspected his ancestors had squid blood, inheriting the same lineage.

One puts explosives in a pager, the other adds materials to a Television; the methods are surprisingly similar.

This is my great India, even business wars are so unpretentious.

Hey, I put some explosives in your Television, didn't expect that, did you?

Things like snatching company seals, pouring water on money trees, climbing walls to secretly photograph competitors' products, or giving bad reviews to rivals are too low-class.

India directly plays with explosives. If they don't create some sparks and lightning, it's simply not worthy of the three brothers' imagination.

Ron even felt they were being conservative; hiring gunmen to kill competitors would be more in line with India's national conditions.

However, this move is somewhat interesting, knowing how to start with public opinion.

If they truly succeeded, regardless of the outcome, Sur Electrical Appliances would inevitably be affected.

It's a pity the plan was perfect, but the process was full of holes.

Ron heard every word of Dute's secret plotting from last night, bright and early this morning.

According to Luca, they would find people to modify a batch of Su'er Televisions, then impersonate promotional staff in public areas like shopping malls for demonstrations.

These places have high foot traffic and easily attract onlookers. At the right moment, they would detonate the problematic Televisions.

The power doesn't need to be great, just enough to catch fire. To complement this act, they would even bring reporters for on-site interviews.

Imagine, under the watchful eyes of the public, brand new Su'er Televisions suddenly burst into flames, with reporters coincidentally on site to witness everything.

It's simply perfect; just thinking about it would make one too excited to sleep.

They even divided the work for this grand play. Videocon was responsible for implementation, and Onida would follow up with the public opinion attack.

Damn, is my Sur Electrical Appliances so frightening to them that they need to team up against it?

India has a billion people; according to market rules, it can accommodate at least four or five giants to operate.

Where are we now? In an incremental market, is it necessary for everyone to fight to the death?

Ron casually picked up the report on the table. Hmm, Su'er Television sold 80,000 units in October, and production capacity is still insufficient.

Well, this popularity is indeed a bit eye-catching.

Ron doesn't know the market size for 14-inch black and white Televisions.

But it's certain that the sales of similar products from the other two companies are dismal.

Many customers who couldn't buy one preferred to wait rather than pay twice the price to be taken advantage of.

Comparing goods, you'll throw them away; the principle is that simple.

Moreover, the longer the delay, the more advantageous it is for Sur Electrical Appliances.

Currently, four production lines are running at full capacity, the fifth and sixth are being debugged intensively, and two 18-inch lines are also being set up.

In just half a year, the production capacity of Sur Electrical Appliances can double again.

Such terrifying expansion capabilities indeed leave little time for the other two competitors.

They are afraid, terrified, and thus, desperate.

Ron stated that it came at a good time, so he might as well teach these two upstarts a lesson.

Whether it's an unpretentious business war or a high-end one, he welcomes all comers.

Picking up the receiver, Ron immediately dialed Ajay's number.

He already knew in advance which shopping mall Dute and his group planned to cause trouble in.

Since that's the case, he would never give them a chance to act.

Ron didn't plan any fancy maneuvers; public opinion battles are highly uncertain and can easily backfire.

Nipping the bud is the most straightforward way; the advantage is with me, no need to panic.

Dute was dead drunk last night, and that little vixen Mona Lisa, with just a few words, charmed him into not knowing north from south.

He spent a lot on tips, but still made no substantial progress.

So, the first thing he did when he woke up was dial her number. He waited for a while, but no one answered.

Dute kept dialing; the more she didn't answer, the more he kept dialing.

What is Mona Lisa doing? Is there someone else with her? Does she still belong to him?

Dute was agitated, with an urge to drive straight to Sapphire.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice mumbled.

“Mona Lisa, why are you only answering now?” Dute asked, cutting straight to the chase.

“It’s all your fault, you’re too amazing, I got drunk last night.”

“Oh, then you should rest well.”

Thus, they began their conversation. In this vast and desolate city, she became the one to whom he confided his thoughts.

She listened to his disagreements with his wife, his friction with his parents. She understood that sometimes his work wasn't smooth, and she worried that he hadn't eaten properly.

“Have you had lunch?” Mona Lisa asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“What did you eat?”

“Had some milk, a few slices of bread.”

“Can that be called lunch? You’re too careless, too unconcerned about yourself.”

“Then I’ll come over, and you can cook for me, okay?” Dute felt a persistent itch.

“Not today, I’m not feeling well. Another day, I’ll cook for you myself.

I don’t know why, but I just feel like we’re particularly compatible. No one has ever understood me like you. Will you come to Sapphire tonight? I’ll wait for you.”

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t worry. I’ll come find you after I finish my business this afternoon.” Dute replied with a pursed lip.

He had been calling her every day recently, and going to Sapphire every night. He watched her on stage, feeling a special intimacy.

There were so many people in Sapphire, so many people in this city, yet only she knew his secrets, only she cared if he had eaten properly.

He sat at the table, a stack of tips for her piled up. He occasionally took a puff of smoke, a sip of wine, and otherwise watched her performance intently, watching her sway her hips to music costing five hundred rupees a song.

He kept handing the waiter five hundred rupees, and she kept dancing for him.

He fantasized about her lying beside him, whispering, recalling how she said this afternoon that to avoid missing his call, she rushed out of the shower, not even having time to put on clothes.

Ah, no, he still had important business to attend to. Dute reluctantly snapped out of his fantasy.

His Firefly Project hadn't been implemented yet, and this matter had to be handled by professionals. Dute wasn't foolish enough to do it himself.

High-end business wars are all about orchestrating from behind the scenes. Dute prided himself on being smart; he only needed to think.

It would be best if the Videocon people didn't show up either, so he could completely distance himself.

Speaking of doing such things, the Gangs are the most adept.

Whether it's installing explosives or the name of Sur Electrical Appliances, ordinary people would probably be scared away just by hearing it.

Only those audacious Gangs wouldn't care about any celebrity aura.

Hmm, preferably the Dawood Gang, they are Mumbai's tax bureau, daring to collect protection money from anyone.

After a brief thought, Dute had a candidate. He got up and left.

Malpurdan district is known as Little Baba Sheep, where Hindus are almost extinct, and it has completely become the domain of herders.

As a Brahmin, Dute would normally never come here. But today was special; he was going to meet a certain Gang big shot.

As the car approached its destination, the streetscape became more diverse, like patterns refracted from a colorful kaleidoscope.

Billboards stood beside the flyover leading to Church Gate Station, displaying the contact information for “Dr. Raja, Anesthesiologist.”

On both sides of the main road were small clinics specializing in injuries, adjacent to them were small hotels, next to the hotels were pharmacies, and further ahead, a storefront was rented to a small stall grilling kebabs with coal briquettes, right next to which was a public telephone booth.

Along the street were countless small workshops, manufacturing and selling various welding torches, belt buckles, textile machine parts—thousands of trivial but essential items that kept Mumbai's economy running.

What was called a main road was squeezed into a narrow strip by the constantly expanding Bihar Slums on both sides, with shops breaking through walls. The back alleys of the Slum were densely packed with mosques, with an average of one per alleyway.

Dute found a certain billboard that read “Call-in Service.” He entered the store and came to the outer office, which was stuffy and hot.

This place was introduced to Dute by a friend of his, who happened to know Kamal, the finance minister of the Dawood Gang.

He held financial power, and Gang members and their families relied on Kamal's funding, especially after they were killed or arrested.

Therefore, even the top wanted individuals would respectfully call Kamal “Big Brother.”

The Call-in Service in front of him was a company responsible for suburban logistics, also Kamal's most legitimate business.

The company's introduction read: Call-in Service, you call, we answer.

Before you return home exhausted from work, with just one phone call, your ordered meal will be delivered to your table from the designated restaurant by us.

Also with just one phone call, we will deliver your Television from the repair shop to your home, ensuring you can watch your favorite programs after dinner.

And the suit you plan to wear tomorrow will be delivered to your residence by us after dry cleaning and ironing.

Additionally, Call-in Service also provides emergency assistance.

Below was another line of introduction: Debts piling up? No need to worry! Call-in Service sincerely offers professionally trained debt collectors, guaranteed to quickly recover your funds, now accepting bookings from individuals, banks, and corporate sectors.

Hmm, this is the most legally sound business of the Dawood Gang.

Of course, the company registrant is someone else; this is for cover, but it is operated by the Dawood Gang.

Soon, Kamal came down from upstairs. He had a slightly cunning face, was impeccably dressed, and spoke English extremely fluently.

He had both a bachelor's degree and an innate business talent, managing many legitimate businesses for the Dawood Gang while directly participating in all illicit activities, renowned and respected in the underworld.

Many herders in Madanpur were once small-time henchmen who served Kamal tea and water. Without his permission, they dared not sit. As long as he was in the room, they had to remain standing.

This was Dute's first time meeting Kamal, and he was a bit nervous, unsure whether to perform the Anjali Mudra or the forehead salute.

“Did Girish introduce you?” Kamal asked directly.

“Yes, we are good friends.” Dute shook his head.

“What do you want to ship? Marijuana, guns, dark chocolate, or people?”

“No, no, just installing a few packs of explosives.” Dute kept wiping his sweat.

“Hmm?” Kamal was surprised.