The boardroom of Emberborn Technologies overlooked the heart of K Country, its skyline glimmering like a constellation of steel and glass.
The room was a temple of prestige: black marble floors, chrome fixtures, and a long obsidian table where the senior executives of Emberborn sat in neat rows, awaiting the presentation.
At the far end of the table, Lutte Valdes stood by the screen, his youthful features illuminated by the slides of his pitch.
Despite his boyish face, his presence radiated confidence—a warmth that contrasted sharply with the clinical chill of the room.
Behind him, the sleek digital model of his newest renewable food truck hovered in holographic display: solar panels folding seamlessly, ovens glowing with stored energy, the engine humming in balance.
Lutte's voice carried steady conviction.
"Emberborn's AI can optimize more than just data streams. My proposal is simple: let your AI manage energy distribution in our food trucks. It will ensure solar power fuels the truck efficiently, with surplus channeled to ovens and stoves. No wasted energy. No interruptions in operation. It's sustainable, scalable, and most importantly—accessible."
He let the words hang, his warm eyes sweeping across the room.
"Imagine food trucks in every district. Affordable meals powered by clean energy. Entrepreneurs who couldn't afford a restaurant given the chance to thrive. This isn't just profit—it's community transformation."
Polite murmurs spread among a few executives.
A couple of them exchanged intrigued glances. But when Asher Emberborn spoke, the room hushed instantly.
He had been silent until now, seated at the head of the table, posture impeccable.
His red hair caught the pale light, and his peridot eyes pinned Lutte with a sharp, dissecting intensity.
His voice was calm, cool, and precise—like a blade sliding free of its sheath.
"Mr. Valdes. A noble vision. But let's strip away the sentiment."
He steepled his fingers.
"Your project does not elevate Emberborn Technologies. Prestige is earned by spearheading advancements for the upper tier—the innovators, the elite. That is where influence is built, and where real profit resides. Catering to street vendors? It doesn't serve us."
The words rippled across the table, some executives nodding in quiet agreement.
Lutte, however, did not falter.
He smiled faintly, leaning forward.
"If the prestige you want is the approval of the top one percent, then yes—my proposal won't interest you. They already have more than enough to survive. But if you're speaking of prestige among the masses—the ninety-nine percent of people who need better, cheaper, cleaner solutions—then you're dismissing the greatest market on Earth. The respect and loyalty of the people is worth more than the applause of a handful of billionaires."
That sparked a stir. One executive cleared his throat as if caught between both arguments.
Asher's eyes narrowed, his composure unbroken.
"Grand ideals. But profit isn't built on loyalty or sentiment alone. Let's be pragmatic. Research, development, materials, the time spent refining AI for your trucks—it's costly. By the time such an innovation is market-ready, AI generations will have already advanced. Cheaper, faster alternatives will flood the market. Your 'prestige of the masses' is nothing but a gamble, grounded in optimism for human nature."
The board murmured again—this time louder, some agreeing, others questioning.
Lutte's jaw tightened. His voice deepened, carrying fire beneath the warmth.
"Then let me take that gamble. I've built my company on the backs of risks everyone else dismissed. Renewable energy baking equipment. Food trucks for rent-to-own. Everyone said they weren't profitable enough, and yet here I am, standing before you—because I proved them wrong."
He met Asher's gaze directly.
"I believe optimism can be engineered into reality. I don't need blind faith. I need a chance."
The silence that followed was taut, electric. Even the executives seemed to hold their breath.
Asher's piercing green eyes lingered on Lutte's face.
For a moment, something unreadable flickered there—a spark of intrigue buried beneath his stoicism.
But then he exhaled slowly, shook his head, and stood.
"No." His voice was final, cool as steel. "I'll leave gambles like that to those willing to face the consequences without regret."
He buttoned his jacket, the sound echoing in the silence, and strode toward the door.
Lutte stood frozen for a second, frustration burning hot under his calm expression.
He had been rejected before, but not like this—not by someone who had looked at him with such cutting intensity, only to walk away.
Asher paused at the threshold, glancing back briefly. Their eyes locked once more.
And though the words spoken were rejection, the air between them thrummed with something else entirely—annoyance, intrigue, and the spark of a challenge neither of them could ignore.