"I heard the guy dropped ten million in cash just to kick the Trade Syndicate delegates out of their suites," a female guard with short-cropped black hair replied, clipping a pair of mana-infused combat daggers to her tactical belt. "And get this… the kitchen server on the 85th floor told me he casually wrote her a hundred-thousand-Crown cheque just for delivering a fucking dessert tray!"
The third guard, a tall guy leaning against a rifle rack, let out a dry bitter laugh.
"A hundred grand for delivering cake? Fuck's sake. If I knew the guy was handing out life-changing money for basic room service, I would've put on a maid dress and brought the tray up myself. Hell, I'd sell my body to him if he threw a million my way."
The guards chuckled, though the laughter carried a heavy underlying bitterness that hung thick in the air.
All of them were graduates from ALI Academy's last semester.
