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The doors of the Grand Ballroom swung shut, sealing away the noise of the gala and leaving the adults in the hallway leading to the Meeting Area.
Jian walked beside Honoka, his hands clasped behind his back. Usually, he would be filling this silence with a monologue about his genius, his architectural vision, or making snide comments about the inferior upholstery of rival companies.
But tonight, he was silent and nervous as hell.
He glanced at Honoka. She looked regal in her midnight blue gown, her expression calm and composed, the very picture of a titan of industry.
But Jian remembered the night. He remembered the result he got.
The boy with the "Black" soul.
He mustered up the courage and asked the best question he could come up with!
"Does your son feel good?" Jian blurted out.
Honoka stopped. She turned to look at him, raising her eyebrow in total confusion.
"Should he not feel good?" she asked back, tilting her head. "He ate his weight in dumplings this morning. He bought illegal tech parts in the black market. He is currently on his way to play Half-Life 3 before the rest of the world even knows it exists. I imagine he feels fantastic."
She paused for a while, then added.
"Forget the illegal tech parts."
Jian paused; he did not hear what she said. He was too dead for that. All he knew was the monumental stupidity of the question he just asked.
Does he feel good? What kind of question is that? 'Hey, Honoka, does your son feel like a sociopath today? Is the urge to purge humanity rising?'
He cleared his throat loudly, adjusting his tie nervously.
"Forget I said that. My brain... it misfired. Too much champagne. What I meant was... did your son have a good time? In Shanghai? Did he enjoy the hospitality?"
Honoka's expression softened instantly. She reached into her clutch purse and pulled out the sleek, black credit card Mei Lin had given her.
"Oh," she said, a small, genuine smile touching her lips. "That's what you meant. Then yeah. We did have an amazing time."
She handed the card back to him.
"He really needed it, Jian," she said, her voice dropping to a sincere whisper that echoed in the quiet hall. "We both did. It's been... a hard few years. Thank you. Seriously."
Jian took the card. It felt heavy in his hand. He looked at her face and saw the vulnerability she hid from the rest of the world.
Seeing her say that so genuinely, the drive to tell her the truth got even stronger.
After the meeting, he told himself firmly, clenching his jaw. I will do it. I will pull her aside. I will sit her down, explain my quirk, and tell her everything. I will show her the colors. She deserves to know. You got this, Jian. All you have to do is explain to an ex-hero, with a violent history, that she is raising a monster... Fuck this is a bad idea. I should have asked Mei to come along.
He was so lost in his internal pep talk, staring at the credit card like it was a holy relic, that he didn't notice Honoka had started walking again.
"You coming?" she called back over her shoulder. "Or are you going to bond with the card?"
Jian snapped back from dreamland, shaking his head. He jogged to catch up.
"Oh-h yeah! My bad! Let's go! Time to crush the competition! I have a pie chart that will make the Americans weep!"
Honoka looked at him and shook her head.
"Weirdo."
***
Meanwhile, in the west wing of the Celestial Tower, Akira and Nia were making their way down a corridor that looked more like the entrance to a sci-fi spaceship than a hotel.
The walls were lined with steel and backlit with soft blue LEDs. Every ten feet, a glass display case was set into the wall, showcasing a piece of cutting-edge support technology developed by Celestial Axis.
Akira walked with his hands in his pockets, his pipe clenched between his teeth. He stopped occasionally to inspect the gadgets.
He stopped in front of a gauntlet designed for fire-quirk users.
"Look at this," Akira muttered, pointing at the thermal venting ports. "Amateur. They prioritized aesthetics over heat dissipation. If you fire a max-output blast with this, the heat would backwash into the user's wrist. You'd cook your own radial artery."
Nia, perched on his shoulder, leaned in closer, her whiskers twitching. "Ass," she declared.
"Excuse me?"
"It smells like burning plastic even through the glass," Nia clarified. "It smells like failure. Ass."
"Agreed," Akira nodded. "Absolute ass. Overpriced hand-warmer."
They moved to the next case. It held a pair of boots with glowing soles.
"Gravity dampeners?" Akira read the plaque. "Anti-grav tech? In this economy?" He scoffed. "Please. You could achieve the same effect with compressed air and a high-speed gyroscope for a tenth of the price. They're just slapping a fancy name on magnetic repulsion."
"Overpriced!" Nia echoed, batting at the glass. "We should sue them for being boring. Can I break the glass?"
"No," Akira said, steering her away. "Not yet. We have games to play."
They kept walking, judging the technology of the world's leading support company with the arrogance of a teenager who had built better things in his garage (or rather, watched his mother build better things while eating chips). It was a bonding experience. Nothing brought a boy and his cat together like critiquing billionaires.
Finally, they reached the end of the hall. Two massive doors stood guarded by security personnel who looked like they ate bricks for breakfast. They were wearing earpieces and sunglasses indoors for some reason, the universal uniform for 'we take ourselves too seriously'.
The guards bowed as they approached. They had clearly been briefed on the VIPs.
"Master Shuzenji," one of them rumbled. "Welcome to the Heir's Lounge. Please enjoy your stay."
Akira nodded at them, channeling his inner feudal lord. He didn't smile. He didn't thank them. He just offered a nod.
The doors opened.
Akira walked in, and his jaw dropped.
The pipe fell out of his mouth, and he caught it with a reflex honed by years of gaming(Training, but he won't admit it), snapping his hand out to grab the stem before it hit the floor.
"Holy..." he whispered.
The room was massive. It was a gamer's Valhalla.
It was designed to keep the children of the world's elite distracted while their parents divided up the economy. And Celestial Axis had spared no expense.
Every corner was packed with entertainment. To the left, there were rows of high-end consoles hooked up to 80-inch 8K screens, floating in the air on magnetic mounts. To the right, there were VR pods that looked like futuristic eggs, humming with processing power. In the center, there were racing simulators with full hydraulics that moved with the game.
And the best part... in the back... was a row of classic arcade cabinets. Street Fighter. Time Crisis. Pac-Man. Metal Slug. All untouched, all set to free-play.
He stood there staring for a solid ten seconds, processing the sheer beauty of it.
"Nia," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "Nia, look."
Nia looked.
"Is that..." she pointed a paw at a massive screen where dots of light were moving rapidly. "Is that a laser pointer game? A digital laser pointer game?"
"Yes," Akira said. "It's Beat Saber, but for cats. This is going to be the best night ever."
"LET'S GOOOOOOO!" Nia yelled, leaping from his shoulder.
They descended upon the arcade like locusts.
They played everything.
They jumped into the racing simulators. Akira drifted corners at 200 mph in a virtual Ferrari(Not the F1 car, that shit would not even start), screaming as he cut off an AI opponent. Nia sat on the dashboard, swatting at the virtual raindrops on the windshield, screaming "I AM SPEED!" (Like a certain talking red car)every time they crashed into a wall.
They fought in the VR pods, slashing at virtual dragons. Akira dual-wielded energy swords, his real-world training making him a blur of motion. Nia chased the dragon's tail, getting tangled in the haptic feedback suit.
And finally, they reached the Time Crisis cabinet. The holy grail. The classic gun-type arcade game with the foot pedal.
Akira held the blue gun. Nia, standing on the control panel, held the pink gun. Akira had rigged the trigger with a piece of tape, so she just had to tap it.
"Daddy, lock in!" Nia hissed, her eyes glued to the screen, her tail twitching violently. "I am going to outscore you! My reaction time is superior!"
"You bet, princess!" Akira laughed, ducking behind cover in the game by slamming his foot on the pedal. A waiter appeared at his elbow with a tray. Akira took a sip of the Coke without looking away from the screen. " Eat lead!"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The plastic guns clacked rhythmically.
"Reload! Reload!" Nia yelled. "They're coming from the left! The red guys! Shoot the red guys!"
"I got it! Cover me!"
They were laughing. They were shouting.
It was perfect. Too perfect.
And then, it was ruined.
"HOW DARE YOU OFFEND YOUNG MASTER?!"
The yell cut through the arcade noise like a knife. It was loud and dripping with entitlement.
Akira paused. He had a mouthful of Coke.
PFFFFFFFFT.
He spat the soda out, spraying the screen of the arcade machine. The pixelated terrorists on screen were suddenly covered in a fine mist of sugar water.
He froze. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly turned his head toward the source of the noise.
Standing near the entrance of the lounge was a group of teenagers. They were dressed in expensive suits and dresses that looked uncomfortable. They held champagne filled with sparkling cider, looking bored and superior.
In the center was a boy.
He looked about Akira's age. He had slicked-back hair that shone with too much gel. He wore a white suit with gold embroidery on the lapels. His face was twisted into a sneer.
He was pointing a finger at a waiter, a young man who was currently on his knees, scrubbing at the boy's shoe with a napkin.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS?!" the boy screamed, his voice cracking. "I WILL HAVE YOU FIRED! I WILL HAVE YOUR FAMILY FIRED! KNEEL AND LICK IT CLEAN!"
The room went silent. The other heirs watched, some with amusement, some with fear. No one stepped in. No one stopped him.
Akira stared.
Then he blinked once.
Young Master? he thought, his brain buffering. Did he just say 'Young Master'?
He looked at the boy's attendants — two goons standing behind him with their arms crossed, looking at the waiter with disgust.
The arrogant young master. The screaming. The 'Do you know who my father is?'
Akira looked at Nia. Nia looked at him.
"What the fuck?" Akira whispered. "Did we just walk into a web novel?"
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