The boardroom at Valmont Tower was sealed.Opaque glass. Signal jammers active. Coffee untouched on the table — the unmistakable sign that no one expected a long discussion.
Adrián sat at the head, motionless, fingers interlaced, listening.
"...in summary," the Chief Legal Officer concluded, "the Fire Nation is now demanding majority state ownership, quarterly audits conducted by inspectors appointed by the consulate, and a new 'cultural' royalty fee per carat extracted."
She paused briefly, impeccably professional.
"Retroactive."
The European Operations Manager swallowed. His eyes were fixed on the cost projections hovering above the table.
"Adrián… if we accept this, prices will spike. This won't be an elegant adjustment. It'll be a brutal jump. Our clients in Paris and Milan will feel it in less than six months."
Silence.
Adrián didn't look at the screen. He looked at the manager.
"How much?"
"Between thirty and forty percent on flagship lines. And that's assuming they don't 'reinterpret' the regulations again next year."
The CFO stepped in with measured caution.
"At that price point, demand contracts. Banks will require additional guarantees. And the ateliers…" He shook his head. "They won't absorb the impact."
Adrián nodded once.
It wasn't a surprise.
It was confirmation.
"Alternatives?"
The room hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then the Head of Expansion changed the slide.
The red of the Fire Nation dimmed.
The data reorganized. Several regions appeared in layered overlays: emerging markets, underexploited reserves, preliminary agreements.
Among them, the Water Nation stood out — balanced cost, access, projected growth.
"Open concessions. Labor costs forty percent lower. Infrastructure is lacking… but manageable. Average purity is lower, though stable. And most importantly"—she looked up—"they are urgently seeking foreign investment."
The European manager frowned.
"Doesn't that dilute exclusivity?"
Adrián smiled faintly. It wasn't kind. It was mathematical.
"Exclusivity isn't in the stone," he said. "It's in who decides how many reach the market."
He leaned back.
"Timeline for exploration, extraction, certification."
"Twelve months for meaningful volume. Six if we front-load capital and skip non-critical phases."
"Front-load everything. Use affiliated entities. Meet with the politicians and deliver the appropriate courtesies to expedite permits."
The Chief Legal Officer raised an eyebrow but made no comment.
"And the Fire Nation?"
Adrián interlaced his fingers again.
"We will honor every existing contract. Not one more. Not one less."Pause."Freeze new investment. Effective today."
The CFO understood first.
"That will pressure their internal markets."
"That is not our concern," Adrián corrected. "We are not a charity. We pursue profitability."
His gaze swept the table.
"We are not in the business of educating governments. We are in the business of guaranteeing quality product. When a resource becomes a political weapon, it ceases to be a reliable supplier."
The European manager lowered his eyes to the Water Nation figures. They no longer looked like risk.
They looked like an exit.
"Public statement?" someone asked.
Adrián stood. The meeting was over.
"None." He adjusted his cufflink. "Money doesn't announce when it leaves. It's simply… gone."
As the room emptied, the projection remained suspended: two countries, two colors, a decision made without raising a voice.
And somewhere in an office in the Fire Nation, someone still believed they had won a negotiation.
Days later, during what was supposed to be a business trip.
The sun spilled gold across the river, light cascading between stone bridges. Cobblestone streets forced a slower pace, almost in rhythm with the water.
"It's beautiful," Meilan said.
"Not more than you."
She laughed softly.
A tour guide pointed to a clock tower.
"They say it stopped three times during the war."
"What does that mean?" Meilan asked.
"That time waits for no one."
Meilan rolled her eyes and lifted her hand, pointing to her ringless finger.
Adrián cleared his throat lightly.
"Lovely story."
He stepped closer.
The wind caught her hair. His hand slid to her waist… and a little lower.
Smack.
"Behave," she murmured, smiling.
"Just checking if you were real."
"And I'm checking if you're still an idiot."
They reached the river railing.
"I like this place," Meilan said.
"I'll buy you a mansion here."
She didn't answer. Just watched the water.
Adrián took her hand. She laced her fingers with his.
Night began to light the city.
In a quiet corner of the promenade, Adrián nearly kissed her.
His mind was already calculating scenarios. Hotel. Car. No… a private river-view suite.
"Sir, everything is ready for inspection."
They separated.
Meilan nudged him gently and shot him a playful look.
You'll have to wait.
Minutes later, the convoy left the city.
The roads narrowed into mountains thick with vegetation. The air grew colder.
"I never imagined something this large in a place like this," Meilan said.
"Where no one looks," Adrián replied, "the quietest empires are built."
The village appeared between the slopes.
Worn houses. Tin roofs. And beyond them, heavy machinery carving a wound into the mountain.
"They know what's going to happen here, right?" she asked.
"They know enough to accept the deal," Adrián answered.
The vehicle stopped.
Then came the noise.
Too many people. Residents who should have already been relocated.
Excavators waited in silence while villagers defended their homes with nothing but stubbornness.
"I thought relocation was complete," Meilan said.
"They signed agreements… many refused to leave," the Head of Security replied.
An elderly woman emerged from the crowd, leaning on a cane.
"Soulless criminals!"
Beside her, a young woman tried to restrain her.
"Grandmother, please…"
Behind them stood a tall, muscular young man. Relaxed posture. Too relaxed.
"Muay Thai…" Meilan murmured.
Adrián stepped out of the vehicle.
"I assume you represent the community," he said politely.
"I represent the dead beneath this soil," the old woman replied.
The young man stepped forward half a pace.
"Money doesn't replace roots."
Adrián met his gaze.
"Then what replaces poverty?"
The village murmur faltered.
The old woman struck the ground with her cane.
"Poverty doesn't kill the soul. You do."
Wind moved through the idle machines.
Adrián remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he smiled.
"It seems this inspection will be… longer than expected."
The murmur stopped being a murmur.
It became a tide.
Someone shouted first. No one knew who.
"Get out!""Thieves!""This land isn't for sale!"
Security tightened the perimeter. Transparent shields rose. Trained arms blocked the first villagers pushing forward more from anger than strategy.
Adrián did not step back.
Not one step.
He simply watched.
The Head of Security spoke quietly into his communicator.
"Proceed with containment protocol."
The guards advanced in formation, pushing with calculated precision. Not striking. Not yet.
Just displacing.
But the crowd didn't understand protocol.
A man stumbled. A woman cried out as a shield forced her against a wooden fence. A child began to scream. The sound fractured something invisible in the air.
Then the first stone flew.
It struck a guard's helmet with a sharp crack.
That was enough.
The formation hardened. Electric batons lowered to clear space. They weren't trying to injure… but the line between control and harm was razor-thin in panic.
A villager fell attempting to grab a shield.
The old woman screamed his name.
Meilan stepped half a pace toward Adrián.
"This is getting out of control."
"It already has," he replied, without looking away.
Then the muscular young man moved.
Kael Rakhun advanced with speed that didn't match his relaxed posture. Bare feet struck damp earth with silent precision.
A guard tried to intercept him.
Mistake.
Kael pivoted at the hip.
Rising knee.
The impact sank into tactical armor with a dull thud that drove the air from the guard's lungs. Before the body fully folded, Kael's heel came down diagonally onto the second guard's shoulder.
A sharp crack of fracturing protection.
Continuous motion.
Short elbow.
Straight into the visor of the third.
The glass shattered into a web of white fractures as the guard staggered back.
There was no fury in his eyes.
Only focus.
Two more guards moved in to restrain him. Kael dropped his weight back, drove his heel into one knee, used the recoil to spin, locking the other's neck in a perfect clinch.
Knee.Knee.Knee.
Each impact landed like a hammer on wet leather.
The guard collapsed.
The crowd erupted in nervous cheers, as if witnessing the birth of a legend.
Meilan narrowed her eyes.
"He's trained for real combat… not exhibition."
Adrián watched with clinical interest.
"Yes."
Kael stepped forward again, placing himself between the villagers and private security. His chest rose and fell slowly, controlling breath. Hands open. Ready.
"No one touches my people."
The guards hesitated.
They weren't used to opponents who could drop four men in under ten seconds.
The Head of Security looked at Adrián, awaiting escalation orders.
Gas.
Non-lethal rounds.
Maybe worse.
Adrián adjusted his cufflink.
His expression did not change.
"Continue the eviction."
The order fell like lead.
The guards advanced again, more aggressive now. Shields forward. Batons humming with restrained electricity.
A villager shoved.
A baton came down.
The man fell.
Someone shouted there was blood.
Maybe there was. Maybe not. No one could tell anymore.
Kael clenched his jaw.
The hero had tried to contain it.
Now he responded.
His foot struck the ground and he launched into the narrow gap between two shields before they could close. His elbows became blades, targeting joints, blind spots, exposed nerves between armor plates.
He wasn't fighting men.
He was dismantling structure.
A shield went flying. Another guard spun as a low kick swept his balance. Kael caught a descending electric baton mid-strike, twisted the guard's wrist, and hurled him into his own line.
The formation broke.
Chaos stopped being noise.
It became open violence.
Meilan stepped back, instinct pulling her.
"Adrián… this isn't negotiable anymore."
He nodded slightly.
He didn't look angry.
He looked… evaluative.
Kael lifted his gaze then.
Directly at him.
Dust floated between them. Shouting, shoving, stalled machinery, villagers defending homes with improvised tools.
Two worlds facing each other.
The hero who protected roots.
The man who bought mountains.
Adrián held his gaze for a few seconds.
Then he spoke, perfectly audible despite the chaos.
"Interesting."
Kael frowned, unsure whether it was insult or praise.
Adrián turned slightly toward his Head of Security.
"Call the police."