"Alright, folks, our New Year's Eve Charity Gala is officially about to get underway. Please start making your way to the main seating area in an orderly fashion."
"Let's move," Nick said, nudging Vivian, who was still aggressively scrolling through her phone.
"Hold on, we need to take a quick selfie first." The second the words left her mouth, Vivian leaned directly into his personal space, effortlessly hooking her arm through Nick's. She raised her phone high, locking her gaze onto the lens and flashing a brilliant smile.
"Come on, work with me here—give me a real smile!"
"Why are you looking like a mugshot? Smile! Yeah, just like that!"
Buckling under Vivian's relentless persistence, Nick managed to force a somewhat natural smile onto his face. This was the absolute first time in his life he had ever been pulled into a tight, intimate hold by a girl just to snap a photo. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel completely defenseless against Vivian's hyper-easygoing personality; they had cleared an initial handshake less than an hour ago, yet she had already completely closed the social distance between them so organically, drawing curious glances from half the high-society guests lingering on the floor.
Across the room, Hanmaru—though actively laughing and trading macroeconomic projections with a group of venture capitalist buddies—couldn't resist casting a watchful paternal eye over at the pair. The exact second he clocked Vivian's highly intimate posture, a flash of protective concern gripped his face. However, as he tracked Nick's visibly awkward, respectful body language, the tension melted into a relaxed, incredibly satisfied smile, and he smoothly pivoted back to command his inner circle.
The tiered theater-style seating directly in front of the main presentation stage was already filling up fast, so Nick and Vivian walked down the aisle, located their assigned numbers, and took their seats.
Because Nick had been processed with an exclusive purple VIP invitation, his executive placard was positioned dead-center in the second row. These premium front-row sections were exclusively reserved for the most politically connected and heavily capitalized titans in the state's commercial landscape, making the average demographic age across the rows hover somewhere between forty and fifty.
As a twenty-something tech founder casually lounging in the middle of that legacy power circle, Nick stuck out like a sore thumb. His presence instantly triggered a massive wave of curiosity across the surrounding rows, with dozens of older executives leaning in to whisper furiously among themselves, trying to figure out exactly what kind of high-level political dynasty or institutional trust fund this young kid was backing.
"Distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen, the 2026 New Year's Eve Charity Gala, proudly hosted by the State Chamber of Commerce, is officially in session. To initiate the evening's program, please stand as we honor the presentation of the colors and the singing of our national anthem."
The second the announcer wrapped, every single executive in the auditorium stood up in unison, smoothing out their designer blazers and standing at absolute, locked-in attention. Even the group of high-society influencers who had been giggling and checking their makeup a moment prior instantly adopted a posture of total, unyielding solemnity.
In these elite tax brackets, you could play fast and loose with a lot of corporate ethics, but when it came to raw, unfiltered patriotism, there wasn't a single millimeter of room for irony or disrespect. The unwritten corporate philosophy in the room was absolute: if a person can't even show respect for the flag that secures their capital, how the hell can you trust them to handle a contract?
Once the color guard marched off the floor, the itinerary transitioned into the standard executive keynote block. Senior officials from the regional commerce boards and a consecutive line of multi-billion-dollar chamber presidents took turns taking the center podium, delivering deeply passionate, data-driven speeches on market resilience and civic duty.
While the hyper-polished, focus-grouped political rhetoric mostly sailed over his head, Nick still maintained flawless corporate etiquette, offering enthusiastic applause at every single applause cue.
Following the keynotes, the stage hosted a series of refined artistic performances, including classical piano solos, followed by elite tenor and soprano opera sets. For the fifty-year-old real estate moguls anchoring the front rows, these high-art sets were an absolute masterclass, and they watched the stage with intense, genuine fascination. But for a young, hyper-focused tech engineer like Nick, the entire spectacle felt like a brutal, slow-motion exercise in corporate boredom.
However, since this was a high-profile public event, with roaming camera crews and local business reporters sweeping their high-definition lenses across the VIP rows every few minutes, you had to maintain a flawless, intensely engaged facial mask regardless of your true interest level. This exact dynamic was the precise reason Nick fought so hard to avoid the charity circuit; the sheer volume of performance and artificial pretense was mentally exhausting.
Fortunately, the committee kept the cultural sets concise, wrapping the entertainment block inside of twenty minutes. Almost immediately, the house lights shifted, and the evening officially transitioned into the high-stakes anchor of the gala: the live celebrity charity art auction.
At some point during the transition, Vivian had slickly shifted down a seat, sliding directly into his immediate perimeter. "Alright, spill it. What kind of high-end asset did your assistant submit to the catalog?"
"You'll see when the gavel drops," Nick replied, flashing a tight, teasing smirk.
"Fine, keep your corporate secrets," Vivian shot back playfully, turning her attention back to the high-definition digital displays flanking the main stage.
"Moving on to our next premium lot," the tuxedo-clad auctioneer boomed into his microphone, as a spotlit pedestal rose from the stage floor. "We have a breathtaking, custom-carved lavender ruby teardrop pendant, generously donated by Ms. Grace, CEO of the X Logistics Group. This exquisite, one-of-a-kind piece is carved entirely from certified Grade A, old-mine lavender ruby sourced directly from the historic tracts of northern Rwanda."
"As the collectors in our audience are well aware, sourcing ruby of this purity is an incredible statistical rarity—but locating old-mine material that possesses both this translucent, ice-grade clarity and a deep, flawless lavender hue is virtually impossible in the modern market."
"Tonight, Ms. Grace has graciously parted with this family heirloom to anchor our fundraising efforts. Ladies and gentlemen, let's show our immense corporate gratitude with a warm round of applause!"
The auditorium instantly erupted into a heavy wave of applause.
Amidst the clapping, a sharp, middle-aged female executive wearing an immaculate, deep green custom qipao stood up from her seat just a few rows ahead of Nick, bowing gracefully to acknowledge the room's respect.
Nick's eyes immediately locked onto the heavy, deep-purple ruby bangle resting on the woman's left wrist. Studying the visual telemetry and the specific mineral refraction, it was glaringly obvious that the bangle had been sliced from the exact same raw boulder as the teardrop pendant currently sitting under the stage spotlights. In all statistical likelihood, the pendant on the pedestal had literally been fashioned out of the high-grade scrap material left over from carving her personal bracelet.
Just as he was shaking his head at the vanity of the presentation, he caught sight of Vivian's face out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at the spotlit pendant on stage with a look of pure, unadulterated longing.
"What, you actually like that piece?" Nick asked casually, breaking her trance.
Hearing his voice, Vivian snapped out of her hyper-focus, turning her head to give him a slow, incredibly deliberate nod. "It's genuinely stunning, Nick. I am completely obsessed with that teardrop silhouette."
"If you want it that badly, throw a text to your dad and have his fund manager buy it for you. It's not like the Yuzuki trust is hurting for capital," Nick chuckled.
Vivian frowned at the response, reaching over to plant a sharp, localized kick right against his shin. "Are you seriously telling me you can't just buy it for me?"
Nick shook his head instantly, his practical engineering brain overriding the social pressure. "The markup on old-mine ruby is completely artificial right now. It's an inefficient asset allocation. Not worth the cash."
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," the auctioneer cut in, tapping his gavel against the block to silence the chatter. "We are opening the bidding for this magnificent lavender ruby teardrop pendant at a baseline of 100,000 dollars, with bidding increments fixed at 5,000 dollars. Premium paddles in the air, please."
"105,000! 110,000! We have 120,000 in the center... now 135,000..."
Despite it being a compact piece of jewelry, the bidding velocity on the lavender ruby was pacing significantly faster than the antique Tang Dynasty porcelain vase that had cleared the block earlier. In all likelihood, because the room was packed with high-society couples and prominent business families, a dozen different male executives were aggressively throwing their paddles into the air purely to secure a public display of affection and win a smile from the women sitting next to them.
"We are at 365,000. Do I hear 370,000 anywhere on the floor?" the auctioneer called out, tracking the room. "We have 360,000 on the floor! The gentleman holding paddle number 43 in the sixth row is holding the high bid at 360,000!"
"Look, if it's actually making you lose your mind, just throw your hand up and buy it," Nick whispered to Vivian, who was still practically boring a hole through the glass display case on stage with her eyes. "It's only sitting at three hundred grand change."
Vivian didn't utter a single syllable. Instead, she slowly turned her face toward him, locking her wide, perfectly innocent, watery eyes directly onto his.
Nick felt an involuntary shiver run straight down his spine under the sheer weight of that gaze.
Unbelievable, he thought. She didn't need to formulate a single verbal sentence; the raw communicative power radiating from her eyes laid out the entire script.
Letting out a quiet, defeated sigh at his own sudden lack of financial discipline, Nick reached down and hoisted his premium row-two paddle cleanly into the air.
"We have a new challenger! Paddle number 23, sitting dead-center in the second row, steps in aggressively with a bid of 390,000 dollars! Do I hear 395,000 anywhere on the floor?"
The auctioneer paused, executing a highly calculated sweep of the room to read the faces of the previous bidders. Seeing that the real estate crowd had completely dropped their paddles to avoid a bidding war with the front row, the white-gloved auctioneer brought the small wooden gavel down with a sharp, echoing crack.
"Going once, going twice... Sold! Congratulations to the gentleman in row two, holding paddle number 23, for securing this magnificent lavender ruby pendant. Thank you for your immense, generous contribution to tonight's fundraising targets. Our compliance team will escort the contract paperwork to your seat shortly."
The main floor erupted into a warm, polite wave of applause. A chorus of executives nodded their heads in approval, and Ms. Grace, intentionally shifted her posture in the front row to lock eyes with Nick, offering a deep, incredibly appreciative smile.
In these elite networking circles, public face was the ultimate currency. By dropping nearly 400,000 dollars to secure her contributed asset, the logistics tycoon viewed Nick's aggressive bidding as a direct, high-level gesture of corporate goodwill and strategic respect toward her firm.
Nick maintained a flawless, composed corporate mask, returning her nod with a polite, measured inclination of his head. But internally, the tech CEO was letting out a massive, exhausted groan: Lady, I am begging you to turn back around. You are overanalyzing this play by a country mile.