The glass-paneled conference floor of the Shiroyama Tower buzzed with the usual low thrum of elegance and calculation—heels tapping over marble, polite laughter laced with ambition, the gentle tinkling of cups from a nearby espresso bar staffed by baristas in minimalist black uniforms.
Ava stood near the updated leaderboard screen, her eyes scanning the new entries with a mounting dread that wrapped around her chest like a vice. Her name, once perched confidently near the top, had slipped two places. Not impossible. Not irreversible. But strange. Very strange.
It wasn't the fall itself—it was who had suddenly risen above her.
Julian Ashcroft. Again.
And this time, not just by a slim margin. No, his leaderboard surge was... dramatic.
Too dramatic.
