The morning light streamed through the penthouse's towering windows, painting Neo-Shanghai's skyline in sharp streaks of gold and shadow. Jun Xi woke to the hum of the smart bed adjusting beneath him, his body tangled in sheets that cost more than his old rent. Lina was gone—slipped out before dawn, her scent lingering on the pillow, a quiet reminder of last night's heat. 1,025,506 Union Coins. That's where he stood, the system's 5% interest ticking up 64,547 UN overnight while he'd slept off wine and her touch. Seven days ago, he'd been a nobody in a slum coffin; now, he was a 21-year-old with a penthouse, a tech dream, and a woman who saw the same fire he did. His dark eyes flickered with a restless edge as he rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood. This wasn't a plateau—it was a launchpad.
He padded to the kitchen, the steel counter cool under his palms as he brewed real coffee—dark, bitter, a ritual now. 1.025 million UN at 5% was 51,275 UN daily—enough to breathe, but he wasn't here to coast. The bot and MarketPulse were printing cash, sure, but XiTech was the pulse in his veins—an AI tech company, servers landing today, a grid to power something massive. No more trading treadmill; this was about building, creating, owning. He sipped the coffee, the burn waking him fully, and checked his phone. A message from CyberCore: "50 servers, Midtown Tower, 10 AM delivery." Another from Lina, sent at 6 AM: "Up early—rigging plans for your toys. Penthouse tonight, 7 PM. Don't slack." He smirked, typing back: "Toys make millions. 7 PM—bring your edge."
The system hummed in his skull, and he called it up, voice low. "Status."
"Major Mission: Build a business empire worth 10 billion UN or above. Funds: 1,025,506 UN. Progress: 0.0103%. No minor missions active. Next mission pending empire milestone."
"Brick by brick," he muttered, setting the mug down. He wasn't just a kid with cash anymore—he was a founder, his mind sharpened by AI Optimization Knowledge, seeing server grids, app ecosystems, enterprise deals. He showered, the hot water pounding out last night's haze—Lina's laugh, her hands, the way she'd challenged him over dinner—then dressed in his new gear: black blazer, gray shirt, boots that clicked with weight. The mirror showed a Jun Xi he barely recognized—lean, sharp, alive.
At 10 AM, the lobby buzzed as CyberCore's delivery drones rolled in—50 server racks, matte black and humming, stacked like soldiers. The concierge bot blinked, overwhelmed, but Jun Xi waved it off, directing the crew to the freight lift. Up on the 50th, he cleared the penthouse's spare room—meant for guests, now a tech vault. The workers grunted, bolting racks into place, cables snaking across the floor, cooling units whirring to life. By noon, the grid was raw but standing—500,000 UN of power waiting to breathe. He tipped the crew 5,000 UN, their eyes widening, and sent them off. Alone, he ran a hand over a server, feeling the hum. "XiTech starts here," he said, voice quiet but firm.
He needed Lina—this was her domain, wiring it into something alive. But first, he lived. He hit Midtown's streets, the city's chaos a familiar roar: vendors shouting over sizzling woks, drones weaving through traffic, kids chasing holo-ads. At Neon Bite, a trendy diner, he grabbed lunch—spiced pork buns, 200 UN, a far cry from instant noodles—savoring the mess of it, grease on his fingers, the noise sinking in. A group of uni students laughed nearby, carefree, and he felt the gap: 21, richer than their dreams, but no campus, no pack. He didn't miss it—just felt it, a hollow spot he'd fill his own way.
Back at the penthouse, he cracked open the quantum PC, pulling up MarketPulse. The app was ready—sleek, predictive, a consumer hit at 10,000 UN a pop—but XiTech needed more. He sketched plans: an enterprise version, PulsePro, for businesses—real-time market analytics, AI-driven decisions, a subscription model. The Optimization Knowledge flowed—neural nets layering, data streams tightening—his fingers flying over keys. By 4 PM, a prototype blinked onscreen, rough but potent. He leaned back, exhaling, the city's hum beyond the glass a backdrop to his grind.
Lina arrived at 7 PM sharp, banging the door like she owned it. He opened it, grinning—she wore a dark jacket over a sweater, jeans ripped at the knees, her hair loose and wild, a tablet under her arm. "Your toys came?" she asked, stepping in, kicking off boots to reveal mismatched socks—one blue, one striped. Her eyes roamed the penthouse, landing on the server room's glow. "Damn, Jun Xi. You don't mess around."
"Never," he said, voice low, handing her a glass of wine—red, sharp, 500 UN a bottle. "Servers are live—50 racks, raw power. XiTech's real now. Food's coming—steak, real stuff. You bring the edge?"
She smirked, dropping onto the couch, legs up, sipping the wine. "Edge and then some. Sketched a grid layout—multi-tiered, load-balanced, enough juice for MarketPulse and whatever's next. You're a lunatic, you know that? 1 mil in a week, servers in your living room—I'm still wrapping my head around it."
He sat beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, his arm brushing hers. "1.025 mil now—interest doesn't sleep. I'm done flipping coins, Lina. XiTech's AI—apps, enterprise, systems. MarketPulse sells tomorrow—10,000 UN each, millions in reach. Next is PulsePro—business-grade, subscriptions. Servers need your hands."
Her smirk faded, eyes narrowing with a mix of awe and fire. "You're serious—dead serious. Alright, I'm in—10% of profits I touch, like always. I'll wire the grid tomorrow—50 racks can handle thousands of users, scale to millions with cash. PulsePro's smart—businesses'll eat it up. You coded it already?"
"Prototype," he said, pulling the PC over, showing her the screen. "Rough, but it works—real-time, predictive, sharp. Your wiring makes it sing."
She leaned in, her shoulder pressing his, studying the code. "You're a freak—how do you think this fast?" Her voice softened, less guarded, and she looked at him—really looked—her breath catching. "This isn't just money to you, is it?"
He met her gaze, his smirk gone, something raw flickering. "No. It's everything—breaking the cage, building something mine. Wasn't supposed to be here, Lina—slum kid, dead-end life. Now I'm 21, and I'm taking it all. You get that, don't you?"
She nodded, slow, her hand resting on his arm, fingers tight. "Yeah. Grew up fixing junk to eat—parents gone, no safety net. You're not alone in this, Jun Xi. I see it—the fire. Let's make it burn."
The air shifted, heavy, and he pulled her closer, his hand on her back, her breath warm against his neck. "You're the spark," he said, voice rough, "the one who keeps up." She laughed—soft, real—and kissed him, not a brush but a claim, lips fierce and alive. He kissed back, hands in her hair, the world narrowing to her—messy, brilliant, his.
The smart kitchen chimed, breaking the spell—steak, potatoes, 1,000 UN of heat. They pulled apart, breathless, her smirk returning. "Food first," she said, voice shaky but firm, "then we figure out how deep this goes."
He grinned, raw and open. "Deal." They ate by the windows, city lights twinkling, talking XiTech—server grids, app launches, a startup office soon. She stayed, crashing in his bed, their bond a tangle of ambition and something real. Midnight chimed: "Funds: 1,076,781 UN." Interest added 51,275 UN. He lay awake, her breathing steady beside him, the grid alive in the next room—XiTech's heart beating, his life igniting.