The drizzle had thickened into a steady pour by dusk, a gray curtain slapping Orion Tower's windows as Jun Xi stood on the 15th floor, his faded black hoodie soaked from Midtown's streets. The city sprawled below—slums a dark bruise south, Midtown's neon a jagged heartbeat, the Northern Towers a cold shimmer through the haze. 43,309,635 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 2,165,481 UN since midnight, a relentless hum in his skull that clashed with the grid's pulse—100 servers now, their quantum hub a deep blue throb against the concrete wall. Eleven days ago, he'd been a shadow—1,500 UN, a slum shack, parents' screams swallowed by fire he'd sparked. Now, XiTech was a name whispered in alleys, Lucky Coin was his, and NexCorp's sabotage was a crack he'd widen. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—but beneath, a storm churned, ash and guilt clawing up from the past.
Lina knelt by the grid, her jumpsuit streaked with oil, a holo-wrench buzzing as she locked an X9 cable—her voice cut through the hum, sharp and tired. "100's solid—hub's purring like a beast. Sales are spiking—MarketPulse's at 3,000, Jun Xi." Her dark hair clung to her neck, sweat beading despite the chill, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her fire, her steadiness, the way she'd smirked at Lucky Coin's fall. Tara sprawled nearby, boots on a crate, her holo-pad flickering with Midtown's signal—green lines tightened, a ghost almost caught. "3,000's 30 mil UN banked," she rasped, silver stud flashing as she chewed a mint strip. "Funds at 47 mil now—Northern Towers link's close. Tonight, maybe."
Kai hauled a crate of coolant, wiry frame straining, his buzzed hair dripping—his grunt was rough. "47 mil? Slum king's a freak—Jia's tweak's gold." Jia sat cross-legged, lanky and 19, her comp sci holo-pad glowing—her voice cracked, eager. "Predictive's humming—5% bump, another 5 mil UN coming. You're at 48 mil, Jun Xi—nuts!" Funds ticked up—48,475,116 UN—interest and sales a steady roar. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my style—48 mil's a start. Lina, grid's gold—rest up. Tara, tonight's yours—crack it."
Lina stood, wiping grease on her thigh, her smirk tired but fierce. "Rest? When you stop pushing, maybe. 100 servers, 48 mil—10 days ago, you were broke. You're a storm, Jun Xi." She stepped closer, her hand brushing his—grease-slick, warm—and her voice dipped, real now. "That store—Lucky Coin—saw your face. Something's eating you. Talk." His gut twisted, a flash hitting hard—fire licking walls, his mother's scream, "You did this!"—and he froze, rain drumming outside, the grid's hum a dull echo. He forced a grin, charm masking it. "Eating me? Just hunger—slum kid's gotta eat big." She didn't buy it—her eyes narrowed, steady. "Bullshit—roof last night, now this. I'm here, Jun Xi—don't shut me out."
He exhaled, turning to the window—rain streaked glass, Midtown's neon blurred, his reflection a ghost. "System," he thought, and it answered: "Funds: 49,943,597 UN. Interest: 2,497,179 UN daily. Mission: Secure XiTech—Reward: 5 mil UN, Network Security Knowledge. Progress: 90%." 90%—close, so close—but the fire burned louder in his head. Tara's pad beeped, her voice cutting through. "Signal's hot—Midtown hub's a front, Towers link's tonight. NexCorp's sloppy—47 mil's got their attention, lightning kid." Kai snorted, dropping the crate. "Attention? They'll crush us—Jia's freaking again." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "Not freaking—just… they're big, Jun Xi. 50 mil soon—nuts!"
The room buzzed—Lina tweaked the hub, Tara traced, Kai hauled, Jia coded—but Jun Xi's mind slipped, rain pulling him back. He saw it—his shack, two years ago, the PC compiling his bot, a storm raging outside. He'd crashed on a cot, dreaming of escape—drunk father slurring, mother's fist bruising his cheek—then smoke, heat, a crackle. He'd jolted awake, flames licking walls, the sprinkler spitting water—then the shock, volts ripping through him as he grabbed the door. Window—glass shattered, he'd jumped, landed hard, passed out in mud as the house burned. Parents gone—his fault, not his fault—guilt and relief a tangled mess. Hospital, store, then lightning—system born. Now, 50 mil UN, and it still clawed at him.
Lina's hand gripped his shoulder—firm, real—snapping him out. "Jun Xi—where'd you go?" Her voice was low, rain-soaked hair framing her face, eyes fierce but soft. He turned, hoodie dripping, his grin shaky but flirty. "Old ghosts—fire, ash. Parents burned 'cause of me—bot overheated, my mess. Happy they're gone, hate I did it. 50 mil doesn't erase that." Her breath hitched, hand sliding to his chest—grease and warmth sank in. "Shit, Jun Xi—slum kids carry worse. You're not that fire—you're this." She tapped the grid, its hum swelling. "I'm here—guilt's heavy, but we're heavier."
Tara whistled, low and sharp. "Deep, gear queen—lightning kid's got scars. Signal's cracked—Northern Towers, NexCorp's core. Tonight's big." Funds hit 51 mil UN—MarketPulse pinged, 3,500 users, 35 mil UN banked. Kai slumped on a crate, wiping sweat. "51 mil? Slum king's haunted—grid's alive, though. Jia, tweak's gold—5 mil more?" Jia nodded, beaming. "Done—52 mil now. You're nuts, Jun Xi—ghosts or not."
Jun Xi stepped to the grid, boots scuffing concrete, his hand brushing Lina's—her warmth steadied him, ash fading. "Ghosts don't stop me—52 mil says we're loud. Tara, Towers link—names, now." Tara's fingers flew, holo-pad glowing—signal peeled back, a name flickered: Sofia Valtieri, NexCorp Ops. "Heiress—sharp, dangerous. Midtown's a shell, Towers are her turf. 52 mil's a red flag—she's coming." Jun Xi's smirk returned, flirty edge sharp. "Let her—slum king's ready. Lina, grid's ours—Kai, Jia, push it. Tara, dig 'til she bleeds."
By 9 PM, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 54 mil UN with MarketPulse's climb. Lina crashed on a crate, her laugh raw—grease streaked her face, her hand in his. "54 mil—11 days, Jun Xi. Ghosts can't touch this." He squeezed back, rain drumming outside, his voice low, real. "Ghosts burn—slum kids don't. You're my pulse—crew's my spine." Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's holo-file glowed: blonde, piercing eyes, NexCorp's blade. "She's trouble—love it," Tara rasped, grin wild.
Kai sprawled, panting. "54 mil—haunted or not, you're nuts. Jia's tweak's gold—5 mil more?" Jia nodded, glasses fogged. "56 mil now—nuts!" The system hummed: "Funds: 56,440,776 UN. Interest: 2,822,038 UN. Mission Progress: 95%." Jun Xi stood by the window, rain reflecting neon, Midtown a jagged pulse below—56 mil UN, NexCorp's heiress named, his crew tight. Ash echoed, but the grid's pulse drowned it—slum king wasn't just a name; it was a roar, and Neo-Shanghai trembled.