The morning sun clawed through Neo-Shanghai's smog, a dull orange smear bleeding across the slums as Jun Xi stood on Orion Tower's 15th floor, his faded black hoodie swapped for a sharp gray jacket—still slum-worn at the edges, but Midtown-sharp where it counted. Rain had faded, leaving a wet sheen on the windows, the city sprawled below—slums a rusting tangle south, Midtown's neon a jagged hum, the Northern Towers a cold glint on the horizon. 77,352,238 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 3,867,611 UN overnight, a relentless pulse in his skull that synced with the grid's roar—100 servers glowed, their quantum hub a deep blue thrum against the concrete. Twelve days ago, he'd been ash—1,500 UN, a burned-out life, parents' screams his only legacy. Now, XiTech was a spark igniting, Sofia Valtieri's shadow creeping closer, and his crew a fire he'd die to keep burning. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—a slum kid's edge honed to a blade.
Lina leaned on a server rack, her jumpsuit streaked with grease, a holo-pad in hand—her voice cut through the hum, sharp and steady. "Grid's locked—100 servers, X9s tight, hub's gold. Market Pulse's at 5,500—55 mil UN banked since yesterday. You're at 82 mil now, Jun Xi—nuts." Her dark hair hung loose, sweat beading on her neck, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her fire, her pulse, the way she'd kissed him raw on the roof last night. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's file glowed: NexCorp Ops, Midtown meeting today. "82 mil's loud," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip. "Sofia's moving—Midtown hub's a shell, Towers are her game. She'll hit soon—love the heat."
Kai hauled a crate of coolant, wiry frame flexing, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was rough. "82 mil? Slum king's insane—Jia's tweak's a beast." Jia sat cross-legged, lanky and 19, her comp sci holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked, eager. "Predictive humming—5% bump, 5 mil more. 87 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—87,219,849 UN—interest and sales a steady surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my play—87 mil's a shout. Jia, website's today—launch it. Lina, grid's yours—keep it tight. Tara, Sofia's moves—names, times. Kai—gear up."
Jia's eyes widened, fingers flying—her holo-pad glowed, code scrolling fast. "Website? On it—XiTech dot com, live in an hour. Slum-style—raw, real." Lina smirked, wiping grease on her thigh. "Raw's us—87 mil, 12 days? You're a storm, Jun Xi—website'll shake 'em." Tara grinned, sly and wild. "Shake's right—Sofia's meeting's noon. Midtown's buzzing—87 mil's a red flag." Jun Xi paced, boots scuffing concrete, his mind spinning—100x learning wove threads: website specs, slum reach, NexCorp's next punch. "Buzz is power," he said, voice low, chill. "Jia—make it loud. Slum kids need to hear it."
By 10 AM, the website launched—XiTech.com flickered live, a black-and-neon sprawl coded by Jia's frantic hands: "XiTech—Slum-Born, City-Raised. MarketPulse: Your Edge, Our Code." A holo-feed streamed the grid—100 servers humming, Orion's concrete stark—and a ticker blazed: "Funds: 90,087,460 UN. Growing 4,504,373 UN daily." Jun Xi watched, jacket tight on his shoulders, as slum techies swarmed—holo-posts lit up: "Slum kid's loaded—90 mil?""XiTech's real—my cousin's on MarketPulse!" Funds ticked—92 mil UN—MarketPulse hit 6,000 users, 60 mil UN banked. The system chimed: "Funds: 92,591,833 UN. Interest: 4,629,591 UN daily. Mission Complete—New Mission: Reach 100 mil UN—Reward: 10 mil UN, Data Analysis Skill."
Lina's laugh rang out, raw and bright—her holo-pad pinged with slum chatter. "They're losing it—'Slum King Jun Xi' trending. 92 mil—12 days, Jun Xi. You're their spark." She stepped close, grease-slick hand brushing his—her warmth sank in, steadying him. "Ghosts last night—fire's fading, huh?" His gut flickered—ash lingered, but her pulse drowned it. He grinned, flirty edge sharp. "Fading's you—my gear queen. 92 mil's loud—slums hear it?" She nodded, eyes fierce. "Hear it? They're shouting it—Lucky Coin's yours, now this."
Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's meeting loomed, Midtown's hub tower pulsing. "Slum buzz's cute—Northern Towers don't care. Sofia's noon's big—ops team, AI core talk. 92 mil's a target—war's close." Kai grunted, dropping the crate—coolant sloshed. "War? 92 mil's nuts—Jia's freaking again." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "Not freaking—just… 95 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 95,221,424 UN—MarketPulse soared, slum posts spiked: "Jun Xi's one of us—95 mil!""NexCorp's shaking—slum king's real!"
Jun Xi slipped out, jacket damp from drizzle, hitting the slums—streets buzzed, wet concrete stung his boots, soy grease and rust thick in the air. Kids darted past, holo-balls flickering—vendors shouted over sizzling woks: "XiTech's slum king—90 mil!" He ducked into Lucky Coin, bell jangling—shelves sagged with ramen, counter scratched, Han gone. A teen in a patched coat gawked—holo-pad glowed with XiTech.com. "You're him—Jun Xi? 95 mil—nuts!" Jun Xi smirked, flirty charm flaring. "Nuts is right—slum kid's loud now. Spread it." The teen nodded, eyes wide—word flew, slums echoing.
Back at Orion, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 98 mil UN with MarketPulse's climb—6,500 users, 65 mil UN banked. Lina met him at the door, rain streaking her face—her voice was low, fierce. "98 mil—slum's alive, Jun Xi. Website's viral—techies, vendors, even Jade Vipers posted. You're their king." She pulled him close, grease-slick hands on his jacket—her lips brushed his, raw, alive. "Pulse's beating—slum's yours." He grinned, hand in her hair—wet, warm. "Slum's ours—98 mil's a roar. NexCorp hears it?"
Tara banged in, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's meeting unfolded: Midtown hub, noon, ops team, AI core briefing. "Heard it—Sofia's pissed. 98 mil's a slap—Northern Towers are moving. Noon's done—she's planning." Kai followed, wiping sweat—his grunt was sharp. "98 mil—nuts. Slum's buzzing, but NexCorp's big—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia trailed, holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked. "7,000 users—70 mil banked. 100 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 100,719,015 UN—interest rolled, slum echo swelled.
Jun Xi stood by the window, drizzle reflecting neon—Midtown pulsed, slums roared below. The system chimed: "Funds: 100,719,015 UN. Interest: 5,035,950 UN daily. Mission Progress: 95%—Reach 100 mil UN nearly complete." His smirk sharpened—100 mil UN, 12 days—slum king wasn't a whisper; it was a shout shaking Neo-Shanghai. Lina leaned on him, Tara grinned wild, Kai and Jia buzzed—crew tight, a spark alive. Sofia's shadow loomed, but the slums echoed louder—XiTech's fire was lit, and he'd burn through anything.