The midday sun barely pierced Neo-Shanghai's smog, a faint yellow haze filtering through the haze as Jun Xi stood on Orion Tower's 15th floor, his tactical jacket swapped for a sleek black coat—slum roots with a city edge, fitting for the new arc dawning. The city sprawled below—slums a rusting sprawl south, their alleys still buzzing with his legend, Midtown's neon a jagged hum now within reach, the Northern Towers a cold glint of steel and secrets, their shadow stirring again. 282,179,765 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 14,108,988 UN since dawn, a steady thrum in his skull that synced with the grid's roar—100 servers glowed, their quantum hub a deep blue pulse against the concrete, the steel-patched window a scar from NexCorp's drone. Twenty days ago, he'd been ash—1,500 UN, a burned-out shack, parents' screams his only echo. Now, XiTech's fire had forged a slum legend, Jade Vipers bled for him, and Sofia Valtieri's retreat only sharpened her blade—war was evolving. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—a slum kid's edge honed to a blade, ready to grip the city's pulse.
Lina leaned on a server rack, her jumpsuit smudged with grease, a holo-pad in hand—her voice cut through the hum, sharp and steady, but laced with a warmth that grounded him. "Grid's locked—100 servers, X9s tight, hub's gold. MarketPulse's at 23,000—230 mil UN banked since yesterday. You're at 296 mil now, Jun Xi—city's hearing you." Her dark hair hung loose, sweat streaking her neck, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her pulse, her fire, the way she'd kissed him raw after the slums' stand, her warmth a tether through his ghosts. She'd been his spine through the Awakening, and now, as the city opened, she was his heart. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's regroup glowed: Northern Towers, ops team, planning phase. "296 mil's a city shout," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip, her grin wild. "Sofia's shaken—Northern Towers are planning. They'll hit soon—bigger."
Kai hauled a crate of server spares, wiry frame flexing, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was rough, but his eyes burned with loyalty. "296 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's humming—5% bump, 5 mil more. 301 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—301,288,753 UN—interest and sales a relentless surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my game—301 mil's a pulse. Jia, website's buzzing—push the feed, Midtown focus. Lina, grid's yours—scale it. Tara, Sofia's plan—dig deeper. Kai—Midtown, scout."
Jia's fingers flew—her holo-pad glowed, XiTech.com's feed streaming live: "Slum King Jun Xi—301 mil UN, 20 days. MarketPulse: Your Edge, Our Code. City's Next!" Slum posts still roared—"Jun Xi's our king—301 mil!"—but Midtown chatter stirred: "Slum kid's at 301 mil—real?""XiTech's in Midtown—watch out!" Funds hit 303 mil UN—MarketPulse soared to 23,500 users, 235 mil UN banked. The system chimed: "Funds: 303,397,741 UN. Interest: 15,169,887 UN daily. New Mission: Expand to Midtown—Reward: 20 mil UN, Market Expansion Knowledge."
Lina's holo-pad pinged with city chatter—her laugh was raw, fierce. "Midtown's buzzing—'Slum king's coming.' Slum's still chanting, but the city's waking, Jun Xi. 303 mil—20 days." She stepped close, grease-slick hand brushing his—her warmth sank in, steadying him. "You—last night, on the roof. Ghosts again?" His gut flickered—ash stirred, the fire that took his parents, his fault, not his fault. He'd told her everything, the bot, the storm, the screams—her touch had burned it away. He grinned, flirty edge soft, his hand cupping her cheek—grease and warmth, real. "Ghosts fade—you're my pulse. 303 mil's loud—city's ours." She smirked, fierce, her lips brushing his—raw, alive. "Pulse, huh? Keep that up, I'll short you out."
Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's plan sharpened: Northern Towers, ops team, 20 agents, eight drones, two days. "City's waking—Sofia's not. 303 mil's a slap—Northern Towers are moving. Two days, big strike." Kai grunted, dropping the crate—spares clattered. "303 mil—nuts. Midtown's big—NexCorp's bigger—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "24,000 users—240 mil banked. 305 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 305,506,729 UN—MarketPulse soared, city chatter swelled.
Jun Xi slipped out, coat tight, drizzle cold on his neck—Midtown streets buzzed, neon signs flickering, holo-ads blaring: "CyberCore—Upgrade Now!" Vendors shouted over sizzling woks, their voices sharper than the slums'—soy grease and circuits thick in the air. He hit a Midtown hub, a sleek tower of glass and steel, its lobby humming with techies in holo-suits, their eyes flicking to his slum-worn boots. A holo-post glowed: "Slum king Jun Xi—305 mil UN—XiTech's real?" A techie in a neon jacket smirked, his voice low. "Slum kid's loud—305 mil? NexCorp's shaking." Jun Xi grinned, flirty charm flaring—100x learning spun: Midtown trends, techie networks, NexCorp's grip. "Shaking's my style—slum king's here. Spread it."
Back at Orion, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 308 mil UN with MarketPulse's surge—24,500 users, 245 mil UN banked. Lina met him at the door, grease-slick hands on his coat—her voice was low, fierce. "308 mil—city's stirring, Jun Xi. Midtown techies posted—'Slum king's real.' Slum's still yours—Vipers armed." She pulled him close, her warmth burning, steady—her lips brushed his, raw, alive. "Pulse's beating—city's yours." He grinned, hand in her hair—wet, warm. "City's ours—308 mil's a pulse. NexCorp's bleeding."
Tara banged in, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's team prepped: Midtown to slums, 20 agents, eight drones, two days. "City's pulse—Sofia's pissed. 308 mil's a war drum—Northern Towers are striking. Two days, hard." Kai followed, wiping sweat—his grunt was sharp. "308 mil—nuts. Midtown's buzzing—NexCorp's big—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia trailed, holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked. "25,000 users—250 mil banked. 310 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 310,615,717 UN—interest rolled, city pulse swelled.
Jun Xi stood by the window, drizzle reflecting neon—Midtown hummed, slums roared below. The system chimed: "Funds: 310,615,717 UN. Interest: 15,530,785 UN daily. Mission Progress: 10%—Expand to Midtown." His smirk sharpened—310 mil UN, 20 days—slum king wasn't a whisper; it was a pulse shaking Neo-Shanghai. Lina leaned on him, Tara grinned wild, Kai and Jia buzzed—crew tight, a spark alive. Vipers armed, Sofia's team loomed, but the city's pulse turned fierce—XiTech's fire burned, and the City Roots arc began with a slum king's storm.