Chapter 35: A Taste of Power

Jackim sat stiffly across from Madam X, his fingers curling into fists beneath the table. The Velvet Room's air was thick with smoke and unspoken tension. Every pair of eyes in the dimly lit lounge was fixed on him, weighing his worth.

Madam X exhaled another slow stream of smoke, tapping the cigarette against a crystal ashtray. "Tell me, Jackim. Do you know why you're here?"

Jackim's jaw tightened. "Because someone thinks I owe them something."

She chuckled, the sound smooth and knowing. "Not quite. You're here because you're different." She leaned forward, the flickering chandelier light casting sharp shadows across her face. "And different men either rise… or get crushed."

Jackim felt his pulse quicken. "Who are you?"

Madam X gave him a lazy smile. "An investor."

His brow furrowed. "Investor?"

She gestured around the room. "Every person here holds power in one form or another—wealth, influence, skill. But power only recognizes those who dare to take it." Her gaze locked onto his. "Tell me, Jackim… have you ever truly tasted power?"

Jackim remained silent.

She smirked. "I didn't think so. But you will."

A man in a black suit approached, placing a small, red velvet box on the table. Without breaking eye contact, Madam X slid it toward Jackim.

"Open it."

His fingers hesitated before prying the box open. Inside lay a sleek black key card, its surface engraved with a golden phoenix.

Jackim's breath hitched.

"That," Madam X said, her voice lilting with amusement, "is your first step into our world."

Jackim lifted the key card, feeling the weight of something more than metal and plastic.

"What does it open?" he asked.

She grinned. "Doors."

---

Minutes later, Jackim found himself standing before an elevator at the back of the lounge. The doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing a steel-walled interior.

A single button waited to be pressed.

Jackim inhaled deeply and stepped inside.

As the doors closed, the elevator descended—not up, but down.

With each passing second, the air grew heavier.

Then, with a sudden stop, the doors slid open.

Jackim stepped out into a dimly lit chamber lined with ancient stone walls. A single metal table stood in the center, and sitting behind it was a man unlike any he had seen before.

A warrior.

His broad shoulders were wrapped in a tailored black robe, his silver hair tied back in a sharp ponytail. His eyes, cold and calculating, pierced through Jackim as if reading his very soul.

"You're late."

Jackim frowned. "Who are you?"

The man didn't answer. Instead, he tossed a wooden stick toward Jackim. It clattered at his feet.

"Pick it up."

Jackim hesitated before bending down and grabbing the weapon.

The man rolled his shoulders, his muscles flexing beneath his robe. "You want to survive in this world, boy?"

Jackim's grip tightened on the stick.

The man smirked.

"Then show me you deserve it."

Without warning, he lunged.

---

Jackim barely had time to react before the first strike came. The wooden staff cracked through the air, slamming against his shoulder with brutal force.

He stumbled back, pain searing through his arm.

The man's expression remained cold. "Too slow."

Jackim gritted his teeth and steadied himself.

Again, the man struck.

Jackim lifted his stick in defense, but the impact rattled his bones. His arms ached, but he refused to fall.

"You think wealth will save you?" the man taunted, circling him. "That a black card makes you powerful?"

Jackim swung his weapon, but the man sidestepped effortlessly.

"Pathetic."

Jackim's breath came ragged. His muscles screamed, but he refused to stop.

Again.

And again.

Each blow taught him something. Pain became a lesson. Failure became fuel.

Finally, on the twentieth strike, something clicked.

Jackim saw it.

A pattern.

The man swung—this time, Jackim moved first. He twisted his body, dodging just in time.

For the first time, their eyes met in mutual understanding.

The warrior's lips curled into a smirk. "Not bad."

Jackim exhaled, sweat dripping down his temple.

The man lowered his weapon.

"Lesson one," he said. "Pain is a teacher. Never forget it."

Jackim nodded, chest heaving.

The man turned, walking toward the heavy steel doors at the far end of the chamber. Before stepping through, he glanced back.

"Tomorrow, we begin for real."

And then, he was gone.

Jackim stood alone, his fingers clenching around the wooden stick. His body ached.

But his mind was clearer than ever.

This was only the beginning.