The Edge of Risk

The drizzle had stopped by morning, leaving Neo-Shanghai cloaked in a damp haze that softened the city's edges. From Jun Xi's shattered window, the skyline looked almost serene—towers piercing the mist, their neon muted to a dull glow. Inside, the apartment was still a disaster: glass glinted on the floor, the mattress sagged with water, and the burned-out PC sat like a corpse in the corner. Jun Xi stood by the counter, sipping instant coffee from his chipped mug, his dark eyes fixed on his phone. 2,441 Union Coins. That's where he'd landed after last night's NebulaCoin flip and the system's midnight interest—116 UN on top of his 2,325 profit. Day two of five, and he was already a quarter toward the mission's 10,000 UN goal.

He set the mug down, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue, and ran the numbers again in his head. 2,441 UN at 5% was 122 UN daily—small, but compounding. The real juice was in trading: yesterday's 1,500 UN had turned into 2,250 in hours. If he kept that pace, he'd hit 10,000 by tomorrow night, maybe sooner. But he didn't want just 10,000. He wanted momentum—enough to bury poverty for good. His lips curved into a faint smirk. "System," he said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity, "what's the play if I overshoot the mission?"

"Mission: Reach 10,000 UN in 5 days. Current funds: 2,441 UN. Time remaining: 4 days, 11 hours. Progress: 24.41%. Excess gains accelerate feature unlocks. No cap on rewards."

Jun Xi's smirk widened. "So the more I make, the faster you level up. Good to know." He liked that—no limits, just upside. The system was his creation, sure, but it was evolving into something he could wield like a blade. He tapped his phone, pulling up the crypto exchange. NebulaCoin had dipped back to 0.04 UN overnight—too shaky to ride again. He needed a new horse, something volatile but trending. Scrolling the forums, he spotted it: PulseToken. Launched last week, it was climbing fast—0.08 UN per coin, up 20% in 12 hours. Risky, but his kind of risk.

He leaned against the wall, the damp chill seeping through his hoodie, and crunched the numbers. 2,400 UN would buy 30,000 PulseTokens. A 50% spike—reasonable, given the hype—would net 3,600 UN by afternoon. With interest, he'd be pushing 4,000 by midnight. "Let's roll the dice," he muttered, tapping in the order. The transaction cleared, his balance dropping to 41 UN, a thin buffer he didn't sweat. He'd learned yesterday: the system didn't bluff, and his gut didn't either.

With the trade locked, he grabbed the dead PC—its weight awkward in his arms—and headed out. The street hummed with life: vendors shouted over sizzling woks, a kid zipped by on a battered hoverboard, drones buzzed above delivering to the high-rises. Jun Xi kept his hood up, his pace steady, the three-block trek to TechFix a chance to think. Lina's face flashed in his mind—sharp eyes, quick wit. She'd be useful, maybe more. He didn't just need a repair tech; he needed someone who could keep up.

The shop's sign flickered as he stepped inside, the air warm with solder and coffee. Lina was behind the counter, tinkering with a drone's rotor, her jumpsuit smudged with grease. She glanced up, her gaze flicking over the PC in his arms. "There's the lightning boy," she said, setting her tools down. "That the casualty?"

Jun Xi grinned, setting it on the counter with a thud. "Yeah. Took a bolt for me last night. Think you can resurrect it?"

She circled it, her fingers tracing the charred casing, her expression all business. "Power supply's toast—melted the board too. Screen's cracked inside, not just out. This thing's a write-off." She straightened, crossing her arms. "You're looking at 3,000 UN for a decent replacement—more if you want something that won't fry next storm."

He nodded, unfazed. "New it is, then. Can you source one? Something fast—gaming-grade, quantum-ready if you've got it."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Quantum-ready? That's 5,000 UN minimum. You sure you're not dreaming bigger than your wallet?"

He leaned on the counter, his grin turning flirty. "Wallet's growing, Lina. Give me a day—I'll have the cash. You in for dinner tonight instead of tomorrow? I've got a pitch you'll want to hear."

She studied him, her cool facade cracking with a flicker of intrigue. "You're serious, aren't you? What's the game, Jun Xi?"

"Tech," he said, keeping it vague, his tone smooth. "Money. The future. I need someone sharp—someone who doesn't flinch at big moves. That's you, right?"

She smirked, leaning closer. "Maybe. But I don't jump blind. Dinner's fine—7 PM, Jade Noodle on Fifth. You pay, and I'll listen. Deal?"

"Deal," he said, holding her gaze a beat longer than necessary. "See you there. And get that PC ready—I'll pick it up tomorrow."

He left with a nod, her eyes on his back, and stepped into the street feeling the first real rush of the day. PulseToken was climbing—0.09 UN by noon, a 12% bump. He let it ride, checking again at 3 PM: 0.12 UN. His 30,000 coins were worth 3,600 UN. He sold, the funds hitting his account: 3,564 UN after fees. A quiet laugh slipped out, his pulse steady despite the win. "Step two," he murmured, pocketing the phone.

By 6 PM, he was back in the apartment, sprawled on the dry patch of floor, prepping for Lina. He swapped the damp hoodie for a clean black shirt—simple, sharp—and ran a hand through his dark hair. The exchange ticked up: 3,564 UN would earn 178 UN at midnight, pushing him to 3,742. Three days left, and he was closing in. He texted Lina: "Jade Noodle, 7. Don't be late—I hate waiting." Her reply pinged back: "Don't flatter yourself. I'm never late."

Jade Noodle was a hole-in-the-wall joint, all steamed windows and red lanterns, the air thick with soy and spice. Jun Xi grabbed a corner table, ordering dumplings and tea while he waited. Lina walked in at 6:59, her jumpsuit swapped for a sleek jacket and jeans, her hair loose. She slid into the seat across from him, her eyes sharp. "Alright, mystery man," she said, pouring tea. "Pitch me."

He leaned back, sipping his own cup, his tone casual but deliberate. "I'm building something—tech, money, big plays. Started with nothing yesterday, made 3,500 UN today. Tomorrow, I'll double it. I need someone who can handle the gears—repairs, systems, maybe more. You in?"

She paused, chopsticks hovering over a dumpling. "3,500 in a day? Crypto?"

"Smart guess," he said, grinning. "Yeah. High risk, high reward. I've got a knack for it—and something extra I won't bore you with."

She ate, her gaze never leaving him. "You're either a genius or a lunatic. What's the cut?"

"10% of profits you help me make," he said, leaning in. "Plus a salary once we scale. And maybe a few perks if you stick around."

Her lips twitched. "Flirting again?"

"Only if it's working," he shot back, his grin widening.

She laughed—a short, sharp sound—and set her chopsticks down. "Alright, Jun Xi. I'll bite. Start small—fix your tech, see where it goes. But I want details next time."

"Fair," he said, raising his tea. "To big moves."

She clinked her cup against his. "To not crashing and burning."

Midnight hit as he walked home, the system chiming: "Funds: 3,742 UN." He smirked into the night. Lina was in—step three locked. The edge of risk was his playground now.