The Penthouse Pact

The morning sun blazed over Neo-Shanghai, its light refracting off the city's glass towers like a prism of wealth and power. Jun Xi stood in the real estate office, a sleek chrome-and-glass box in Midtown, signing the lease for his new penthouse—50th floor, 300,000 UN yearly, deposit wired from his 353,498 UN stash. The agent, a wiry man in a too-tight suit, handed over the smart key with a nervous smile. "You're set, Mr. Jun. Enjoy the view." Jun Xi nodded, his dark eyes glinting, and pocketed the key. Five days ago, he'd been scraping by in a damp coffin of an apartment. Now, he was stepping into the sky.

He grabbed his bag—clothes, the quantum PC, essentials—and took a hovercab to the tower. The lobby was all marble and holograms, a concierge bot nodding as he flashed the key. The elevator shot up, silent and smooth, opening to a sprawling penthouse: floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city's sprawl, smart lights flickering on, a kitchen of polished steel humming to life. He dropped his bag by the door, stepping to the glass, Neo-Shanghai stretching out below like a map he'd conquer. 323,498 UN left after the deposit—5% interest ticking at 16,174 UN daily. His lips curved into a faint, calculative smirk. "Home sweet home," he murmured, the system humming in his skull.

He showered in a bathroom bigger than his old place—hot water, no rust—then swapped his jacket for a sharp black coat, jeans crisp, hair tousled just right. Lina's flat was next—10 AM, Eighth Street, Flat 12B. The AI Optimization Knowledge from last night burned in his brain, a flood of neural nets, efficiency models, and scaling tricks. Crypto had built the base, but this was the fuel for the 10-billion-UN empire. AI apps, tech hubs, automated systems—ideas spun like threads in a web, and Lina was the gear queen to make them real.

The hovercab dropped him at Eighth Street by 9:55, a gritty block of low-rises dwarfed by the city's core. Flat 12B was up a creaking stairwell, the door chipped but sturdy. He knocked, and Lina opened it—dark hair loose, a faded tank top and jeans replacing her jumpsuit, her sharp eyes catching his. "Penthouse boy," she said, smirking, stepping aside. "Nice coat. Come in—don't trip over the mess."

Her place was chaos: tools scattered on a workbench, drone parts on the couch, a holo-screen flickering with code. Jun Xi grinned, stepping over a wrench. "Cozy. You live like you work—full throttle."

"Keeps me sharp," she shot back, clearing a spot on the table. "Coffee's on—black, right? Sit. You said 353,000—spill it."

He took the chair, accepting the mug she slid over, his fingers brushing hers for a beat. "Bot killed it yesterday—241,000 from LunarFlux, then a 100,000 reward. 353,498 now, minus 30,000 for the penthouse. New missions: double to 706,996 in five days, short-term. Long-term? A 10-billion-UN empire. We're planning that today."

Her eyebrows shot up, but her cool held. "10 billion? You're insane—and maybe brilliant. Penthouse fits—lifestyle's catching up to your wallet. Alright, I'm in deep—10% of profits I touch. Bot's at 5,000 daily now—how do we scale?"

He sipped the coffee, his tone smooth but firm. "Bot's step one—doubles the funds, keeps the cash flowing. Step two's the empire. AI Optimization hit me last night—neural nets, system scaling. I'm thinking AI apps—market predictors, personal assistants—sold to the masses. Tech hubs next—bot farms, hardware plants. You rig the systems, I code and fund it."

She leaned forward, her gaze piercing, a spark lighting her eyes. "Apps? Smart—everyone's got a phone. I can build the hardware—low-cost, high-output rigs. Bot farms could churn millions if we automate right. You've got the cash—I've got the gears. Where do we start?"

"Start small," he said, his grin flirty but sharp. "Tweak the bot today—push it to 10,000 daily. I'll code an app prototype—market scanner, consumer-grade. We test it, sell it, stack the profits. Meet again in two days—my penthouse, 10 AM. Full layout then."

Her lips twitched, her smirk matching his. "Your place now? Fancy. Alright—two days, penthouse pact. Bot's mine today—10,000's the goal. App's on you. Don't slack, Jun Xi."

"Never," he shot back, leaning closer, his voice dropping. "You're my spark, Lina—can't build this without you. Work hard, and maybe we celebrate after."

She laughed—a bright, sharp sound—and nudged his knee under the table, her touch lingering. "You're trouble. Celebrate, huh? Win big first—then we'll see."

"Always," he said, holding her gaze, the air thickening with tension. "Let's weave it tight." He pulled out his phone, flashing the 323,498 UN. "Bot runs today—118,000 in yesterday. Push it, and we're golden."

She nodded, standing to grab her tablet. "I'll reweight the algo—focus on micro-spikes. You tweak the code?"

"On it," he said, pulling the PC from his bag and setting it up. They worked side by side—her fingers flying over hardware specs, his over code—AI Optimization sharpening every line. By 2 PM, the bot relaunched, locking on SolarPulse: 2.00 UN, up 25%. It bought 161,749 coins with 323,498 UN. At 5 PM, SolarPulse hit 4.10 UN—a 105% jump. The bot sold: 663,170 UN. Fees shaved it to 656,538 UN.

Jun Xi leaned back, a low laugh slipping out. "Over 650,000—bot's a monster." Lina stared at the screen, her cool cracking. "You're unreal. My 10%'s 65,000 already?"

"Yours," he said, his tone flirty. "Told you—big wins. 10,000 daily's locked—empire's next."

She smirked, nudging his shoulder. "You're a freak—and I'm hooked. Two days, penthouse—don't keep me waiting."

"Never," he shot back, his eyes glinting. They clinked mugs, the air electric, and he left at 6 PM, her laugh echoing in his head.

Back at the penthouse, he stood by the windows, the city sprawling below. Midnight chimed: "Funds: 689,365 UN." Interest added 32,827 UN. He smirked into the night. 689,365 UN, a new home, Lina tangled in his web, and a 10-billion dream taking shape. The pact was set—two days, and they'd spin it higher.