The Grid Expands

The morning sun cut through Neo-Shanghai's haze, its light glinting off the penthouse's towering windows and spilling across the hardwood floor. Jun Xi woke to the faint hum of the server room next door, a steady pulse that matched the rhythm in his chest. 1,076,781 Union Coins. That's where he stood, the system's 5% interest adding 51,275 UN overnight while he'd slept beside Lina, her warmth still a ghost on the sheets. She'd slipped out at dawn again—work called, she'd muttered, kissing him quick and rough before bolting. Eight days ago, he'd been a slum rat with 1,500 UN; now, he was a 21-year-old founder, XiTech's servers humming, a life he'd clawed into existence. His dark eyes flickered with restless energy as he rolled out of bed, barefoot, the city's sprawl beyond the glass a canvas he'd paint.

He shuffled to the kitchen, brewing coffee—dark roast, real beans, a 200-UN bag he'd splurged on. The aroma hit him like a memory he hadn't earned yet, sharp and grounding. 1.076 million UN at 5% was 53,839 UN daily—cash flowing like a river now, but he wasn't here to swim. XiTech was the dream—an AI tech company, 50 servers ready to scale, MarketPulse poised to launch, and PulsePro simmering in his mind. No more trading grind; this was about building something real, a name to echo through Neo-Shanghai's towers. He sipped, the burn waking him, and checked his phone. Lina's text from an hour ago: "Servers need wiring—busy til noon. Meet me at CyberCore, 1 PM. Don't slack, founder boy." He smirked, typing back: "Slacking's for the broke. 1 PM—bring your fire."

"System," he said, voice low, the penthouse's hum swallowing it, "where am I?"

"Major Mission: Build a business empire worth 10 billion UN or above. Funds: 1,076,781 UN. Progress: 0.0108%. No minor missions active. Next mission pending empire milestone."

"Step by step," he muttered, setting the mug down. He wasn't just a kid with a bankroll—he was a builder, his mind a furnace of AI Optimization Knowledge, seeing grids, apps, futures. He showered, the hot water pounding out yesterday's haze—Lina's laugh, her hands, the way she'd looked at him like he was more than a hustle—and dressed sharp: black blazer, gray shirt, boots that clicked with purpose. The server room glowed as he passed, 50 racks waiting for Lina's hands to make them sing.

He hit the streets by 10 AM, the city alive around him: vendors shouted over sizzling woks, drones buzzed with deliveries, a kid in a patched jacket chased a holo-ball through the crowd. Midtown's pulse was different from the slums—cleaner, louder, money in the air. He stopped at Neon Bite again, grabbing a pork bun and tea—250 UN, messy and worth it—sitting at a corner table to watch the world. A guy in a cheap suit argued with a vendor nearby, voice cracking with frustration. "I said no sauce, you deaf? I've got a meeting!" The vendor, an older woman with gray streaks in her hair, snapped back, "Then eat somewhere else, suit—my stall, my rules." Jun Xi smirked, chewing slow. Real people, real grit—Neo-Shanghai didn't sleep.

At CyberCore by 12:50, the warehouse buzzed—workers hauling crates, air thick with static and oil. Lina was already there, leaning against a server rack, her jumpsuit smudged, hair tied back, arguing with a wiry guy in a CyberCore vest. "No, Kai, I need the X7 cables—X5s'll bottleneck at scale," she said, voice sharp, hands on hips. The guy—Kai, mid-20s, buzzed hair, tattoos peeking from his sleeves—groaned, rubbing his neck. "X7s are 5,000 UN extra, Lina. Your boyfriend's loaded, sure, but I've got quotas."

Jun Xi stepped up, boots clicking, cutting in. "Boyfriend's got a name—Jun Xi. 5,000's nothing—wire the X7s, Kai. These servers aren't toys; they're XiTech's spine." Kai turned, sizing him up, then shrugged, a half-smirk tugging his lip. "XiTech, huh? Heard you're the slum kid who hit big—crypto or some shit. Fine, X7s it is. Don't cry when the bill stings."

Lina smirked, nudging Jun Xi's arm. "He's not crying—1 mil and counting. Kai's a grump, but he's good—best tech runner in Midtown. Let's rig this grid right." Kai snorted, hauling a crate of cables, muttering, "Millionaires and their girlfriends—crazy bastards."

They worked—Lina and Kai wiring the servers, Jun Xi syncing MarketPulse to the grid via his PC. Kai's voice cut through the hum, rough but alive. "Grew up in the docks—fixed drones for scraps til CyberCore took me. You two are nuts, but this setup's slick. What's XiTech anyway—another app mill?" Jun Xi glanced up, hands pausing. "AI—apps, enterprise, systems. MarketPulse launches tomorrow—10,000 UN each, millions in play. Next is PulsePro—business-grade. Not a mill; a machine."

Kai whistled, low and impressed. "Not bad, slum boy. My sister's in uni—comp sci, broke as hell. She'd kill for a rig like this." Lina laughed, stripping a cable, her voice warm. "Tell her to apply when we're hiring—Jun Xi's got cash, I've got gears. We're building something real."

By 4 PM, the grid was alive—50 servers linked, X7 cables humming, MarketPulse running smooth. Jun Xi leaned back, wiping sweat, while Lina tested bandwidth, her grin fierce. "This'll handle thousands—scale to millions with more racks. You're a freak, Jun Xi—1 mil to this in a week?" Kai smirked, packing tools. "Freak's right. I'm out—bill's 10,000 UN with the X7s. Don't blow up my stock."

Jun Xi wired it, funds dipping to 1,066,781, and clapped Kai's shoulder. "Good work—stick around, might need you." Kai waved, already halfway out. "Yeah, yeah—call me when you're billionaires."

Alone, Lina slumped against a rack, her jumpsuit streaked, eyes glinting. "Grid's live—MarketPulse's ready. You're insane, you know? I'm exhausted, and you're still going." Jun Xi stepped closer, voice low, real. "Can't stop—too much to lose. You're the one keeping up, Lina. This isn't just me—it's us."

She looked at him, her smirk fading, something softer breaking through. "Yeah, us. I'm not used to this—someone who gets it. Grew up alone, fixing shit to survive. You're… different." He reached out, brushing her cheek, his fingers rough from work. "Same—slum kid, no one else. Now I've got you, and I'm not letting go."

Her breath hitched, and she grabbed his shirt, pulling him in—a kiss, fierce and messy, all sweat and want. "Don't make me regret this," she muttered against his lips, voice shaky. He grinned, raw, holding her tight. "Never. Dinner—my place, 8 PM. Real date, no work. You in?"

She laughed, tired but alive, pushing him back. "In. Shower first—I stink. 8 PM—don't burn the penthouse down." He smirked, letting her go. "Deal."

Back home, he ordered dinner—steak, wine, sides, 1,500 UN—and hit the streets again, grabbing a holo-watch from Neon Tech—5,000 UN, sleek, a toy for his new life. At 8, Lina arrived—jeans, a dark top, hair damp, her edge softened but sharp. They ate by the windows, city lights flickering, her laugh filling the space. "You're living big now—watch, steak, me. Careful, Jun Xi—might get used to this," she said, voice teasing but warm.

"Already am," he shot back, eyes locked, hand on hers. "XiTech's ours—grid's alive, app's tomorrow. You're the spark—I'm the fire." She squeezed his hand, her smile real. "Then let's burn it down."

Midnight chimed: "Funds: 1,115,120 UN." Interest added 53,339 UN, bot profits trickling. They crashed together, the grid humming next door—XiTech growing, their lives tangling, Neo-Shanghai watching.