Shadows on the Grid

The morning haze hung thick over Neo-Shanghai, a gray shroud softening the city's jagged edges as the sun struggled to break through. Jun Xi stood by the penthouse's towering windows, a mug of dark roast coffee steaming in his hand, the bitter scent curling into the cool air. 1,115,120 Union Coins. That's where he'd landed, the system's 5% interest ticking up 53,339 UN overnight while he'd slept off last night's dinner with Lina—steak, wine, her laugh echoing in the quiet. Nine days ago, he'd been a slum ghost with 1,500 UN; now, he was a 21-year-old founder, XiTech's 50-server grid humming next door, a life he'd carved from nothing. His dark eyes traced the city's sprawl—slums bleeding into Midtown's gleam, towers stabbing the sky—and a restless edge flickered in his chest. This wasn't just about money or tech; it was about claiming a piece of this beast, and something out there was watching.

He sipped, the burn grounding him, and set the mug on the steel counter. 1.115 million UN at 5% was 55,756 UN daily—cash flowing steady, a river he'd dam into something massive. MarketPulse launched today—10,000 UN a pop, thousands pre-registered overnight via a holo-net campaign he'd dropped 20,000 UN on—but XiTech was more than an app. It was AI, ambition, a name he'd etch into Neo-Shanghai's bones. The grid was live, Lina's wiring making it sing, but he needed more—people, space, a pulse beyond the penthouse. He checked his phone: Lina's text from 6 AM, "Grid's stable—heading to CyberCore for spares. Penthouse, noon—let's push." He typed back, "Noon's good—bring your grit. We're growing."

"System," he said, voice low, the hum of the servers bleeding through the wall, "lay it out."

"Major Mission: Build a business empire worth 10 billion UN or above. Funds: 1,115,120 UN. Progress: 0.0112%. No minor missions active. Next mission pending empire milestone."

"Roots first," he muttered, pocketing the phone. He wasn't a trader anymore—he was a builder, his mind a storm of AI Optimization Knowledge, seeing systems, networks, futures. But Neo-Shanghai wasn't a clean slate; it was a jungle—corporates, gangs, shadows—and he felt it, a itch he couldn't name. He showered, the hot water pounding out last night's haze—Lina's hands, her voice, the way she'd looked at him like he was hers—and dressed sharp: black blazer, gray shirt, boots that clicked with weight.

At 10 AM, he hit Midtown's streets, the city alive with chaos: vendors hawked dumplings from rusting carts, drones buzzed with packages, a kid in a patched coat darted through traffic, laughing wild. He aimed for SkyNet Realty, a glass-front office wedged between a noodle joint and a holo-arcade, to snag an office for XiTech—something real, not just a penthouse side gig. Inside, the air was cool, sharp with ozone, and a woman behind the desk glanced up—mid-30s, short black hair, a scar tracing her jaw, her voice gravelly as she chewed gum. "Name's Rhea. Looking to buy or lease?"

"Jun Xi," he said, leaning on the counter, tone steady. "Lease—small office, Midtown, tech-ready. XiTech's moving fast—need space now."

She popped her gum, eyeing him—his blazer, his boots—like she was peeling back layers. "XiTech, huh? Heard whispers—some slum kid's app blowing up. Got a spot—15th floor, Orion Tower, 50,000 UN a month, servers pre-wired. You good for it?"

He smirked, wiring 50,000 UN from his phone—funds dipping to 1,065,120. "Good. Keys today—I'm not waiting." Rhea raised an eyebrow, tossing him a smart key, her voice dry. "Fast mover. Watch your back, kid—Midtown eats dreamers. My brother tried tech—NexCorp crushed him. Left me this scar when I pushed back." She tapped her jaw, eyes hard.

Jun Xi paused, pocketing the key. "NexCorp? Who're they?" Her laugh was bitter, short. "Biggest AI firm in the city—swallow startups like yours for breakfast. Keep your head down til you're too big to squash." He nodded, filing it away—conflict brewing, a shadow on the grid—and left, her warning ringing.

At noon, Lina banged into the penthouse, arms full of cables and a grin that cut through the quiet. "Grid's purring—MarketPulse's live, 500 sales already," she said, dumping her haul on the couch, her jumpsuit smudged, hair wild. "5 mil in the bank if it holds. What's with you—looking sharp but twitchy?"

He handed her a coffee, his voice low, real. "1.065 mil now—office leased, Orion Tower, 15th floor. XiTech's got roots. But there's heat—met a realtor, Rhea. Warned me about NexCorp—AI giants, crush newbies. You know 'em?"

Lina's grin faded, her mug pausing mid-sip, eyes narrowing. "NexCorp? Yeah—bastards. Ran a shop in the docks—fixed their drones til they blacklisted me for asking questions. Big, shadowy—own half the city's tech. We're small fry, but they'll notice." She set the mug down, stepping closer, her voice tight. "You scared?"

"Nah," he said, smirking, but his eyes were hard. "Pissed. They don't know me yet—slum kid's got teeth. We push harder—grid, apps, people. Hired Kai yesterday—need more like him." She nodded, her hand brushing his arm, steadying. "Good. I'm in—let's bite back."

The door buzzed, breaking the tension—Kai, wiry and loud, barged in, a crate of tools on his shoulder. "Yo, slum king—Lina said work. What's this XiTech shit? Smells like money." His buzzed hair gleamed with sweat, tattoos flexing as he dropped the crate, voice rough but alive.

Jun Xi grinned, tossing him a water. "AI—apps, systems, empire. MarketPulse's live—10,000 UN each, millions coming. Grid's 50 servers—office at Orion Tower now. You're in—10,000 UN a month, rig the tech." Kai chugged, wiping his mouth, eyes wide. "10k? Shit, I'm sold—docks pay crap. Sister's gonna flip—comp sci geek, idolizes AI nuts like you. What's the catch?"

"NexCorp," Lina cut in, voice sharp, leaning on a rack. "Big dogs—might sniff us out. You afraid, dock boy?" Kai laughed, raw and loud. "Afraid? Nah—hate those suits. Crushed my old crew—stole our drone designs. I'm in—let's mess 'em up."

They worked—Lina and Kai wiring the grid tighter, Jun Xi pushing PulsePro's prototype—real-time analytics, sleek as hell. By 6 PM, MarketPulse hit 1,000 sales—10 million UN banked, funds climbing to 11,065,120. Kai whistled, sprawled on the couch. "10 mil? You're a freak, Jun Xi—slum to this? My sister'd faint." Lina smirked, wiping grease, her voice warm. "Tell her to join—need hands. We're growing."

Night fell, and Jun Xi took them out—Neon Bite, real food, 2,000 UN on ribs and beer. Kai talked loud—docks, fights, a sister named Jia dreaming of code—while Lina leaned on Jun Xi, her laugh soft, real. "You're building fast," she said later, outside, city lights flickering, her hand in his. "Scared yet?"

He squeezed back, voice rough. "No—just alive. You?" She grinned, tired, fierce. "Same. Let's keep it burning." Midnight chimed: "Funds: 11,618,376 UN." Interest added 553,256 UN. Shadows loomed—NexCorp, a mystery—but the grid was alive, and Jun Xi's world was growing.