Whispers of Envy
The midday sun barely pierced Neo-Shanghai's smog, a faint yellow haze filtering through the drizzle as Jun Xi stood on Orion Tower's 15th floor, his gray jacket swapped back for the faded black hoodie—Midtown's shine didn't fit today. The city sprawled below—slums a rusting sprawl south, Midtown's neon a restless throb, the Northern Towers a cold shimmer of steel and secrets. 100,719,015 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 5,035,950 UN since dawn, a steady hum in his skull that matched the grid's roar—100 servers glowed, their quantum hub a deep blue pulse against the concrete. Thirteen days ago, he'd been nothing—1,500 UN, a burned-out shack, parents' screams his only echo. Now, XiTech's website had lit the slums ablaze, Sofia Valtieri's Midtown meeting a blade at his throat, and his crew a fire he'd kill to keep burning. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—but beneath, a slum kid's edge sharpened, ready for the storm.
Lina leaned on a crate, her jumpsuit smudged with grease, a holo-pad in hand—her voice cut through the hum, sharp and steady. "Grid's tight—100 servers, X9s locked, hub's gold. MarketPulse's at 7,500—75 mil UN banked since yesterday. You're at 105 mil now, Jun Xi—slum's screaming." Her dark hair hung loose, sweat streaking her neck, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her pulse, her fire, the way she'd kissed him raw yesterday, her warmth drowning his ghosts. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's moves glowed: Midtown hub, ops team, AI core briefing done. "105 mil's a war cry," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip. "Sofia's pissed—meeting's over, she's planning. Northern Towers are moving—watch it."
Kai hauled a crate of server spares, wiry frame flexing, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was rough. "105 mil? Slum king's insane—Jia's tweak's a beast." Jia sat cross-legged, lanky and 19, her comp sci holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked, eager. "Predictive's humming—5% bump, 5 mil more. 110 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—110,754,965 UN—interest and sales a relentless surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my game—110 mil's a roar. Jia, website's buzzing—push the feed. Lina, grid's yours—keep it tight. Tara, Sofia's plan—dig deeper. Kai—gear up."
Jia's fingers flew—her holo-pad glowed, XiTech.com's feed streaming live: "Slum King Jun Xi—110 mil UN, 13 days. MarketPulse: Your Edge, Our Code." Slum posts flooded in—"Jun Xi's one of us—110 mil!" "XiTech's real—my brother's on MarketPulse!"—but darker whispers crept: "Slum kid's too big—trouble." "Jade Vipers don't like this—watch out." Funds hit 112 mil UN—MarketPulse soared to 8,000 users, 80 mil UN banked. The system chimed: "Funds: 112,790,915 UN. Interest: 5,639,545 UN daily. Mission: Reach 100 mil UN—Complete. Reward: 10 mil UN, Data Analysis Skill granted."
Jun Xi's mind lit up—Data Analysis Skill flooded in: market trends, user patterns, NexCorp's weak spots. Funds jumped—122,790,915 UN—mission reward banked. Lina's laugh rang out, raw and bright—her holo-pad pinged with slum chatter. "They're split—half worship you, half hate you. 122 mil—13 days, Jun Xi. You're their king, but envy's loud." She stepped close, grease-slick hand brushing his—her warmth sank in, steadying him. "Slum's a beast—Jade Vipers posted. They're watching." His gut flickered—envy was a spark, and sparks burned. He grinned, flirty edge sharp. "Let 'em watch—122 mil's louder. Vipers'll learn—slum king doesn't bow."
Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's moves sharpened: Northern Towers, ops team dispatched, target: XiTech. "Envy's cute—Sofia's not. 122 mil's a slap—she's sending a team. Tomorrow, maybe." Kai grunted, dropping the crate—spares clattered. "Team? 122 mil's nuts—Jade Vipers and NexCorp? We're screwed—Jia's freaking." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "Not freaking—just… 125 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 125,430,460 UN—MarketPulse soared, slum whispers turned sharp: "Jun Xi's too big—Vipers'll cut him." "Slum king's a target—NexCorp's coming!"
Jun Xi slipped out, hoodie up, drizzle cold on his neck—slum streets buzzed, wet concrete stinging his boots, soy grease and rust thick in the air. Kids darted past, holo-balls flickering—vendors shouted over sizzling woks: "Slum king's 125 mil—nuts!" He ducked into an alley off Third Lane, where Lucky Coin's bell jangled—shelves sagged, counter scratched, a new clerk he'd hired gawking at XiTech.com. But the alley hummed darker—three Jade Vipers lounged, ink gleaming on their necks, knives glinting in the haze. Their leader, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek, sneered—his voice was a low growl. "Slum king, huh? 125 mil's loud—too loud. Vipers don't like noise."
Jun Xi leaned on the wall, hoodie dripping, his smirk calm but flirty—calculative edge sharp. "Noise is power—125 mil says I'm the storm. Vipers bite, I bite harder." The leader laughed, cold and sharp—his knife flicked, a warning. "Storm's trouble—NexCorp's sniffing, we're watching. Slum king's a target—step light." Jun Xi's grin didn't waver—100x learning spun: gang moves, slum politics, NexCorp's strings. "Light's not my style—Vipers'll learn. Spread it—slum king's here."
Back at Orion, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 128 mil UN with MarketPulse's surge—8,500 users, 85 mil UN banked. Lina met him at the door, rain streaking her face—her voice was low, fierce. "128 mil—slum's split, Jun Xi. Vipers posted—'Slum king's too big.' Techies love you, gangs hate you—envy's a blade." She pulled him close, grease-slick hands on his hoodie—her warmth burned, steady. "Pulse's beating—slum's yours, but watch it." He grinned, hand in her hair—wet, warm. "Slum's ours—128 mil's a roar. Vipers'll bend, NexCorp'll bleed."
Tara banged in, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's team moved: Midtown to slums, recon, tomorrow. "Vipers are small—Sofia's big. 128 mil's a war drum—ops team's scouting. Noon tomorrow, they'll hit." Kai followed, wiping sweat—his grunt was sharp. "128 mil—nuts. Slum's buzzing, but NexCorp's bigger—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia trailed, holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked. "9,000 users—90 mil banked. 130 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 130,070,005 UN—interest rolled, slum envy swelled.
Jun Xi stood by the window, drizzle reflecting neon—Midtown pulsed, slums whispered below. The system chimed: "Funds: 130,070,005 UN. Interest: 6,503,500 UN daily. New Mission: Secure Slum Influence—Reward: 15 mil UN, Street Network Knowledge." His smirk sharpened—130 mil UN, 13 days—slum king wasn't a whisper; it was a storm shaking Neo-Shanghai. Lina leaned on him, Tara grinned wild, Kai and Jia buzzed—crew tight, a spark alive. Vipers loomed, Sofia's team closed in, but the slum's echo turned sharp—XiTech's fire burned, and he'd burn through anything.