With 300 Devil Gold secured between them, the night air outside the Gemspire Ring felt electric—charged with possibility and the scent of molten metal and ozone drifting from the city's veins.
Optik leaned in, his grin sly but polished. "How about we split fifty-fifty for now? Fifty gold for each of us?"
Dirga didn't answer immediately.
His gaze sharpened—piercing through the neon haze and Optik's salesman gloss like a blade pressing against soft skin.
Optik chuckled nervously. "Well, well, Mr. Dirga… tomorrow's a big night, right? A big fight.
With the rank 100. Taking a little advance—just a hundred out of three hundred—won't make a dent."
Dirga's fists tightened slightly at his sides. The money wasn't just numbers. It was a lifeline. A bridge to Sasa. A door to Naya.
He exhaled slowly, gravity humming faintly around his chest. His voice was flat.
"…Fine."