The evening haze settled over Neo-Shanghai, a neon-drenched glow cutting through the smog as Jun Xi stood on Orion Tower's 15th floor, his sleek black coat swapped for a hybrid look—tactical jacket over his faded black hoodie, slum roots meeting city ambition. The city sprawled below—slums a rusting sprawl south, their alleys still chanting his name, Midtown's neon a jagged hum now alive with whispers of his rise, the Northern Towers a cold glint of steel and secrets, their shadow growing heavier. 310,615,717 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 15,530,785 UN since noon, a steady thrum in his skull that synced with the grid's roar—100 servers glowed, their quantum hub a deep blue pulse against the concrete, the steel-patched window a scar from NexCorp's drone. Twenty-one days ago, he'd been ash—1,500 UN, a burned-out shack, parents' screams his only echo. Now, XiTech's fire had sparked in Midtown, the slums stood as his blade, and Sofia Valtieri's ops team—20 agents, eight drones—was set to strike tomorrow. War was evolving, and the city's pulse was his to claim. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—a slum kid's edge honed to a blade, ready to ignite Midtown.
Lina leaned on a server rack, her jumpsuit smudged with grease, a holo-pad in hand—her voice cut through the hum, sharp and steady, but laced with a warmth that anchored him. "Grid's scaling—100 servers, X9s tight, hub's gold. MarketPulse's at 25,500—255 mil UN banked since yesterday. You're at 326 mil now, Jun Xi—Midtown's buzzing." 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 after the city stirred, her warmth a tether through his ghosts. She was his heart, his gear queen, and her steady hand on the grid was why XiTech roared. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's plan glowed: Northern Towers, ops team, 20 agents, eight drones, tomorrow noon. "326 mil's a city spark," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip, her grin wild. "Sofia's pissed—Northern Towers are moving. Tomorrow noon—big strike. Let's burn 'em."
Kai hauled a crate of server spares, wiry frame flexing, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was rough, but his eyes burned with loyalty. "326 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. 331 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—331,146,502 UN—interest and sales a relentless surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my game—331 mil's a spark. Jia, website's buzzing—push the feed, Midtown live. Lina, grid's scaling—push harder. Tara, Sofia's team—names, moves. Kai—Midtown hub, secure it."
Jia's fingers flew—her holo-pad glowed, XiTech.com's feed streaming live: "Slum King Jun Xi—331 mil UN, 21 days. MarketPulse: Your Edge, Our Code. Midtown's Lit!" Slum posts still roared—"Jun Xi's our king—331 mil!"—but Midtown chatter surged: "Slum kid's at 331 mil—XiTech's real!""Midtown hub's next—NexCorp's shaking!" Funds hit 333 mil UN—MarketPulse soared to 26,000 users, 260 mil UN banked. The system chimed: "Funds: 333,677,287 UN. Interest: 16,683,864 UN daily. Mission: Expand to Midtown—Reward: 20 mil UN, Market Expansion Knowledge. Progress: 20%."
Lina's holo-pad pinged with city chatter—her laugh was raw, fierce. "Midtown's on fire—'Slum king's in.' Slum's still chanting, but the city's sparking, Jun Xi. 333 mil—21 days." She stepped close, grease-slick hand brushing his—her warmth sank in, steadying him. "You—last night, roof again. Ghosts quieter?" His gut flickered—ash lingered, the fire that took his parents, his bot's fault, his freedom's cost. He'd bared it all to her, and her touch burned it away. He grinned, flirty edge soft, his hand cupping her cheek—grease and warmth, real. "Quieter's you—my pulse. 333 mil's loud—city's ours." She smirked, fierce, her lips brushing his—raw, alive. "Pulse, huh? I'll keep you sparking."
Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's team sharpened: Midtown to slums, 20 agents, eight drones, tomorrow noon. "City's sparking—Sofia's not. 333 mil's a slap—Northern Towers are moving. Tomorrow noon, hard strike." Kai grunted, dropping the crate—spares clattered. "333 mil—nuts. Midtown's big—NexCorp's bigger—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia piped up, glasses fogged. "26,500 users—265 mil banked. 335 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 335,361,151 UN—MarketPulse soared, city chatter swelled.
Jun Xi slipped out, jacket tight, drizzle cold on his neck—Midtown streets buzzed, neon signs flickering, holo-ads blaring: "CyberCore—Upgrade Now!" Vendors shouted over sizzling woks, their voices sharp—soy grease and circuits thick in the air. He hit the Midtown hub from yesterday, a sleek tower of glass and steel, its lobby humming with techies in holo-suits, their eyes now wide at his slum-worn boots and city-sharp jacket. A holo-post glowed: "Slum king Jun Xi—335 mil UN—XiTech's taking Midtown!" A techie in a neon jacket approached, his voice low, eager. "Slum king—335 mil? I'm in—MarketPulse's gold. NexCorp's shaking—Midtown's yours." Jun Xi grinned, flirty charm flaring—100x learning spun: Midtown networks, techie loyalty, NexCorp's grip. "Mine's right—slum king's here. Spread it—XiTech's the spark."
Kai met him outside, his tattoos gleaming under neon—his voice was a dock-bred growl. "Hub's secure—techies are in. Midtown's buzzing—NexCorp's spies are close, though." Jun Xi nodded, Street Network Knowledge humming—Midtown alleys, techie haunts, NexCorp's spies. "Spies'll learn—slum king doesn't bow." They slipped into a side street, where a Midtown techie crew waited—holo-pads glowing, their leader a wiry woman with a cybernetic eye. "Slum king—335 mil's real. We're in—MarketPulse's ours. NexCorp's pissed—watch it." Jun Xi smirked, flirty edge sharp. "Pissed is my style—XiTech's your spark. Let's burn."
Back at Orion, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 338 mil UN with MarketPulse's surge—27,000 users, 270 mil UN banked. Lina met him at the door, grease-slick hands on his jacket—her voice was low, fierce. "338 mil—Midtown's sparking, Jun Xi. Techies posted—'Slum king's real.' Slum's still yours—Vipers ready." She pulled him close, her warmth burning, steady—her lips brushed his, raw, alive. "Pulse's beating—city's yours." He grinned, hand in her hair—wet, warm. "City's ours—338 mil's a spark. NexCorp's bleeding."
Tara banged in, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's team prepped: Midtown to slums, 20 agents, eight drones, tomorrow noon. "Midtown's spark—Sofia's pissed. 338 mil's a war drum—Northern Towers are striking. Tomorrow noon, hard." Kai followed, wiping sweat—his grunt was sharp. "338 mil—nuts. Midtown's in—NexCorp's big—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia trailed, holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked. "27,500 users—275 mil banked. 340 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 340,041,936 UN—interest rolled, city spark swelled.
Jun Xi stood by the window, drizzle reflecting neon—Midtown roared, slums chanted below. The system chimed: "Funds: 340,041,936 UN. Interest: 17,002,096 UN daily. Mission Progress: 30%—Expand to Midtown." His smirk sharpened—340 mil UN, 21 days—slum king wasn't a whisper; it was a spark igniting Neo-Shanghai. Lina leaned on him, Tara grinned wild, Kai and Jia buzzed—crew tight, a spark alive. Vipers armed, Sofia's team loomed, but the city's spark turned fierce—XiTech's fire burned, and the City Roots arc blazed on.