The dawn broke heavy over Neo-Shanghai, a dull orange haze seeping through the smog as Jun Xi stood on Orion Tower's 15th floor, his faded black hoodie swapped for a tactical jacket—slum-worn but sharp, ready for war. The city sprawled below—slums a rusting sprawl south, Midtown's neon a jagged hum, the Northern Towers a cold glint of steel and secrets. 150,870,399 Union Coins. The Money Makes Money System ticked up 7,543,519 UN overnight, 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, glass shards from yesterday's drone crash swept into a corner. Fifteen days ago, he'd been ash—1,500 UN, a burned-out shack, parents' screams his only echo. Now, XiTech's fire had the slums roaring, Jade Vipers picked his side, and Sofia Valtieri's ops team was set to strike at noon—war was here. His dark eyes glinted, calculative, calm—a slum kid's edge honed to a blade.
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. "Grid's locked—100 servers, X9s tight, hub's gold. MarketPulse's at 11,500—115 mil UN banked since yesterday. You're at 158 mil now, Jun Xi—slum's ready." Her dark hair hung loose, sweat streaking her neck, and Jun Xi felt that pull—her pulse, her fire, the way she'd steadied him through ghosts and warnings. Tara sprawled nearby, boots kicked up, her holo-pad flickering—Sofia's team glowed: Slums, Third Lane, ops strike, noon today. "158 mil's a war cry," Tara rasped, silver stud glinting as she chewed a mint strip. "Sofia's team's moving—recon's done, strike's noon. Northern Towers want blood—brace."
Kai hauled a crate of server spares, wiry frame flexing, his buzzed hair damp—his grunt was rough. "158 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. 163 mil now—nuts!" Funds ticked up—163,413,918 UN—interest and sales a relentless surge. Jun Xi smirked, flirty mask slipping on. "Nuts is my game—163 mil's a roar. Jia, website's buzzing—push the feed. Lina, grid's yours—lock it down. Tara, Sofia's team—names, moves. Kai—gear up, now."
Jia's fingers flew—her holo-pad glowed, XiTech.com's feed streaming live: "Slum King Jun Xi—163 mil UN, 15 days. MarketPulse: Your Edge, Our Code." Slum posts flooded in—"Jun Xi's our king—163 mil!""NexCorp hit him—we fight back!"—defiance surged: "Slum king's ours—Vipers stand!""NexCorp's done—XiTech's real!" Funds hit 165 mil UN—MarketPulse soared to 12,000 users, 120 mil UN banked. The system chimed: "Funds: 165,957,437 UN. Interest: 8,297,871 UN daily. Mission: Secure Slum Influence—Reward: 15 mil UN, Street Network Knowledge. Progress: 30%."
Lina's holo-pad pinged with slum chatter—her laugh was raw, fierce. "They're rallying—Vipers posted, 'Slum king's side—NexCorp burns.' Techies are arming—slum's yours, Jun Xi. 165 mil—15 days." She stepped close, grease-slick hand brushing his—her warmth sank in, steadying him. "Sofia's strike—noon's close. We're ready." His gut flickered—defiance was a spark, NexCorp a storm. He grinned, flirty edge sharp. "Ready's us—165 mil's louder. Slum's mine, NexCorp'll bleed."
Tara's pad beeped—Sofia's team moved: Third Lane, ops strike, noon, five agents, drones. "Noon's now—five agents, two drones. Sofia's orders—Northern Towers want you down." Before Jun Xi could reply, a sharp whine cut the air—two holo-drones, black and sleek, NexCorp's logo glinting, buzzed Third Lane below. Jun Xi bolted to the window—slums hummed, kids scattered, vendors ducked—drones fired, plasma bolts scorching a wall near Lucky Coin. Five agents in black tactical gear fanned out, holo-rifles gleaming—slum techies shouted, "XiTech's king—fight!"—and Vipers emerged, knives flashing, ink gleaming on their necks.
Jun Xi grabbed a holo-pad, syncing to the grid—Network Security Knowledge spun: drone hacks, signal jams. "Tara—jam 'em. Lina—grid's shield, now. Kai—Third Lane, go!" Tara's fingers flew, holo-pad glowing—drones stuttered, crashing into a stall, soy grease splattering. Lina slammed a panel—grid's shield hummed, a blue pulse flaring. Kai bolted, crate dropped—his voice echoed, "On it!" Jia yelped, holo-pad pulsing—MarketPulse hit 12,500 users, 125 mil UN banked. "168 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 168,500,956 UN—slum defiance roared.
Jun Xi hit the street, jacket tight, drizzle cold on his neck—Third Lane buzzed, wet concrete stinging his boots, plasma smoke thick in the air. Vipers clashed—knives met holo-rifles, a techie swung a pipe, an agent dropped—slum kids cheered, "Slum king!" The scarred Viper leader grinned, blood on his cheek—his growl was fierce. "NexCorp's done—slum's yours, king!" Jun Xi smirked, flirty edge sharp—100x learning spun: agent moves, slum layout, NexCorp's weak spots. "Slum's ours—NexCorp bleeds!" He grabbed a fallen holo-rifle, Data Analysis Skill mapping shots—two agents down, three fled, drones smoked.
Back at Orion, the grid roared—100 servers glowed, hub a deep thrum, funds hitting 170 mil UN with MarketPulse's surge—13,000 users, 130 mil UN banked. Lina met him at the door, grease-slick hands on his jacket—her voice was low, fierce. "170 mil—slum fought, Jun Xi. Vipers bled, techies armed—NexCorp ran. You're their king." She pulled him close, her warmth burning, steady—her lips brushed his, raw, alive. "Pulse's beating—slum's yours." He grinned, hand in her hair—wet, warm. "Slum's ours—170 mil's a roar. NexCorp's bleeding."
Tara banged in, holo-pad glowing—Sofia's team retreated: Midtown, ops failed, Sofia's orders: escalate. "Slum's defiance—Sofia's pissed. 170 mil's a war drum—Northern Towers are planning. Tomorrow, bigger." Kai followed, blood on his knuckles—his grunt was sharp. "170 mil—nuts. Slum fought—Vipers bled for you—Jia's tweak's gold, though." Jia trailed, holo-pad pulsing—her voice cracked. "13,500 users—135 mil banked. 172 mil now—nuts!" Funds hit 172,044,475 UN—interest rolled, slum defiance swelled.
Jun Xi stood by the window, drizzle misting his face—Midtown pulsed, slums roared below. The system chimed: "Funds: 172,044,475 UN. Interest: 8,602,223 UN daily. Mission Progress: 50%—Secure Slum Influence." His smirk sharpened—172 mil UN, 15 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 bled, Sofia's team fled, but the slum's roar turned fierce—XiTech's fire burned, and he'd burn through anything.