Novels by PINO-INK

The city’s pulse was muted tonight. Rain slicked streets reflected neon streaks, but he didn’t notice them. His attention was on the screen in front of him: a live stock ticker, flashing irregularly, rhythm disrupted.A subtle anomaly, almost invisible to anyone not paying absolute attention. Not random, he thought. Calculated.His fingers hovered over the keyboard. A soft ping alerted him to an incoming call. Caller ID: “Market Liaison.”“Evening,” a smooth, practiced voice said. “You’ve noticed the fluctuations?”“Notice? I predicted them,” he replied evenly, letting the words hang.A pause. “I see. You’re… confident.”“Confidence isn’t the word. Awareness is.”There was a soft laugh. “Interesting. Most people think awareness is reaction. You… anticipate.”“Exactly,” he said. “Which is why I called. Or rather, why you called.”He knew the intermediaries, the whispers behind the real investors. The board thought they were untouchable, hidden behind layers of proxies and shell corpora

The city lights stretched like veins below him as he adjusted the webcam on his laptop, the glow reflecting off his sharp, calculated eyes.His apartment felt colder tonight, sterile, but he preferred it that way. No distractions. No witnesses. No emotion.He opened the secure virtual conference link he’d acquired months ago, back when ambition and careful observation had been the only allies he trusted.The boardroom appeared on his screen, sleek, leather chairs filled with familiar faces he once called enemies. Some unaware of how easily he could pierce their control. Some already suspecting.He typed quickly, a few keystrokes here, a minor script there, then leaned back. The video feed remained unaltered, the audio channel clean. He wasn’t just watching, he was inside.“You’re muted,” a voice complained on the feed.He smiled faintly, pressing a key that let a single line of text appear in the private chat channel. Only the CFO received it. Check subledger 7B. Transaction 34. Overs

He didn’t sleep. Not because he couldn’t, but because sleep belonged to the man he used to be.The apartment was silent except for the hum of electricity and the soft ticking of a wall clock he hadn’t noticed before.He sat at the table, the file still open on his laptop, blue light carving sharp angles into his face. A test. A candidate. A contingency.They hadn’t just removed him. They had selected him. He closed the file. Slowly. Deliberately.Emotion rose, hot, instinctive, but he pressed it down before it could bloom. Rage was inefficient. Grief was a liability. Even satisfaction had a cost. “Rule one already failed,” he said quietly. “I cared.”The whisper stirred, faint approval brushing the edges of his thoughts. You learned.“Yes,” he replied. “I did.”He stood and moved to the whiteboard he’d bought that morning. It still smelled faintly of plastic and solvent. He erased the names he’d written earlier, hers, Evan’s, the board members.Personal targets. Too small. He wrote th

“They want to meet.”The voice on the phone was careful, practiced. A man used to saying dangerous things without sounding like it. “Who?” he asked.A pause. Just long enough to matter. “People who have an interest in how this ends.”He smiled faintly. “That’s vague.”“It’s intentional,” the man replied. “Tonight. Private room. No records.”He didn’t hesitate. “Send the address.”The call ended. He didn’t ask how they’d gotten his number. He already knew. The restaurant sat above the city, glass walls curving outward like the edge of a blade. No signage. No reservation list.The kind of place where money didn’t announce itself, it assumed obedience. He arrived alone. Inside, three men and one woman waited.All dressed impeccably. Silk suits. Subtle watches. Calm faces that had never learned panic. She wasn’t there. That told him everything. “Mr. Hale,” the woman said, standing. “Thank you for coming.”“I’m curious,” he replied. “That’s different.”One of the men gestured to a chair. “

The whisper came before the sound did. Move. The word slid through his head like a blade through silk. He stopped walking.A second later, a delivery truck roared past the corner he’d been about to cross, horn blaring, brakes screaming. Wind slapped his coat as the truck missed him by inches.People shouted. Someone cursed. Time snapped back into place. He stood there, heart pounding, not from fear, but from recognition. “That wasn’t instinct,” he murmured.His phone buzzed. A news alert flashed across the screen.COURT ACCEPTS EXPEDITED HEARING — DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS ADVANCEGood. He stepped back onto the sidewalk, moving slower now, senses stretched thin. The city felt… wrong.Sounds lagged, like audio out of sync with video. Footsteps echoed a half-second too late. Conversations blurred into a low, underwater murmur until individual words surfaced, sharp and isolated.“…lawsuit”“…camera footage”“…he’s unstable”Faces did it too. People’s features smeared when he looked at them dir

“You’re asking for assets you don’t legally control.”The attorney’s tone was careful. Too careful. Across the table, she sat perfectly straight, hands folded, face composed in a serene enough expression to fool strangers.The glass walls of the conference room reflected her confidence in her like a crown. He leaned back in his chair. “No,” he said. “I’m asking for assets I built.”She laughed softly. “You cooked dinners.”“I structured cash flow,” he replied. “I negotiated early vendor contracts. I rewrote the first investor deck when your English wasn’t good enough to sell ambition.”Her smile twitched. “That was informal support,” her attorney cut in. “There’s no documentation.”“There is,” he said calmly.He slid a folder across the table. Not thick. Precise. Emails. Drafts. Timestamped revisions. Wireframes. A signed NDA she’d forgotten she'd made him sign, one that listed him as a Strategic Consultant.Her attorney flipped pages, frowning deeper with each turn. “You never told m

The prison never slept. Even in the dead hours before dawn, whispers echoed through the corridors, punctuated by faint metallic clinks and distant shouts.Bruce moved through the shadows of Blackstone Prison, every step measured, every sense alert.Tian followed silently, cane tapping against cracked concrete. “You’ve made your presence undeniable,” he said. “Now the factions are on edge. They’ll act soon.”Bruce’s gaze swept the corridor. The Iron Chain, the lean Yard C fighter, even Nyx, they had rallied quietly behind him, but the prison’s hierarchy was fragile. Any misstep could trigger chaos.He paused. The system pulsed violently.Bonded Life Threat — CriticalDistance: 11 milesLuna. He clenched his fists. They’re moving on her. Now.Miles away, Luna ran through a narrow alley, heart pounding. Two SUVs flanked her path, engines silent, doors sliding open like predators circling their prey.She darted behind a dumpster, trying to think, but instinct screamed that it was useless,

The echo of collapsing stone still reverberated in Yard C. Bruce’s fists were raw, muscles taut, yet his mind raced faster than any strike he’d thrown.The aftermath of his Forbidden Authority activation had left the arena in ruin, and the entire prison whispering his name.Tian followed silently, cane tapping on cracked concrete. “You’ve made your presence undeniable,” he said. “Now everyone knows you’re not just strong… you’re dangerous.”Bruce’s eyes scanned the wreckage. Blood, dust, and shattered stone littered the ground. “Dangerous enough to save her?” His voice was low, almost a growl.Tian hesitated. “They’re watching Luna. They’ve already begun.”Bruce clenched his fists, aura simmering. The Heavenbreak Legacy pulsed in response to the distant threat. His bond with her flared like a beacon across miles, sending a signal both of warning and fury.Bonded Life Threat — ActiveDistance: 11 milesBruce exhaled sharply. “Then we don’t wait.”The prison corridors were alive with wh

The echoes of Yard C’s destruction had barely faded when a low hum vibrated through the walls of Blackstone Prison. Bruce felt it before he saw it, a ripple in the very air, a subtle warning: they were coming.Tian’s footsteps were soft behind him, yet deliberate. “You’ve drawn attention,” he said. “More than you realize.”Bruce didn’t respond. His eyes scanned the corridor ahead. Every inmate, every guard, every shadow was a potential threat.Every glance felt loaded with hostility. Good, he thought. It makes predicting the next move easier.Suddenly, a scream split the air, sharper than any he had heard before. Bruce spun. A trio of men, all marked with the insignia of the Iron Chain, had cornered a recruit.The youngest screamed for mercy, but it was futile. Bruce stepped forward. “Enough.”The tallest of the three, a man with a jagged scar across his temple, turned. “Red Status Kane,” he said, his tone dripping with curiosity and malice. “Seems the rumors weren’t exaggerating.”“I

Bruce stood in the center of Yard C, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles. Around him, shattered concrete and groaning inmates marked the aftermath of his last clash.But the system’s warnings didn’t fade. External threat remains—bond is under surveillance.Bruce’s gaze shot skyward. Somewhere beyond the prison walls, someone was watching. Someone had taken an interest in Luna. He gritted his teeth. “So that’s how it’s going to be.”Tian’s voice came quietly behind him. “You can’t act outside yet. The prison’s rules still apply.”Bruce didn’t flinch. “Then I’ll bend the rules.”A whistle pierced the air. Warden Graves stepped onto the arena ledge, silver insignia glinting under the harsh lights. “You think you can defy me?” he asked. “You think a single inmate can change the hierarchy?”Bruce smirked. “I’m not a single inmate.”Graves’ eyes narrowed. “Oh? Enlighten me.”Bruce glanced at the surrounding runes, fractured from his last clash, and whispered, “You’ll see.”The a

The prison went quiet. Not the normal kind of quiet, no distant shouts, no clanging metal, no muttered curses. This silence was alert.Bruce felt it the moment he stepped back into the main cellblock. Heads turned. Conversations died mid-sentence.A man dropped his spoon. Another inmate slowly backed away as Bruce passed, eyes wide, palms open as if facing a wild animal. Bruce leaned closer to Tian. “Why is everyone staring?”Tian didn’t slow his pace. “Because your name just circulated.”Bruce frowned. “My name isn’t famous.”“It is now,” Tian said. “Red Status inmates don’t stay anonymous.”A voice echoed from above. “Inmate Bruce Kane.”Bruce looked up. The intercom crackled again. “Report to Yard C. Immediately.”Murmurs erupted. “Yard C?”“That’s not a yard, that’s a slaughter pit.”“Who pissed off the warden this badly?”Bruce exhaled slowly. “That sounds welcoming.”Tian stopped walking. Bruce turned. “You’re not coming?”Tian shook his head. “This one is yours.”Bruce studied

The sirens didn’t stop. They howled through the underground chamber like wounded beasts, each pulse rattling Bruce’s bones. “Follow me,” Tian said urgently.Bruce didn’t move. His fists were still clenched. His breathing is uneven—power, raw and unfinished, coiled inside him like a living thing.“You said this wasn’t your doing,” Bruce said. “Then tell me why I feel like I just crossed a line I can’t step back from.”Tian met his gaze. “Because you did.”The walls trembled. Cracks spread through the glowing symbols, light bleeding out like dying veins. Bruce glanced around. “That thing you said the prison suppressed… is it waking up?”Tian’s grip tightened on his cane. “It’s already awake.”A deep thud echoed from somewhere far below. Then another. Bruce swallowed. “That doesn’t sound human.”“It isn’t,” Tian replied. “And if you stay here, it will smell you.”Bruce scoffed weakly. “Smell me?”Tian didn’t answer. He turned and walked. Bruce followed. They moved through a narrow passag