2026-03-14 21:55:46"Ten thousand dollars for a dull bowl? You must be out of your mind, Mr. Sean Alexander."
Isabella Moretti stared at the tea bowl inside the wooden box with doubt as they sat in the cabin of the Rolls-Royce, gliding through the city streets. Sean, who was adjusting the watch on his wrist, only offered a calm smile. The man’s aura had transformed completely. Not a single trace remained of the hunched-over courier with the lingering scent of sweat. Sean’s transformation had begun the moment he stepped out of 'The Sovereign' boutique earlier that afternoon. He had spent eight thousand five hundred dollars on a three-piece suit custom-stitched with dark silk thread. He did not hesitate to drop another three thousand two hundred dollars on a pair of Oxford shoes made from Italian calfskin, a craft that took hundreds of hours to complete. Not stopping there, he had visited a renowned salon, wanting to showcase a new hairstyle. That treatment, of course, did not come cheap. Combined with the two thousand five hundred dollars per night for a suite at the St. Regal Hotel and a lavish wagyu dinner, Sean had burned through almost all of his cash. From the total of fourteen thousand dollars he received from Barney the pawnbroker, the remaining balance in his pocket was now only a few hundred dollars. Financially, he was back on the edge of a precipice, but in appearance, he was the master of the room. To some, this might have seemed like reckless waste. But for Sean, who had spent so long pinching pennies for a woman who ultimately betrayed him, this was a reward for himself. Even if he were to fail later, at least he could die in peace or rot in prison after tasting this luxury. "Trust my eyes, Isabella. In the wrong hands, it is just clay. In the hands of the right collector tonight, it is the key to your port contract," Sean replied. His voice was now deeper and filled with authority. Suddenly, Sean’s vision was interrupted by a painful flash of blue light in the corner of his eye. The system screen appeared with blood-red text flickering rapidly. [Critical Warning: Weekend Billing Cycle Detected.] [Deposit Target: $500,000.] [Remaining Cash Balance: $350.] [Time Remaining: 46 Hours.] [Failure Consequence: The system will release digital identity protection. Fake evidence files regarding 'Embezzlement' will be sent to the Police servers. You will be arrested as a fugitive.] Sean clenched his fist beneath the fabric of his expensive suit. This system was truly merciless. Not only was he trapped by a debt of $1,491,000, but he was also being held as a legal hostage for a crime he did not commit. He had to secure half a million dollars tonight in the middle of this party, or all the finery he wore now would turn into a prison uniform in short order. "Sean? Are you daydreaming?" Isabella asked, touching the smooth sleeve of his jacket. "Just thinking about how expensive the price of your victory tonight will be, Miss Moretti," Sean answered while regulating his breathing. Isabella chuckled softly. "You are the most confident man I have ever met, Mr. Alexander!" The car came to a halt right in front of the grand lobby of the Atlantis Hotel. As Sean stepped out and opened the door for Isabella, the flashes of paparazzi cameras struck them like a lightning storm. Sean walked with a straight back. The system’s cell regeneration treatment had erased every scar from his face, leaving his skin as smooth as porcelain yet undeniably masculine. He was truly unrecognizable with his new look and hairstyle. Sean stepped inside, letting his Appraisal Eye Level 2 work aggressively. Now, he didn't just see the price of the clothes on those around him. Rows of secret text floated above the heads of the VIP guests in attendance. [Target: Supreme Judge. Secret: Holds illegal gold deposits in an offshore bank.] [Target: Director of the National Bank. Secret: Currently covering up a $200 million investment loss.] Sean smiled coldly. Each of these secrets was a gold mine. Each secret was a way to get the $500,000 he needed to keep breathing. They stepped into the gold-plated Grand Ballroom. There, in the middle of the toasting crowd, Viktor Vane stood looking immensely proud in a white suit, positioned next to Sophia Miller, who looked stunning yet fake with her diamond necklace. "Mr. Vane, what a lavish party," Isabella’s voice interrupted Viktor’s conversation with his business associates. Viktor turned with a triumphant smile. "Ah, Isabella! I’m glad you came to witness my good fortune. And who is this gentleman beside you? I didn't know the Moretti Group had started hiring bodyguards for social events." Sophia turned as well, ready to cast the same disdainful look she usually reserved for Sean. However, the moment her eyes met Sean's, her body went rigid. The champagne glass in her hand tilted, nearly spilling. That face. The structure of that face was strikingly similar to Sean Alexander. But this man possessed an aura that was so dominant, so clean, and looked so powerful. His once thin body now appeared more solid and filled out beneath the expensive suit. "Allow me to introduce my business partner and personal antique consultant, Sean Alexander," Isabella said with a tone of pride. The name hit Viktor like a sledgehammer. "Sean... Alexander?" Viktor sharpened his gaze. Impossible. The man he had beaten last night should have been a frozen corpse in the trash of the back alley. The man in front of him had clear skin and an intimidating stare, a world away from the courier who had whimpered beneath his boots just hours ago. 'Ho—how is this possible? This must be wrong,' Viktor muttered, his face starting to tense up. Sean stepped forward, closing the distance until he could see the pores of Viktor’s face beginning to leak cold sweat. "Congratulations on your engagement, Mr. Vane. And to you as well, Miss Miller. That is a very beautiful necklace. Was it bought with the proceeds of extorting others?" Sean asked in a tone that was incredibly smooth yet poisonous. Sean leaned his body toward Viktor’s ear, whispering in a voice that only the man could hear. "It turns out the world is quite small, isn't it? Such a shame, that pile of trash last night wasn't warm enough to make me sleep forever." CRASH! The whiskey glass in Viktor’s hand slipped and shattered into pieces on the Carrara marble floor. The entire Ballroom suddenly fell into a deathly silence. Every eye turned toward Viktor, whose face was now deathly pale, while Sophia looked as if she might faint from sheer shock and terror. Sean simply stood there, smiling calmly, as if the sound of the shattering glass was the most beautiful music he had ever heard in his life. To be continued...
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Chapter 11
The District 4 police lobby, which moments ago had been buzzing with mocking laughter, had now transformed into a place of sickening worship. The four suitcases containing a sea of cash seemed to radiate a power that paralyzed the common sense of every officer present. Sergeant Miller, who had previously wanted to twist Seans collar, now stood trembling with a bowed back, looking like a terrified servant."Mr. Alexander... please forgive our misunderstanding," Miller whispered, his voice hoarse. He no longer dared to look Sean in the eye. "We were only following orders; we had no idea you possessed this kind of power."Commissioner Griffin stepped forward, roughly pushing his men aside. His face, which had been flushed red with anger, now turned pale, replaced by the widest fake smile he had ever displayed in his life. He touched the suitcase of money with his fingertips, as if touching a sacred relic."Calm yourself, Mr. Alexander," Griffin said in a voice as sweet as honey, a sharp
Chapter 10
The morning sunlight crept through the gaps in the thin curtains of the secret apartment unit in Sector 5. Sean Alexander did not stay at the hotel again. His body was exhausted from the sheer excitement of the previous night. He woke up with a long, deep breath. A smile spread across his face; as usual this time, he did not wake up to a blaring alarm or the fear of overdue bills. He woke up with a new, burning spirit, no longer the underestimated loser.He dreamed of his childhood, a beautiful and peaceful dream. However, when his eyes opened, the reality he faced was far more fantastic than any dream could ever be. Sean reached for his phone lying on the dull wooden table beside the bed.Click.[Main Account Balance: $6,300,000][System Status: Active - Awaiting Further Instructions]Sean chuckled softly. The view inside this room—the peeling walls and the creaking wooden floors—felt so out of place compared to the long string of zeros on his phone screen. He looked like a jobless b
Chapter 9
That night, Sean did not head to the hotel. He instructed his rental limousine driver to pull over in a derelict industrial area on the outskirts of Sector 5. Tucked behind a waste processing warehouse reeking of rusted metal stood a heavy steel door, guarded by men in black suits concealing submachine guns beneath their waistbands.A light drizzle fell, wrapping Sector 5 in a cold, thin mist. At a seemingly abandoned pier stood a container warehouse labeled 101. There were no signs of life outside, but behind its walls lay a freight elevator that descended three floors underground.The Vault. That was the name of the most exclusive illegal casino and auction house in the city. A place where money had no serial numbers and the law had no teeth.Sean Alexander stepped out of the elevator, his head obscured by a black hoodie. His cargo pants were slightly damp from the rain, and his scuffed boots stood in stark contrast to the gleaming white marble floors of the subterranean lobby."Sor
Chapter 8
The atmosphere inside the cabin of the Rolls-Royce carrying Sean back to the St. Regal Hotel was profoundly silent, yet filled with an unspoken tension. Isabella Moretti sat beside him, still motionless, gazing at the profile of Sean’s face illuminated by the rapidly passing streetlights. This man was no longer the courier she had met by the roadside yesterday. There was an aura of power that felt tangibly radiated from his every movement."You just robbed Viktor Vane of half his pride and secured a half-million-dollar check in a single night, Sean," Isabella finally spoke, breaking the silence with a slightly raspy voice. "I have never seen any man make Viktor look that pathetic in front of his own colleagues."Sean turned, the corner of his lips curling into a thin, mysterious smile. "The world is merely a stage, Isabella. I just happened to hold a better script tonight."The car slowed to a halt in front of the luxurious St. Regal lobby. The chauffeur stepped out to open the door,
Chapter 7
A haunting silence blanketed the Atlantis Hotel Ballroom. The sound of Viktor’s crystal glass shattering still seemed to ring in the guests' ears. Sean remained standing tall, his hands tucked casually into his trouser pockets, while his sharp eyes stared flatly at a trembling Viktor."Mr. Vane? You look as though you’ve just seen a ghost," Sean remarked, his baritone voice cutting through the silence with a touch of subtle mockery.Viktor struggled to catch his breath, his chest heaving erratically. He glanced at Sophia, who was now clutching his arm so tightly her nails nearly pierced the fabric of his white suit jacket. Sophia’s face was deathly pale, her eyes bulging as she stared at Sean as if waiting for death itself to claim her."Who… who are you, really?" Viktor asked in a hoarse voice. He attempted to rebuild his wall of arrogance, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him."Hasn’t Ms. Moretti already introduced me? My name is Sean Alexander. An antiques consultant," Sean rep
Chapter 6
"Ten thousand dollars for a dull bowl? You must be out of your mind, Mr. Sean Alexander."Isabella Moretti stared at the tea bowl inside the wooden box with doubt as they sat in the cabin of the Rolls-Royce, gliding through the city streets. Sean, who was adjusting the watch on his wrist, only offered a calm smile. The man’s aura had transformed completely. Not a single trace remained of the hunched-over courier with the lingering scent of sweat.Sean’s transformation had begun the moment he stepped out of 'The Sovereign' boutique earlier that afternoon. He had spent eight thousand five hundred dollars on a three-piece suit custom-stitched with dark silk thread. He did not hesitate to drop another three thousand two hundred dollars on a pair of Oxford shoes made from Italian calfskin, a craft that took hundreds of hours to complete. Not stopping there, he had visited a renowned salon, wanting to showcase a new hairstyle. That treatment, of course, did not come cheap.Combined with the
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