The Ring Of The Billionaire System

The Collector Ring Club

"Are you sure you want to come in alone to a place like this, young man?"

The security guard in a black suit sized me up from head to toe, making no effort to hide his skepticism. Across the street, rows of luxury cars sat neatly parked, a stark contrast to the beat-up minivans or city buses I usually rode.

"My invitation is valid, Sir. Please check for yourself."

I handed over the black card emblazoned with gold ink, my heart pounding rapidly even as I forced my face to stay as composed as possible. Last night's mysterious envelope turned out to hold more than just a threat-laced photograph; tucked behind it was an invitation card to The Golden Vault Society, a collector's club whose name I had only heard for the very first time yesterday evening.

The guard scanned the card, his eyebrows lifting slightly as the handheld screen flashed a green validation signal. "Please step inside, Mr. Alsean Zeffran."

The marble-lined lobby of the building was illuminated by grand crystal chandeliers. Glass gallery cases displayed ancient artifacts, while doors labeled Private Auction Room and Authentication Laboratory lined the corridor.

"System, this is insane. It looks like a palace," I whispered.

"This building is designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure. Its function is effective."

I stepped deeper inside, noticing how every pair of eyes in the room silently evaluated my appearance. My new dark blue button-down shirt, which had felt luxurious to me last week, now looked terribly plain among the brand-name suits and timepieces that likely cost as much as my former home.

"Who is this young man?"

The voice boomed from the direction of the gallery. An elderly man in a beige suit, with a large sapphire ring wrapped around his finger, strode over with a condescending smile.

"I am Alsean Zeffran, Sir."

"I am Harold Wild, a senior collector here for twenty years. You dress like a store clerk; where did you get an invitation?"

"My invitation is legitimate, Sir. Sent directly by the club chairman himself."

"Legitimate, you say?" Harold pointed to a blue porcelain vase on a gallery table. "If you are truly a real collector, guess which dynasty this comes from. If you are wrong, you leave this place tonight, right in front of everyone."

I stealthily activated the Appraiser's Eye. Two lines of text hovered in midair, visible only to my eyes.

[VALUE: $400] [AUTHENTICITY: FAKE]

The system offered no explanation beyond that. I held my breath, my mind racing to find an explanation I could speak aloud without sounding as if I were making it up on the spot.

"This isn't from any dynasty, Sir. It's a replica."

"Prove it!" Harold challenged, his voice rising high enough that other guests began to drift closer. "Talk is cheap!"

I reached out, picked up the vase, and rotated its base toward the light. My years of hunting through secondhand markets instantly picked up on the anomaly.

"Take a look for yourself. The glaze color at the base is far too uniform, lacking any variation in thickness whatsoever. Authentic antiques usually retain traces of an imperfect manual firing process."

"Nonsense," Harold scoffed, though his voice was no longer as loud as before. "Anyone can say that without proof."

Another collector pulled a magnifying loupe from his pocket, examined the area I pointed out, and furrowed his brow.

"He's right. It's far too even."

"That's not enough!" Harold hissed, his face flushing red as he snatched the vase back off the table. "Take it to the lab! Let it be officially tested. If you are wrong, I will make sure your name is blacklisted from every collector's club in the city!"

The room grew tense with anticipation. Several guests trailed behind us toward the glass door marked Authentication Laboratory. I followed from behind, my palms slick with cold sweat, fully aware that if my guess was wrong, my first night at this club would also be my last.

A technician analyzed a sample of the glaze under a compact spectrometer machine. The display screen before him showed a graph that slowly stabilized. I held my breath, watching every second stretch far longer than it should have.

"The pigment composition contains synthetic elements," the technician read out the results. "This item was manufactured less than fifteen years ago."

Harold's face turned crimson, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, yet not a single word escaped his lips. I let out a deep breath of relief, only now realizing that my back had been drenched in sweat the entire time.

I had barely exhaled when something in my head pulsed sharply, vastly different from the usual thrum that guided me toward valuable items.

"Warning. High-energy artifact detected. Distance: twelve meters."

I turned my head quickly, my eyes scanning the second-floor balcony that overlooked the lobby. A man in a dark suit stood there, leaning casually against the iron railing, staring straight at me with a faint, unreadable smile. On his middle finger, a silver ring glowed faintly, emitting a subtle purple aura visible only to eyes that knew what to look for.

I froze. Up until now, I had assumed the ring on my finger was the only artifact of its kind. As it turned out, I was not alone.

The man offered me a subtle nod, as if greeting a fellow member of a secret club that had never been officially recorded anywhere. "May you live longer than your predecessor." Then he turned around and vanished behind the second-floor doors before I could make a single move.

"System, who was that just now?"

"Detection lost. Artifact signal vanished alongside the subject's departure."

"Why didn't you tell me earlier that someone else had something like this?!"

"The system only detects the presence of similar energy, not the identity of its possessor."

I stared at the vacant balcony for a long moment, my chest still heavy. For the first time, I realized that the world that had just opened up to me was far more populated than I had imagined.

"Quest completed," the system's voice returned, this time in a calmer tone, as if sharing my relief after the recent tension. "Reward granted. Negotiator's Aura Level 1 unlocked."

"What kind of aura?"

"When negotiating prices, the opposing party will be more easily shaken and inclined to offer terms more advantageous to the Heir."

A faint smile touched my lips. That ability would be immensely useful for someone who now had to negotiate with billionaire collectors.

An elegantly dressed gentleman in a black suit, with neatly combed white hair, approached from the main staircase. His steps were calm yet commanding, prompting several guests to bow respectfully as he passed.

"You must be Alsean Zeffran," he said, his voice deep and composed. "I am the chairman of this club. I heard you just exposed Harold's fake collection."

"I was only being honest, Sir."

"Honesty is a rare commodity in a place like this." The chairman smiled faintly, his eyes taking in my modest attire in a way entirely different from the condescending stares earlier. "You are new here, yet you possess eyes as sharp as a senior collector. Where did you learn to appraise items like that?"

"Self-taught, Sir. Spending time going around flea markets makes paying attention to detail a habit."

The chairman let out a soft laugh, as though finding that answer far more intriguing than he had expected.

He raised a hand, gesturing to an assistant carrying a black leather portfolio. "I don't issue premium licenses lightly. But tonight, you've made yourself an exception. You can now join exclusive auctions, purchase directly from our curators, and receive discounted authentication fees."

I accepted the portfolio with hands that nearly trembled. "Thank you very much, Sir."

The chairman turned to leave, but his gaze paused momentarily. Not on my face, but on the black ring wrapped around my ring finger.

He stared at it longer than he should have, far longer than a passing glance from someone merely curious. Reflexively, I shifted my hand slightly behind my back, a tiny gesture that only reinforced that I had something to protect.

"That ring," he murmured softly, more to himself than to me, "where did you obtain such an item?"

"A family heirloom, Sir," I answered quickly, striving to sound as natural as possible.

The chairman offered a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes at all.

"Strange."

"How so, Sir?"

He stared straight into my eyes, his voice dropping to a low whisper meant only for my ears, while the other guests around us remained occupied with their own conversations, entirely unaware of the exchange that had just shaken my world.

"I thought that ring was lost fifty years ago."

[WARNING. Heir identity potentially compromised. Danger Level increased to A.]