11:19 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor — Employee Only Room — Tucker's POV
The pounding stopped, no more footsteps, no more shouting.
Tucker stayed where he was, back pressed against the cold wall, one hand still gripping his cane like the door might burst open at any second.
It didn't. The only sound left was his own breathing, uneven, loud in the tight space.
"…Okay," he muttered under his breath, exhaling slowly. "…I think I lost them."
The muffled pulse of music from the gala seeped faintly through the walls, distant now, like it belonged to a completely different world.
Tucker tilted his head slightly, listening.
Nothing.
"…That was way too close," he said, dragging a hand down his face.
He pushed himself off the wall and stood up, shoulders still tense, eyes flicking instinctively toward the door one more time.
Still shut, still quiet.
"…Alright."
His grip on the cane loosened just slightly.
Curiosity crept in.
Tucker finally looked around the room.
It wasn't anything like the rest of the gala.
No gold.
No lights.
No music.
Just dull metal walls, dim overhead lighting, and rows of storage cabinets lining one side of the room. Crates were stacked in uneven piles, some sealed tight, others left slightly ajar like whoever worked here didn't expect anyone to come snooping around.
"…Yeah, this is definitely not for guests," Tucker muttered.
He took a few slow steps forward.
His shoes echoed faintly against the floor.
For a second, he hesitated. Then shrugged.
"…Well… I'm already here."
And just like that, the tension shifted.
Tucker reached for the nearest cabinet handle.
"…Let's see what they're hiding."
Tucker pulled open one of the cabinets.
Inside were stacks of folders, neatly packed and labeled. He grabbed one at random and flipped it open.
Numbers, payment records, instructions, safety precautions.
His eyes skimmed the page for about two seconds before his expression went flat.
"…Yeah, I'm not reading all that."
He shut the folder and shoved it back into the cabinet, not even bothering to put it where it was.
"Boring."
The metal door clanged softly as he closed it.
He turned, scanning the rest of the room.
A set of shelves caught his attention next. Boxes were stacked unevenly, some half-open, spilling their contents out like they'd been rummaged through a hundred times already.
Tucker pulled one down.
Inside were old uniforms, worn and wrinkled, mixed in with empty bottles, scraps of packaging, and random junk.
He lifted a sleeve, then dropped it immediately.
"…Random."
The box hit the shelf with a dull thud as he pushed it back.
His gaze shifted again.
This time, it landed on something different.
A crate sat on the floor nearby.
Unlike everything else in the room, this one wasn't carelessly stored.
It was sealed tight, nailed shut.
Tucker stepped closer, crouching slightly as he looked it over.
"…Well that's suspicious."
He wedged his fingers into a small gap between the boards and pulled, but to no avail.
He grunted, readjusting his grip and tugging harder.
Still nothing.
"…Come on…"
He leaned back, putting more weight into it. The wood creaked slightly but held firm.
Tucker let go, flexing his fingers.
"…Alright. One more."
He crouched lower this time, digging his fingers in deeper. A faint surge of Strength Presence flowed through his arms as he tightened his grip.
Then, "RRGH—!"
He yanked.
The crate burst open with a sharp crack, the wooden planks snapping apart as the lid tore free.
The noise echoed through the small room.
Tucker froze instantly, eyes wide.
His hand shot up to cover his mouth like that would somehow undo the sound.
"…Oops."
He stayed still for a second.
Listening.
Waiting.
Nothing.
He slowly lowered his hand.
"…We're good."
Then he looked down.
The contents of the crate had spilled across the floor. Folders, and vials.
Small glass containers rolled across the metal floor, clinking softly against each other as they settled.
Each one held a faint golden liquid.
Bubbling slightly.
Tucker blinked.
"…Huh."
He reached down and picked one up, holding it up to the dim light.
The liquid shimmered, it was familar.
"…Wait a second…"
His brows furrowed slightly as he tilted the vial.
"…Isn't this the same stuff from earlier?"
He stared at it for another second.
Then shrugged.
"…Weird."
Still, he didn't put it back.
Instead, he slipped the vial into his pocket.
Just in case.
"Interesting…"
11:21 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor — Employee Only Room — Tucker's POV
A sudden knock rattled the door.
Tucker froze.
His head snapped toward it, body going completely still.
"…You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.
The handle jerked.
Without thinking, Tucker slipped to the side of the door, pressing himself flat against the wall, holding his breath.
The lock clicked.
The door creaked open.
A man stepped inside.
Short, Messy.
Uniform slightly wrinkled like he'd been running around all night.
Tucker tilted his head slightly, studying him from the corner of his eye.
…He's almost my height.
"…Short king," Tucker thought.
The man didn't notice him.
Instead, he walked further into the room, scanning it with tired, half-focused eyes.
Then he stopped.
His gaze dropped to the floor.
To the broken crate, to the scattered folders, to the vials.
His posture stiffened.
"…Ah," Tucker thought, a slow grin forming, "…he noticed."
The man began to turn.
Too late.
Tucker moved.
Quick, silent.
He stepped in behind him and pulled his arm back, muscles tightening as a faint surge of Strength Presence wrapped around his fist.
"…Sorry about this," he muttered.
Then, the punch landed clean.
The man's body lifted off his feet and slammed straight into the metal cabinet with a loud crash before collapsing to the floor in a limp heap.
The room went quiet again.
Tucker stared at him for a second.
Then winced.
"…Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "…that might've been a little too much."
He crouched slightly, checking to make sure the guy was still breathing.
A pause.
Then a small nod.
"…Okay, good. Not dead."
Tucker stood back up, dusting his hands off like he'd just finished something routine.
His eyes drifted down to the uniform.
Then back up.
A grin spread slowly across his face.
"…Perfect."
11:22 PM — Ascension Gala, Second Floor: Sovereign District — Shirley's POV
The woman's lips curled into a faint grin.
Not warm, measured.
Her eyes moved over Shirley slowly, taking him apart piece by piece without ever making it obvious.
"Thank you," she said.
Her voice was calm, but there was something underneath it, something that suggested she hadn't finished speaking yet.
Her finger traced slow, idle circles over the diamond card he had slid across the table.
"I was wondering how long it would take," she continued, resting the side of her head against her hand.
Her gaze lifted just slightly.
"That's how I know you're… special."
Shirley's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second.
Special?
The word lingered in his mind, but his expression didn't change.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, keeping his tone even.
"I've got two questions. One—"
"Who said you were the one asking questions?"
She didn't even look at him when she said it.
Her voice didn't rise. Didn't sharpen. If anything, it got quieter, more controlled.
Her finger never stopped moving against the card.
The table seemed to still.
The other players didn't speak.
They just watched.
Then, "Up for a game of blackjack?"
She asked it like it was nothing.
Like everything before it hadn't just happened.
Shirley opened his mouth, but before he could answer, one of the men at the table suddenly stood.
Without a word, he gathered every card into his hands.
And then, his hands blurred.
Cards snapped and folded between his fingers at impossible speed, the deck splitting, merging, weaving through itself in a seamless cascade. The air around the table shifted as the movement picked up, a faint gust brushing past Shirley's face.
His hair lifted slightly from the force.
Shirley's eyes widened just a bit.
…Fast.
No.
Not just fast.
Inhuman.
Then, it stopped.
The man placed the deck neatly in the center of the table and sat back down as if nothing had happened.
Silence returned.
The woman finally lifted her gaze fully to Shirley.
A small, knowing smile touched her lips.
"Thank you, D2."
A shift moved through the Sovereign District.
It wasn't loud or sudden, but it was enough to be felt. Conversations began to taper off, glasses paused mid-air, and the quiet rhythm of cards and chips slowed without anyone needing to say a word. Something had changed.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
Slow. Measured. Controlled.
They echoed faintly from above, each step carrying a quiet weight that pressed into the room. And with them came a presence, not overwhelming or explosive, but steady and undeniable. It spread through the air like a low pulse, subtle but impossible to ignore.
Shirley's eyes lifted toward presence.
Around him, the shift became clearer. Guards straightened where they stood, their posture sharpening instantly. The low murmurs that filled the room moments ago disappeared completely. Even the men at nearby tables adjusted themselves, their movements small but deliberate, as if instinct alone told them to be more… composed.
At the table, the woman finally stopped moving her finger.
That alone was enough to catch Shirley's attention.
For the first time since he sat down, she paused. Then, slowly, a smile formed across her face, not wide, not exaggerated, but knowing.
"Never mind," she said, her voice calm, almost amused. "Looks like we'll have to postpone our game."
Her gaze lifted toward the balcony.
"The main course just walked in."
Shirley followed her line of sight.
A figure had stepped out into the hallway, framed by the warm glow of the chandeliers. The purple suit caught the light immediately, rich in color and perfectly tailored, every line of it clean and deliberate.
He didn't rush. He didn't scan the room like he was searching for anything.
He simply stood there, looking out over the Sovereign District as if it already belonged to him.
There was no need for an introduction.
The silence in the room said enough.
He adjusted his sleeve slightly, a small, almost casual motion, before finally speaking.
"Sorry I'm late."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried effortlessly across the floor, clear and composed.
No one responded. No one needed to.
The atmosphere had already shifted the moment he arrived.
Shirley's eyes narrowed just slightly as he studied him from below, taking in the way the entire room had settled around his presence.
So this is him…
Nothing else changed on the surface. No applause, no sudden movement, no reaction that could be pointed to directly.
But it was obvious.
Everything in the Ascension Gala now revolved around that one figure on the balcony.
11:24 PM — Ascension Gala.