The final bid for Division One echoed through the hall like the closing strike of a gavel.
"Twelve hundred million."
Silence followed.
Ian adjusted his spectacles, scanning the room through those reflective lenses that betrayed nothing.
"Going once."
A pause.
"Going twice."
Then he looked around and saw no paddle lifted, a faint smile touched his lips.
"Sold."
Polite applause followed, though many eyes turned subtly, trying to identify the buyer. The winning paddle had been registered through a proxy—an unmarked digital panel assigned to a private booth above the hall.
An unknown buyer.
Murmurs spread immediately.
"Cowardly way to bid," Alois muttered under his breath.
Stephenson scoffed. "Or intelligent, I mean if we were to think deeply it's not like I really have a use for it if not to cause havoc, better to remain anonymous though."
Ian allowed the whispers to simmer before raising a hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said smoothly, "we now proceed to Division Two."
The stage lights dimmed briefly.
From behind the curtains, two attendants carefully wheeled out a reinforced pedestal. Resting upon it was a large cylindrical glass jar secured within a titanium frame. The liquid inside shimmered faintly under the stage lights—a translucent purple with threads of silver drifting within like living veins.
The hall quieted.
Even the drunkest guests straightened.
"This," Ian began, placing a hand lightly against the glass, "is a newly developed regenerative serum."
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle.
"A liquid compound capable of restoring terminal biological failure."
A few brows furrowed.
Ian's voice remained calm.
"In simpler terms… it can return a dying organism to life."
The silence that followed was no longer polite.
It was heavy.
"You're exaggerating," Denise said sharply from her table.
Ian's lips curved faintly. "AXILE does not deal in exaggerations."
Raphael gestured toward the side of the stage.
An assistant brought forward a sealed glass enclosure containing a frail child. The child lay motionless, its breathing shallow and erratic.
A medical technician displayed a monitor to the audience—vital signs declining rapidly.
"Subject induced into terminal collapse ten minutes ago," Ian explained.
Gasps rippled softly.
The technician injected a measured amount of the serum into the rabbit's bloodstream.
For several seconds, there was nothing but then the monitor flickered.
The erratic heartbeat stabilized.
The shallow breathing deepened.
The child's body trembled once before its eyes opened.
Fully alert.
Alive.
A collective intake of breath swept the hall.
"That's staged," Stephenson said, standing halfway from his seat. "Pre-treated subject. You swapped it."
Ian gestured calmly.
"You are welcome to inspect the enclosure."
Alois leaned forward, his voice tense. "What are the side effects?"
"Minor metabolic fatigue for approximately forty-eight hours," Ian replied. "Temporary cellular strain. No long-term degradation observed in trials."
"Other Human trials?" Denise demanded.
Ian did not hesitate.
"Yes."
The temperature in the room seemed to shift again.
"If this is real," Stephenson muttered, "it changes everything."
"It disrupts everything," Alois countered sharply. "Governments would kill for it, they'd definitely be on our backs."
"And so will we," Denise added dryly, "it's not like they're not the ones backing us up on this" she thought.
The bidding began without formal announcement.
"Fifteen million," Stephenson declared.
"Seventeen," Denise shot back immediately.
"Twenty," Alois said, voice tight.
"You plan to revive who exactly?" Denise sneered.
"My investments," Alois replied coldly.
Laughter uneasy and edged.
"Twenty-five million," came a calm voice.
All heads turned.
Mahito had finally raised his paddle.
His posture remained composed, his expression unreadable.
Stephenson narrowed his eyes. "You haven't even asked about dosage capacity."
Mahito glanced at him briefly.
"I do not bid on what I do not understand."
"Thirty million," Denise countered quickly, unwilling to concede momentum.
"Thirty-two," Alois followed.
"Thirty-five." Mahito again.
The room stirred.
Stephenson slammed his paddle down. "Forty."
A ripple of tension surged through the crowd.
Denise hesitated this time, calculating.
Alois wiped sweat from his brow.
"Forty-two," Mahito said evenly.
Stephenson let out a short laugh. "You think this is a toy? Do you even have containment clearance?"
Mahito's gaze shifted slowly to him.
"I have something better."
The air tightened.
"Forty-five million," Stephenson barked.
This time the Silence was accompanied with several amusing gaze.
The ladies who came to accompany the so called guest could only feel a tingly sensation of fear within them as they were pretty sure they weren't supposed to see or know about anything going on right at the moment.
Mahito on the other did not react immediately.
The hall waited.
Even Yunli, standing near the third row refilling glasses, felt the weight of the moment pressing against her chest.
Mahito raised his paddle once more.
"one hundred million."
The number landed like a stone dropped into still water.
No one spoke.
Stephenson stared at him for several long seconds before exhaling sharply and lowering his paddle.
Denise leaned back, lips pressed thin.
Alois shook his head.
Ian waited a measured beat.
"One hundred million," he repeated calmly. "Going once."
No interruption.
"Going twice."
Silence remained absolute.
"Sold."
Applause broke out again—louder this time, though laced with tension.
Mahito inclined his head slightly, neither triumphant nor pleased. Simply resolved.
On the side of the hall, Raphael watched him carefully.
Yunli felt a chill unrelated to the snowstorm outside.
Division Two had just changed hands.
And the most dangerous man in the room now possessed something capable of reversing death.
The night was no longer just interesting, it had become volatile.
The applause that followed the sale of Division Two slowly dissolved into smaller pockets of conversation.
Crystal glasses clinked. Chairs shifted. The tension of bidding gave way to quieter calculations as buyers reassessed their positions for the next item.
Near the center tables, Stephenson leaned back heavily in his chair, loosening the collar of his tailored suit. His thick fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey as he glanced toward the front row where Mahito now sat calmly beside the secured serum container.
Stephenson gave a short scoff.
"Well… that was expensive medicine."
Across from him, Alois dabbed his forehead with a silk handkerchief, his round face glistening slightly beneath the chandelier light.
"Incredible though," Alois murmured in his soft French-accented English. "A hundred million, Just like that and here I thought the Yakuza line were usually out for a little shillings"
Stephenson followed his gaze toward Mahito.
"Hmph."
His voice lowered.
"I heard his organization can barely afford that right now."
Alois raised a curious brow.
"Oh?" Stephenson leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table.
"You didn't hear?" he said with a faint grin. "The lawsuits. Government raids. Internal conflicts."
Alois's eyes widened slightly with interest.
"Ahh… yes, yes," he said, nodding slowly as the memory surfaced. "The… what was it called again?"
Stephenson chuckled.
"Call it a Succession war."
He took a slow sip before continuing.
"From what I heard, Mahito's group picked a fight with two different factions and a government oversight body at the same time apparently for some unknown reasons."
Alois whistled softly.
"That is… poor timing."
"Poor judgment," Stephenson corrected.
He leaned back again, his large frame stretching comfortably.
"They lost a lot of men."
Alois tilted his head.
"Superhumans, no?"
Stephenson nodded.
"Most of them."
His grin widened slightly.
"And not clean losses either. Real street brawls. Warehouses burning. Knife fights in back alleys. The kind of mess that ruins reputations."
Alois shook his head sympathetically.
"How tragic."
His tone carried absolutely no sympathy.
"To build such a powerful network only to see it crumble like cheap pastry."
Stephenson laughed under his breath.
"Well, if he wants to rebuild it, he'll need something like that serum. Besides it's the previous Lord who did most of the building."
They both glanced again toward Mahito.
The Japanese man sat perfectly still, hands folded lightly on the table as if none of the surrounding conversations existed.
Alois exhaled in relief.
"Well," he said, raising his glass slightly, "at least we are not dealing with such… unfortunate circumstances."
Stephenson clinked his glass against Alois's.
"To peaceful business."
Their quiet toast might have remained unnoticed ironically and as excepted it was since as they laughed hysterically.
Their sight was like that of disparaging men.
Standing several tables behind Mahito, one of his men had heard every word.
The man's jaw tightened.
His posture stiffened as anger surged through him like heat beneath his skin.
His hand curled slowly into a fist.
For a brief moment, the air around him seemed to grow heavier—as if something inside him strained against restraint, his eyes fixed on Stephenson.
One step forward.
Another.
He was already imagining the impact. The sound of bone cracking under his strength.
But before he could move further—
Mahito spoke.
His voice was quiet.
"Restrain yourself."
The command carried no force in tone and yet the man froze immediately.
Mahito did not even turn his head.
"Sit down," he continued calmly.
The man hesitated.
His anger was still visible in the tension of his shoulders.
"They insult you," he said quietly.
Mahito lifted his glass of tea.
"Yes."
The man waited.
Mahito took a small sip before setting the cup down again.
"We are guests here."
His gaze shifted briefly toward the stage where Ian stood speaking with Raphael about the next item.
"This is another man's territory."
The room's golden light reflected faintly in Mahito's dark eyes.
"We follow the rules."
The tension in the bodyguard's posture slowly released.
Reluctantly, he stepped back into position.
Across the hall, Stephenson and Alois continued their conversation, completely unaware of how close they had come to provoking violence.
Mahito did not look at them again.
But the faintest trace of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips along with cruelty in his eyes.
Because insults could always be settled later.