The gavel struck once.
Ian's voice resonated through the hall, steady and theatrical.
"Next on our agenda...items from the Fifth Division."
The screens behind him flickered, revealing three weapons suspended inside a rotating glass display.
A chonkutō.
A tanto.
A sickle‑sword with an obsidian sheen.
And beneath them were three black cases, each marked with a silver sigil.
"Additionally," Ian continued, "three sets of Division‑grade inhibitor rounds. A rare opportunity. These bullets are engineered to disrupt regenerative processes with capability of slowing, even halting, the healing of enhanced individuals."
A ripple moved through the hall.
Even Dicoviche's expression tightened.
The glass case rotated again, light sliding off metal edges that were too clean, too sharp to be anything but lethal.
"As usual for the Fifth Division showcase," Ian said, "bidders may raise their paddles for the item of their choosing. The floor is open."
The room split instantly into pockets of intent.
At Mahito's table, a hand lifted unhurried.
Mahito didn't bother to look up.
His voice was almost bored.
"The chonkutō. Forty million."
No one challenged him at least not immediately. The weapon's lineage alone was enough to scare off casual buyers. Its blade tapered like a whisper, rumored to slice cleanly through both armor and bone without losing momentum.
Across the hall, a burst of laughter erupted warm, rich, delighted.
The Egyptian delegation surged forward with raised paddles, nearly in unison.
"The sickle sword!" one called out.
"Sixty million," another added over him, grinning broadly.
They weren't bidding instead, they were celebrating.
To them, the weapon was a cultural treasure, a piece to mount in gilded halls rather than warfields.
Ian lifted a brow, amused.
"Sixty million from the Cairo delegation. Do we have seventy?"
"Seventy-five!"
"Eighty-five!"
The numbers climbed fast, joyous, reckless.
Around the hall, the rest of the audience turned their attention to the remaining items.
The tanto.
The inhibitor rounds.
Paddles rose rapidly.
"Twenty million."
"Twenty-two."
"Twenty-eight for the bullets."
"Thirty-five!"
The bids escalated in overlapping waves, collectors fighting investors, mercenary groups battling private security firms. A storm of numbers and ambition filled the air.
And yet, Mahito remained still.
Unmoved by the frenzy around him.
He rested two fingers against the surface of his paddle, gaze half‑lidded as Ian called out additional bids for the chonkutō.
"Forty-five million."
"Fifty."
The challengers tried.
Briefly.
But each time a new voice dared to climb higher. Mahito raised his paddle by a fraction.
A gesture so small it was easy to miss, except every rival bidder saw it.
And stopped.
At sixty million, the last opponent hesitated… then lowered his paddle completely.
Ian smiled.
"Sixty million. Going once… twice…"
The hall held its breath.
"Sold. To Mahito."
A soft murmur swept the tables closest to him, half wariness, half respect.
Yunli, weaving silently through the crowd, didn't look toward him.
But she felt his presence all the same.
As she passed, a faint reflection in the polished silver tray showed Mahito leaning back in his chair, eyes once again drifting not toward the weapons.
Toward the wall where Tess's scanner had lost its signal.
Something in his expression shifted.
The applause that followed Mahito's acquisition of the chonkutō was softer this time as it was only restricted to people who valued cultural relic. This showed that some battles were not meant to be fought twice.
Yet the auction pressed on.
Voices rose again. Numbers clashed. The Fifth Division fractured into smaller wars across the hall, Egyptian delegates laughing loudly as their bids climbed higher for the sickle-sword, while quieter, more calculating buyers circled the inhibitor rounds like wolves around fresh blood.
But Yunli had already begun to move.
She slipped between tables with practiced grace, tray balanced in one hand, her posture composed but her pace was subtly faster. The longer she remained, the thinner her margin became.
"Miss, over here."
A hand lifted.
Another voice followed immediately.
"Champagne."
"And for me...red wine."
Yunli pivoted smoothly, forcing a polite smile as she stopped, poured, served. Her hands never trembled.
Inside, her mind was racing.
[Exit points] [Security rotations].
[Blind spots].
Every route she calculated collapsed under the same problem
There were too make eyes and many moving parts given the little time she had to escape.
Just when she stepped away from the table, she again was intercepted.
"Hey," a man called, fingers snapping lightly. "You forgot mine."
Yunli turned back, refilling his glass with a bit of clumsiness.
"Apologies, sir."
Her tone was soften but her eyes flicked briefly toward the far corridor.
Still blocked.
Scarlet's team had shifted positions again.
She moved again and faster this time, weaving through a cluster of guests whose laughter rose above the rest. Her shoulder brushed past a chair, just then,
"Impact"
A Solid and unmoving barrier appeared in front of her and the tray tilted.
A hand steadied it.
Yunli froze seeing the hand of who it was ,Klaus.
He stood in front of her, his expression already darkened into a faint frown. Up close, the coldness around him felt heavier than before.
His eyes moved over her face couldn't be bothered about her and didn't show signs of lingering.
"You again," he said flatly looking around
Yunli lowered her gaze slightly, playing the role.
"Sorry, sir."
Klaus didn't respond immediately.
Instead, his other hand lifted slightly, in it was a small scanning device .
Sleek. Matte black. A faint pulse of blue light moved across its surface in rhythmic waves.
It hummed quietly.
Searching.
His gaze shifted past her, scanning the space behind her, then the tables to her left.
"Not her"...His frown deepened.
"Stay out of restricted paths," he said curtly.
Then, without waiting for a response, he stepped past her.
The device in his hand pulsed again.
Stronger this time.
Yunli exhaled slowly, steadying herself. For a moment She thought he had noticed.
But no, luckily his attention had already moved on.
She turned slightly, watching his back as he walked away into the shifting crowd, scanning—methodical, for remains of where the signal was lost. Alas it seems as if the frequency vanished .
Yunli tightened her grip on the tray, "That was too close" she sighed.
Behind her, the auction surged again
"Eighty-five million!"
"Ninety for the blade!"
"Forty-five for the rounds!"
Voices clashed. Glasses clinked.
Yunli adjusted her posture and moved again, slipping into a narrower path between tables.
This time, she didn't stop when called.
Didn't turn when fingers snapped or slow when voices rose behind her.
She blended deeper into the crowd as all she could think about was how to escape.