The lights of the hall died without warning.
For several long seconds the entire plaza vanished into absolute darkness. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Glasses stopped halfway to mouths. In that brief void, hundreds of powerful people sat motionless, breathing the same recycled air, waiting for the show to begin.
Then—
CLICK.
A single spotlight bloomed on the main stage, sharp and white. A well-dressed host stepped into it, smile already polished and ready for the cameras that were not there.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I hope you're all having a wonderful day."
Polite applause rippled through the hall, the kind given by people who had already calculated the cost of every clap.
"Before we move on to our main item," the host continued, turning toward the enormous screen behind him, "we know all of you are eager to see what else we have prepared tonight. So, let's begin with our products!"
The screen shifted. A single red flower appeared, its petals edged with living flame that seemed to breathe.
"Our first item is a game item—" The host paused for effect. "Flame Lotus!"
A low murmur rolled through the seats.
"This flower can cleanse the body and increase one's Flame Element attribute. Of course, its true effects can only be experienced inside the game world. Starting price: ten million rupees."
Before the number had fully settled in anyone's mind, a clear voice cut across the hall.
"One hundred million."
Every head turned.
Seat 156. A man in impeccable new clothes, dark hair freshly styled, an expensive watch catching the stage light. He had raised his paddle as if he were ordering coffee.
The host blinked. "One hundred million…"
Another paddle shot up. "Two hundred million!"
Sozo did not even glance at the competitor.
"One thousand million."
Silence dropped over the room like a physical weight.
One billion.
The jump was so large, so casual, that for a moment no one breathed. People leaned toward one another, whispering the same question with different flavors of contempt and curiosity.
*Who the hell is this idiot?*
Everyone else climbed the ladder one careful step at a time. This man simply added zeros.
The host recovered with professional speed. "One billion going once…"
Silence.
"One billion going twice…"
Still nothing.
"One billion going thrice—"
The hammer cracked down.
"SOLD! Congratulations, number 156!"
Sozo smiled, small and private, as if the entire transaction had been a pleasant private joke.
The auction continued.
Item after item appeared on the screen. Each time someone raised a paddle, Sozo answered with a number that erased every previous bid. Billions became tens of billions. The audience stopped gasping. Some began to laugh under their breath. Others watched with the cold respect reserved for a man who was either a genius or completely unhinged.
"He knows he can't compete for the main item," someone murmured two rows behind Sozo. "That's why he's buying everything else."
"Maybe he's just showing off."
"Whoever he is, he's insane."
Sozo heard none of it, or perhaps he heard all of it and simply did not care. For the first time in his life he was spending money without first checking the balance. The numbers on his phone had become abstract, almost decorative. He was having fun.
Then the host's voice changed.
"For our seventh item…"
The screen went black. A single drop of crimson liquid appeared, swelling into a sealed bottle of glowing red blood.
"We present—Blood of the Bongalenix Family!"
The hall erupted. Even Sozo sat forward slightly.
"This is a game item, ladies and gentlemen. Its true power can only be revealed inside the game world, just like the Flame Lotus. Starting price: one hundred billion rupees."
Sozo checked the quiet blue window only he could see. After everything he had already purchased, roughly five thousand billion still remained. He smiled, raised his paddle, and spoke clearly.
"Going all in. Five thousand billion."
Absolute silence.
The host's mouth opened and closed once. Someone in the third row actually dropped their phone; the soft clatter was the loudest sound in the room for three full seconds.
"…Five…" the host managed. He looked at the digital records as if they might correct him. "…thousand… billion?"
Sozo nodded once. "Yes."
It took nearly a full minute for the host's professional mask to reassemble itself. When it did, his voice exploded across the hall.
"Five thousand billion! Going once!"
No one moved.
"Five thousand billion going twice!"
Nothing.
"Five thousand billion going thrice!"
The hammer fell like a judgment.
"SOLD!"
Sozo transferred the money without ceremony. A soft chime answered him alone.
«[₹5,000 billion spending detected.]
[Cashback received: ₹50,000 billion.]»
He smiled again, quieter this time.
The host drew a steadying breath. "All right… next we have… a mysterious villa."
The screen changed. An enormous mansion stood in the center of a vast, fog-choked graveyard.
"This is one of the five known Wrong Zones existing in reality," the host said, and the atmosphere in the hall shifted at once. "There are only five known Wrong Zones in the real world. This particular Wrong Zone takes the form of a villa located in the middle of a massive graveyard. Starting price—fifty thousand billion rupees."
For the first time that evening, Sozo did not immediately raise his paddle. He simply stared at the photograph, studying the dark windows, the crooked iron fence, the way the fog seemed to lean toward the house as if listening.
A woman two sections over lifted her paddle at once. "Six thousand billion!"
The bidding began in earnest. Ten thousand. Twenty thousand. The numbers climbed with the frantic energy of people who believed the previous bidder had finally run dry. Within ten minutes the price stood at two trillion.
"Two trillion going once!" the host called. "Two trillion going twice—"
"Five trillion."
Sozo's voice was almost conversational.
Silence returned, thicker than before.
Someone whispered, "Five trillion?"
Another voice, farther back: "Where does he get this money? Is his family that rich? Who is this guy?"
These were not ordinary spectators. They were elites—business owners, industrialists, people connected to the oldest and richest families in West Bengal. None of them could name a lineage that spent trillions the way other men spent taxi fare.
The host, by now, had begun to treat Sozo's interventions as a natural force of nature. He simply sighed.
"As usual… Mr. 156 bids five trillion. Five trillion going once… twice… thrice—"
The hammer fell. "Sold to number 156. Congratulations."
Sozo's smile never wavered.
Another Wrong Zone followed—an ancient temple maze that stretched into darkness on the screen.
"According to rumors," the host announced, "anyone who clears this Wrong Zone can obtain a God-ranked skill."
The room detonated with excitement. Starting price: three trillion. Paddles rose like a forest. Three. Four. Five. Men and women were already on their phones, calling financial managers, waking bankers, liquidating assets in real time.
Sozo checked the quiet blue window. Another cashback had arrived. His account now displayed fifty trillion.
He raised his hand.
"Fifty trillion."
The hall froze again.
The same man. The same seat. The same impossible number.
The host looked at Sozo, then at the audience, then back at Sozo. He cleared his throat.
"Fifty trillion…"
No one dared answer.
"Fifty trillion going once… twice… thrice—"
BANG.
"Sold to number 156."
Several people who had been mid-call simply hung up. Then they began dialing again, because the truth had finally settled over the room like cold rain: this man was not going to stop.
Sozo glanced at the new notification.
«[₹50 trillion spending detected.]
[Cashback received: ₹500 trillion.]»
A second window appeared almost immediately.
«[System Notice]
[Your total cashback threshold has reached ₹500 trillion.]
[The 10x Cashback function has reached its temporary limit.]
[Future cashback rate: 2x.]»
Sozo blinked once. "Oh."
He looked at the remaining Wrong Zones listed on the screen. None of them stirred any particular interest. He lowered his paddle and sat back.
One by one the other zones sold. The audience slowly, carefully, began to relax.
*Finally. He's out of money.*
Fifty trillion was already an amount most of them could not truly comprehend. Sozo had spent it like pocket change.
Then the host returned to the center of the stage. The lights dimmed. The enormous screen changed once more.
Two gigantic towers rose from a deserted island under a gray sky.
"Now," the host said, and every conversation died, "we have finally reached the main item. The Twin Tower Island."
The image rotated slowly, revealing the full scale of the towers.
"This island exists in both worlds. Not only in reality. It also exists in the game world. Ownership of this island grants ownership of the towers in both realities. Starting price—one hundred trillion rupees."
Silence.
Most of the people in the hall had already spent nearly everything acquiring the previous items. Some had borrowed. Some had called family. Some had sold assets at a loss. Very few still held more than a few dozen trillion in liquid form.
A middle-aged gentleman stood, walked to the stage, and took the microphone with the easy confidence of a man who had never been refused anything important.
"Hello, everyone. My name is Rudra Suryansim, president of Ram Bharat Corporation."
Recognition moved through the room like a current.
"If you lend me money to purchase this island today," Rudra continued, smiling, "I will give you floors in the towers according to your investment. I believe everyone here is intelligent enough to understand the value of this opportunity."
His eyes swept the audience and, for a brief moment, stopped on seat 156. Sozo simply smiled back. Rudra looked away.
"I will bid one hundred and five trillion."
A man stood. "I'll give you fifty trillion."
Rudra's smile widened. "Of course."
Another investor. Then another. Money pooled. The number climbed—one hundred twenty, one hundred fifty, one hundred eighty—until it settled at two hundred trillion. Rudra turned to the host with quiet triumph. Everyone in the room believed they had just made the investment of a lifetime.
Sozo sighed.
"Five hundred trillion."
The words fell into the hall and erased every other sound.
No one moved. No one spoke. No one seemed to remember how to breathe.
The host stared at Sozo, then at the bidding screen, then back at Sozo as if the numbers might rearrange themselves into something less apocalyptic.
"Five hundred trillion…" He swallowed. "Going once."
Nothing.
"Five hundred trillion going twice."
Still nothing.
"Five hundred trillion going thrice…"
The hammer came down with a sound that seemed to travel through the floor and into every chest in the room.
"SOLD! Five hundred trillion for the entire island, in both reality and the game world! Sold to Mr. 156!"
The host's smile was slightly shaky now. "Congratulations. Please come on stage, Mr. 156."
Sozo stood.
The entire audience watched him walk the long aisle. His expensive shoes clicked against the polished floor in a steady, unhurried rhythm. He took the microphone, looked out over the hundreds of faces staring back at him, and smiled.
"Hello, everyone."
He paused, as if tasting the silence.
"My name is…" He stopped. The real name suddenly felt too small for the moment. "But I would love it if you simply called me Sozo."
A few people exchanged glances.
"I'm not here to bargain," he continued, smile widening. "I'm here to rule. So if you want revenge… I won't welcome it." A few throats tightened visibly. "But if you want profit… I can invest in you. I can invest in your company. I can invest in your projects. So if you need investment, come to my Haldar Session website. I'll launch it within a month. Maybe even sooner."
He handed the microphone back with casual grace.
"Anyway. Thank you for attending. Thank you for entertaining me. And thank you for giving me the opportunity to buy what I love." He raised one hand in a small wave. "See you later. Good night. Love you all."
And just like that, Sozo walked off the stage beside the host, leaving the entire hall behind him.
For several long seconds no one spoke.
Then the room detonated.
"Who is he?!"
"Find out!"
"What's his real name?"
"Where did he come from?"
"Who gave him that kind of money?"
"Is he from one of the royal families?"
"There's no family in Bengal that can spend that much!"
"Maybe he's from outside India!"
"Call someone!"
Phones appeared in every hand. Businessmen contacted private intelligence networks. Some called politicians. Some woke government officials. A few even reached out to people inside intelligence agencies. Everyone wanted the same answer: the identity of Mr. 156.
There was only one problem.
Nobody knew his real name.
Nobody knew where he had come from.
Nobody knew how he had suddenly appeared with enough money to rewrite the evening.
And nobody knew that the mysterious man they were now desperately trying to investigate had been struggling to pay his rent only a few hours earlier.