SSS-Awakening: I Have Infinite Talents

"Pride comes before the fall. So does a slap." — Unknown.

– – –

Chloe turned to Greg, and the look on her face was the kind that made grown men reconsider their career choices.

SLAP!!

The sound rang across the entire third floor. Sharp, heavy, and so loud that people on the second level stopped what they were doing and looked up. Chloe’s palm connected with Greg’s cheek so hard that his head snapped to the side and his body stumbled two steps before catching himself on the counter.

The crowd went silent. Completely silent.

Greg stood there clutching his face, his eyes watering. A red handprint was already blooming across his cheek, bright and vivid against his grey skin. His lower lip was trembling, and he looked like he was about five seconds away from bursting into tears.

"You idiot," Chloe said. Her voice was low, controlled, and somehow more terrifying than if she’d screamed it. "You incompetent, arrogant, brainless idiot."

She turned to the two security guards, who were standing frozen with their batons clipped to their belts, looking like they wished they were anywhere else on the planet.

"Escort Mr. Harlow to the holding cells," Chloe said. "He is to be charged with corporate slander, professional misconduct, and blatant harassment of a VIP client."

Greg’s legs gave out. He caught himself on the counter, his fingers gripping the glass so hard his knuckles turned white. A single sob escaped his throat, followed by a string of words that came out as a high-pitched whine.

"Please, General Manager, I didn’t know, I couldn’t have known, the color was wrong, the protocol says—"

"The protocol says you test before you accuse," Chloe cut him off. "The protocol says you run a molecular scan before you hit the panic button. The protocol says you do your job instead of standing behind my counter playing kingmaker with people’s livelihoods."

She pointed at the guards.

"Get him out of my sight."

The guards each grabbed one of Greg’s arms and lifted him off the ground. His feet dragged across the marble as they hauled him toward the escalator. His sobbing echoed through the silent floor, growing fainter as they descended.

Nobody said a word until Greg was completely out of sight.

Then Chloe turned back to Micah.

She bowed. Not a small nod or a polite dip of the chin. A full, formal, waist-deep bow that would have been appropriate for meeting a head of state. She held it for three full seconds before straightening up.

"On behalf of the Astral Trade Syndicate, I offer you my deepest and most sincere apologies," she said. Her voice was steady, but Micah could see the tension in her jaw. She was grinding her teeth so hard that the muscles in her cheeks were twitching. "What you experienced at our counter was inexcusable. The behavior of our staff was unprofessional, insulting, and a complete failure of our corporate standards."

She paused, and her eyes met his through the mask.

"We failed you, and I take full responsibility. Please. Tell me how we can make this right."

Micah looked at her for a long moment. Behind the mask, his expression was calm and businesslike. But internally, he was doing a victory dance that would have embarrassed a toddler.

’Remember when Greg offered me one hundred credits to throw this in the trash? Good times.’

"Are you still interested in doing business?" Micah asked. His voice was cold and professional, the same voice he’d used on Dexter and Myra in the vault. It wasn’t a question. It was a test.

Chloe’s response was immediate. "Absolutely. Without question."

"Then we have a starting point."

Chloe nodded so fast it looked like her head was on a spring. "Effective immediately, I am upgrading your status to VIP Tier One. This grants you full access to all Syndicate services, including private appraisal, secure storage, and priority auction placement. All standard auction commission fees are permanently waived for your account. No listing fees, no transaction fees, no handling fees. Everything. Waived."

The Master Appraiser, who had been standing quietly to the side since his dramatic declaration, stepped forward. His ancient eyes were still glowing faintly blue from the condenser’s energy, and his expression was one of barely contained desperation.

"Please," he said. The word came out rough and eager, stripped of all professional pretense. "I have been in this field for over four decades. I have seen every refinement technique known to the military, to corporate laboratories, to underground chemists. None of them produce this level of purity. Please tell me how this was made. What process produces a condenser with zero impurities?"

"That information is confidential," Micah said. He kept his tone polite but firm. "My acquisition methods are proprietary. I’m sure you understand."

The old man’s face fell. He looked like a kid who’d just been told that Christmas was cancelled. But he nodded and stepped back without pressing further.

Chloe seized the moment. "Of course. We respect your privacy entirely. However, if you’re willing to utilize our commercial network for distribution, we can offer you the most extensive buyer network in the city. Military contracts, noble houses, corporate pharmaceutical divisions. We have access to all of them."

She pulled a tablet from inside her jacket and began tapping rapidly.

"I’d like to propose an exclusive partnership. The Syndicate handles all distribution, legal documentation, and buyer vetting. You supply the product. We split the revenue, with the majority going to you, naturally."

She looked up from the tablet.

"I suggest we hold a private auction. This weekend. Invite-only. We market the condenser to the top buyers in the city and let them fight over it."

Micah raised an eyebrow behind his mask. "Fight over it?"

"These people have been stuck at the same Flux level for years. Some of them for decades. Fathers who can’t advance, sons who’ve hit their genetic ceiling, military commanders whose cultivation has plateaued."

She set the tablet on the counter between them.

"You’re not selling them a consumable. You’re selling them a chance to break through. That kind of opportunity doesn’t have a price tag. The bidding will be savage."

Micah looked at the tablet. Chloe had already pulled up a draft contract, the legal language filling the screen in dense paragraphs. He scrolled through it, scanning the key terms.

The Syndicate would take a flat handling fee of five percent. Everything else went to him. He retained full ownership of the product until the moment of sale. He could withdraw at any time. His identity would remain completely anonymous, shielded behind a corporate shell account that couldn’t be traced back to him.

"The contract is standard," Chloe said. "But the terms are not. This is the most generous split we offer. I assure you, no other client receives these conditions."

Micah scrolled to the bottom. A signature line waited, empty.

He picked up the stylus.

’Greg offered me one hundred credits for this vial. Chloe is about to make me a billionaire. I think we know who gave the better customer service.’

He signed.

The tablet beeped. A confirmation screen flashed green, and Micah’s anonymous account was instantly activated. A string of numbers appeared on screen, followed by a balance.

Chloe had transferred an advance. A good-faith payment, drawn directly from Syndicate funds, to demonstrate their commitment to the partnership.

Micah looked at the number. Then he looked at it again. Then he tilted the tablet slightly to make sure the light wasn’t playing tricks on his eyes.

It wasn’t.

The balance read: 50,000,000 credits.

Fifty million. In advance. Before the auction had even happened. Before a single bid had been placed. This was just Chloe’s way of saying, please don’t walk away from this deal.

His hand tightened around the tablet. His pulse, which had been steady and controlled for the entire confrontation, suddenly spiked so hard he could feel it in his temples.

He’d been a broke NovelPhoenix reader a week ago. Now he was holding fifty million credits in an untraceable account, with the promise of exponentially more to come.

’This is fine. This is completely fine. I’m not freaking out. I’m absolutely not freaking out right now.’

He was freaking out.

But he kept his composure. The mask and the silence were the only things keeping the illusion alive. The moment he started grinning like a lottery winner, the mystique would evaporate, and Chloe would realize she was dealing with a recruit who still had holes in his shoes.

He lowered the tablet and looked at Chloe.

"I need access to your armory," he said. "Premium catalog. Weapons, armor, equipment. Everything."

Chloe’s face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. The tension that had been gripping her features melted away, replaced by the eager expression of a businesswoman who had just closed the biggest deal of her career.

"Absolutely. Follow me."

She led him away from the counter, past the crowd of stunned onlookers, toward a secure elevator at the back of the third floor. The Master Appraiser followed, still clutching the vial like a holy relic, his eyes glowing faintly blue.

As the elevator doors closed behind them, Micah allowed himself a single, brief smile beneath the mask.

’Greg wanted to throw my vial in the trash for one hundred credits. Let’s see how he feels when he finds out it’s about to start a bidding war among the richest people in the city.’

The elevator descended, and Micah prepared to spend his new fortune on exactly the kind of equipment that would make Dexter Ashford cry.

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