The moment Dirga ended the vision, the cold atmosphere of the room returned. The walls of vintage art and polished steel surrounded him once more, along with the man across the table—Domiscus Vantasio.
"Anything wrong with you, Dirga?" Domiscus asked, his gaze sharp but curious.
"Ahh... I was just mesmerized by your collection, Mr. Vantasio," Dirga replied quickly, flashing a polite smile as he removed his mask and took the seat opposite the billionaire.
"Oh? A young boy, is it?" Domiscus leaned back, swirling the blood-red wine in his glass. "Interesting. Most young men who win the lottery blow it on women, drugs, booze, or whatever else dulls their empty lives."
Dirga didn't flinch. "I suppose I'm not most young men."
Domiscus gave a smirk, then clapped his hands. A waitress in a rat mask entered, placing a plate before Dirga. The scent was exquisite—fine seared meat, garnished greens, and sauces likely sourced from corners of the world Dirga couldn't yet pronounce.
"Let's eat first before we get into business. If you have any special requests, speak freely," Domiscus said.
Dirga nodded and began eating, careful to mind his etiquette. He had never experienced a three-course meal before, much less with this many types of utensils. It was a quiet, tense exercise in mimicry and control. As he chewed, his mind raced.
How do you tempt a man who already owns everything?
Money? Useless. Women? Countless. Power? He's already feared.
Dirga would need something unique—something that could not be bought. Something deeply personal.
He glanced up at Domiscus, who was watching him intently.
"So, what do you think, Dirga?" the tycoon asked, his tone dominant but not aggressive. "I can see you're thinking awfully hard while you eat."
Dirga met his gaze. "I was just thinking about how I'll persuade you, Mr. Vantasio."
That much, at least, was true.
"And how's the food?" Domiscus asked again, more casually this time.
"Excellent," Dirga replied with a calm smile.
"My secretary mentioned you wanted to invest in one of my companies. But tell me—why would I need it? I'm already rich."
So he had read the proposal. Dirga suspected as much. He'd sent it ahead of time—a detailed, well-forged plan that claimed access to a revolutionary resource-trading algorithm. Domiscus was testing him now, prodding for authenticity.
"You're right, Mr. Vantasio. You are rich," Dirga began, tone smooth. "But not everything in this world can be bought with money. Not everything you desire is in your possession."
Domiscus chuckled, the sound dark and mocking. "Yet you came here to sell me something. That means I can buy it."
"If the price is right," Dirga replied smoothly, offering a confident smile. "You've already read my proposal. You know that what I'm offering won't just double your fortune—it could multiply it tenfold."
There was a long pause. Then, with a single clap, Domiscus summoned another masked waitress, who brought forward a contract.
"Read it for a few minutes. If you have any suggestions, we'll talk," he said.
Dirga took the paper, skimming it. It was a standard agreement on the surface—non-disclosure clauses, joint investment terms, future profits. But Dirga knew this deal wasn't the reason he was here. Not really. He signed it anyway, playing the game.
The waitress took the contract, disappearing into the shadows.
"How about a glass of something special to seal our cooperation?" Domiscus said. He stood and reached toward a display case of ancient bottles, retrieving one with a dark crimson label.
"This is called Blood Wine. They say it's distilled from the blood of one thousand virgins," he said, almost reverently. "A myth, of course... but it's said to grant vitality. Youth. Even immortality."
Dirga shivered. He had read about this. Domiscus's obsession with immortality wasn't a rumor—it was a fact. His entire art collection, his investments, even some of his scientific ventures had ties to the dark web of life extension.
Domiscus poured the wine. The liquid shimmered unnaturally under the chandelier.
They raised their glasses.
"For our cooperation," Dirga said.
"For our cooperation," Domiscus echoed.
Dirga drank. The wine was sharp, rich, and filled with a strange warmth. A notification appeared in his mind.
[Consumed a Soul-Infused Item: +0.001 Constitution]
Dirga blinked. Seriously? That little? If this was real immortality, it was microscopic. He needed to learn more about this called soul item]
But there was no time now. It was time to begin the real plan.
"And to honor our partnership, Mr. Vantasio," Dirga said, setting down the glass, "I have a gift. Something that may... deeply intrigue you."
He pulled out the Card.
Over the past two days, Dirga had been experimenting with its power. One Karma Point from completing the last task. His soul itself was worth one point, and with Karma, he could trade for almost anything—health, money, power.
But the more he asked for, the more the price grew.
"I offer you a glimpse, Mr. Vantasio," Dirga said, voice solemn. "Of something beyond wealth."
The tycoon narrowed his eyes. "What kind of glimpse?"
Dirga leaned forward. "Vitality."
He whispered the word into the Card.
There was a faint glow. Dirga reached across the table and tapped the card gently against Domiscus's chest.
At first, silence.
Then a breath.
Then a roar.
"HAHAHAHA!" Domiscus Vantasio stood up, his face red with euphoria. "I—what is this?! I feel it! My body—it's... alive again! This is incredible!"
Dirga smiled, calm and quiet. Hooked.
"I want it," Domiscus said, lunging forward. "Sell it to me. I'll give you anything."
"Sorry," Dirga replied, pulling the card back. "It's tied to my life. Let me prove it."
He tossed the card toward Domiscus. The man caught it. Took a step back. Smiled in triumph.
Then looked down.
It was gone.
Dirga held it again, smiling calmly.
Domiscus tried again. And again. It always returned to Dirga's hand.
"Where did you get that card?" Domiscus asked, voice sharp with ambition.
"I got it from the Devil himself," Dirga said, smirking.
There was a long, tense silence. Then both men chuckled, veiling danger in politeness.
They spoke for a few more minutes—small talk, baited questions, careful lies.
Finally, Dirga glanced at the ornate clock on the wall. "It's getting late. I should take my leave."
"Of course, Mr. Dirgantara," Domiscus replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
They shook hands. Domiscus's grip was tighter now—hungrier.
Dirga followed the wolf-masked secretary out to the elevator.
"I see Mr. Vantasio really likes you, Mr. Dirgantara," she said with a rare tone of surprise.
Dirga laughed softly. "Let's hope so. Good night."
He entered the limousine and closed the door.
As the city lights blurred past the window, Dirga looked at the card in his hand, his eyes cold and calculating.
The game had begun.