The borrowed suit clung to Kenji like a second skin, a suffocating shroud of cheap polyester that chafed his neck. He adjusted the knot of the tie again, a useless gesture that only tightened the fabric. The grand hall of the skyscraper, all polished marble and crystal fixtures, resonated with the low hum of a hundred conversations, polite laughter, and glassware. He felt every gaze, every cold assessment from the impeccably dressed patrons who drifted through the room like specters. His millennia of experience in battlefields and royal courts meant nothing here; he was a clown in ill-fitting clothes. The 'Spirit Seeker' compass, tucked inside his inner jacket pocket, pulsed with a faint, internal light, its obsidian needle twitching restlessly. It pointed directly towards the center of the room, past a throng of laughing socialites, to a raised dais draped in crimson velvet. On it, nestled on a silken cushion, sat a shallow, jade dish. It was no bigger than Kenji’s palm, carved with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to draw the light into themselves. Even from this distance, he could feel the faint resonance radiating from it, a soft whisper against his still-recovering spiritual senses. The 'Spirit Locus' – Jin Akari's words echoed in his mind. He navigated the crowded floor, his movements too stiff, too deliberate. A server offered him a tiny glass of sparkling liquid. Kenji eyed it with suspicion. “What is this vile concoction?” he muttered, earning a bewildered glance. He pushed past a group discussing stock dividends, their voices like buzzing insects. The jade artifact seemed to pull him, a silent siren song. He imagined it amplifying his own fragmented power, drawing it from the very air, trapping it in his grasp. “Ah, Kenji-kun! So glad you could make it.” The smooth voice, dripping with mock sincerity, made Kenji’s back stiffen. Jin Akari, leaning against a pillar, looked effortlessly elegant in a charcoal-grey suit that fit him with unnerving perfection. He raised a flute of champagne, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You found the target, I see. Excellent. Just a few more moments until the main event.” Kenji ignored him, his focus on the jade dish. The chattering in the room began to quiet. A man with a severe face and iron-grey hair, clad in a traditional silk hanbok, stepped onto the dais. This had to be the Han River Clan patriarch. Elder Seo Jun-ho, the compass had vibrated with a stronger pulse when his name was mentioned in Kenji's research. Seo Jun-ho surveyed the room, his eyes sharp and calculating. “Esteemed guests, thank you for honoring us with your presence. Tonight, we present a rare item of significant geomantic value. The Yeon-ok Locus.” He gestured to the jade dish. “A relic from the ancient Silla kingdom, capable of anchoring and concentrating stray spiritual energy, enhancing the ley lines it is placed upon.” Bidding commenced, polite at first, then escalating with each raised paddle. The sums thrown about were astronomical, meaningless numbers to Kenji. He watched, seething, as his chance at reclaiming power was reduced to a game of who had the most gold. His pride burned. He, the Unbroken Fist Emperor, reduced to a common thief, lurking in the shadows of a mortal auction. Then, a new voice cut through the polite murmurs, clear and sharp. “Twenty billion won.” The room fell silent. Everyone turned. At the back, a man in a deep emerald suit stood, his expression stony. Beside him, a boy Kenji recognized from his history class, Min-jun, stood rigidly, his face pale. The Namsan Eagles. The compass vibrated wildly in Kenji’s pocket, the atmosphere in the room suddenly stiff with tension, like storm clouds gathering. Elder Seo Jun-ho’s face remained impassive, but a vein twitched at his temple. “Master Kim Do-hyun. A… generous offer. However, it far exceeds the current bidding.” “Our family’s assessment of its true worth,” Master Kim stated, his voice devoid of warmth. “We believe the Han River Clan has undervalued this artifact.” It was a direct challenge, a thinly veiled accusation that the Han River Clan was weak, or perhaps, incompetent. A collective gasp rippled through the room. The covert warfare between the geomancer families was no longer hidden. Hostile intent hung thick in the air. Kenji felt it, the undercurrent of spiritual power flaring from the various clan members, ready to ignite at a moment’s notice. This was his chance. He had to act. He slipped away from the pillar, moving with a predatory grace that belied his clumsy suit. His eyes scanned the room, searching for an exit, a distraction, anything. His gaze landed on a small, red box mounted on the wall near a service entrance. A fire alarm. Perfect. With a swift, silent motion, Kenji darted towards it. His hand slammed down on the clear plastic cover, then his finger hit the button. A piercing, blaring siren ripped through the opulent hall, deafening, chaotic. The chandeliers flickered, then dimmed, plunging the room into a chaotic, red-lit gloom as emergency lights kicked in. Panic erupted. People screamed, rushing for the exits. Kenji, using the confusion as cover, moved like a shadow towards the dais. The jade dish glowed faintly, a beacon in the dimness. He reached for it, his fingers brushing the cool, smooth surface. “Stop!” A figure appeared from the swirling crowd, blocking his path. It was Min-jun, the boy from his class, his face a mask of desperation. “Don’t! You don’t understand what you’re doing!” Kenji stared, his hand still hovering over the Spirit Locus. “Boy, out of my way. This does not concern you.” “It does!” Min-jun grabbed Kenji’s arm, his grip surprisingly strong. “My father… he told me to cause a diversion if the Han River Clan tried to secure it. But not like this! He wants me to… to help steal it for us later. This isn't how it's supposed to happen. He'll be furious if it’s taken by an outsider!” Min-jun’s voice was a frantic whisper, his gaze darting between Kenji and the retreating crowd. “You’ll ruin everything! My family will pay for this!” Kenji felt a flicker of surprise. This was no rival, but a reluctant pawn, caught in the machinations of his elders. He pushed Min-jun’s hand away, but the boy clung on, desperate. “Let go, foolish child! This artifact is not yours to claim!” “But it’s not yours either!” Min-jun cried, lunging for the jade dish himself. His fingers, trembling, closed around the opposite side of the smooth jade. Their hands, Kenji’s calloused and strong, Min-jun’s slim and frantic, gripped the ancient relic simultaneously. Just then, the piercing shriek of the fire alarm abruptly cut off. The emergency lights faded, and with a sudden snap, the main chandeliers flared back to life, flooding the hall with blinding white light. Every eye in the room, from the fleeing socialites to the enraged Elder Seo Jun-ho, swiveled to the dais. Standing in the center of the crimson velvet, hands on the ancient Yeon-ok Locus, were Bai Kenji and Min-jun.

Crash the Gala