The arena was no longer a stage; it was an altar of compressed violence. Cheon Gwan-san stood at the center, his Black Chi so dense it began to liquefy the air into dark, shimmering ribbons that tasted of ozone and ancient iron. Across from him, the Gold Knight stood with his hands tucked loosely into his belt, the Zero-Logic Armor reflecting the crimson sunset of the stadium like a calm sea reflecting a forest fire.
The stakes were higher than the world knew. The first prize—the Shadow Demon Sword and the Shadow Movement manuals—were legendary artifacts that could tip the balance of power in the Murim world for a century. But Harish's gaze, hidden behind the golden lattice of his visor, was fixed elsewhere. He was staring at the second-place trophy: a holographic voucher for One Billion Alliance Coins.
To the world, the manuals were priceless; to Harish, they were just rough drafts of work he had completed eons ago. He didn't need "power." He needed liquid capital to fund the expansion of Astra Industries, the real-world shell that would protect Ravi & Son's Super Market from the prying eyes of the global elite.
The match began not with a bang, but with a total collapse of the local soundscape.
Gwan-san moved like a ghost made of obsidian. He didn't use flashy gadgets or mana-boosters; he used pure, refined intent. His blade, a simple steel dao, hummed with a frequency that could sever the bonds between atoms.
Harish met the first strike with a simple palm, his hand moving with the casual laziness of someone shooing away a fly.
[CRACK-BOOM]
The air between them ignited. The initial clash produced a shockwave that blew out the sand for thirty meters, revealing the reinforced titanium sub-floor of the pit.
Gwan-san launched into a Six-Fold Demonic Slash. His blade became a blur of vertical and diagonal lines, each one carrying the weight of a falling mountain. Harish wasn't fighting like a warrior; he was moving with the rhythm of a child playing tag. He stepped precisely where the blade wasn't, his body twisting in a Sovereign's Pivot that looked like a casual stroll through a park.
As the match hit the five-minute mark, Gwan-san unleashed the [Shadow Demon: Void Cleave]. This was a technique meant to erase the space between the sword and the target—a "System Killer."
Harish didn't dodge. He simply tapped the flat of Gwan-san's blade with a single finger. To the audience, it looked like a lucky touch. In reality, Harish was checking the flow of the Young Master's Chi. He felt the minute flaws in the execution.
I wrote the original logic for this movement three eons ago, Harish thought, his mind a calm ocean of data. You're leaning too far into the darkness, Gwan-san. You've forgotten that a shadow requires light to have a shape. You're losing your definition.
With a gentle shove, Harish sent the Young Master stumbling back—not through brute force, but by "correcting" his center of gravity mid-swing. The impact of Gwan-san's missed strike hit the arena wall, vaporizing a ten-ton block of concrete into fine white powder.
In the highest section of the bleachers, Takeo Kusanagi, Harish's self-proclaimed "crazy disciple" and a master samurai in his own right, was vibrating with a fervor that bordered on a religious seizure. His hand gripped the hilt of his katana so hard that his knuckles were white as bone, his eyes wide and bloodshot as he watched the "Master" play with the Demonic Young Master.
"Do you see it?" Takeo hissed to nobody in particular, his voice a ragged whisper. "The Master is not even looking at the blade! He is counting the threads in Gwan-san's robes! Such absolute disrespect... such magnificent, soaring arrogance! It is the Peak! The Peak of the Mountain!"
A man sitting next to him, wearing a GSC fan-jersey, looked over nervously. "Uh, dude, the Gold Knight is almost getting hit. He's stumbling everywhere. It looks like he's drunk."
Takeo turned his head slowly, his gaze so sharp the fan actually flinched. "Drunk? You fool! You insect! He is not stumbling; he is dancing with the mathematics of the universe! Every 'stumble' is a calculated evasion of a strike that would turn your entire family tree into ash! To the uninitiated, it looks like chaos. To a true swordsman, it is a symphony of pure, unfiltered logic!"
The crowd was a boiling cauldron of speculation.
"I heard the Gold Knight is actually the resurrected founder of the Shaolin Temple," a gambler shouted, clutching his losing betting tickets. "Look at the way he redirects the Black Chi! It's like he's washing clothes!"
"No way," a woman replied, her eyes glued to her binoculars. "Look at the golden armor. That's GSC tech, but it's been modified. I bet it's a rogue AI that took over a pilot's body. No human can move like that without snapping their spine."
The air in the stadium was thick with the smell of scorched earth and expensive mana-refreshers. Whenever Gwan-san's blade hit the ground, a pillar of black flame erupted, shaking the very foundations of the city. People in the front rows were wearing high-grade kinetic dampeners just to keep their internal organs from liquifying.
The final minute of the match arrived. Harish looked at the VIP box where the One Billion Alliance Coin voucher was displayed, glowing with a soft, blue holographic light.
Time to balance the books, Harish thought.
Gwan-san lunged with a final, desperate Heavenly Demon Strike. Harish could have ended the fight by flicking Gwan-san's forehead. Instead, he purposely misaligned his own foot, "tripping" over a piece of debris that wasn't actually there. He let the wind of the blade graze his shoulder plate—just enough to trigger the sensor—and with a dramatic, exaggerated stumble, he tumbled backward out of the ring's boundary.
[BUZZER RINGS]
"Winner by Ring-Out: Cheon Gwan-san!"
The stadium went silent. The "invincible" Gold Knight had lost.
Nine minutes later, in the back storage room of Ravi & Son's Super Market, Harish was sitting on a crate of industrial-grade flour, peeling the sensor-tags off his neck. The golden armor lay in a heap, disguised under a greasy tarp.
Kaelen burst into the room, her face a storm of fury and confusion. She was still wearing her training gear, her sweat-soaked hair sticking to her forehead.
"Harish! Did you see the screen?" Kaelen shouted, her voice echoing off the metal shelves of canned lentils. "The Gold Knight... he lost! He tripped! How can a man who uses the Nine-Fold Dragon Pivot trip over a rock in the middle of a flat arena? It's impossible!"
Harish, currently struggling to open a stubborn 25kg bag of rice with his bare hands, didn't look up. "Maybe he just has bad luck, Kaelen. I trip over the mop every Tuesday. It happens to the best of us."
"It doesn't happen to 'The Best'!" Kaelen roared, slamming her hand onto the table next to a holographic check. "Wait... where did this come from? One Billion Human Alliance Coins? Harish, why is there a billion-coin bank check sitting next to the pickle jars?"
Takeo Kusanagi, who had sprinted from the arena and was currently wearing a tiny Ravi & Son's apron over his samurai hakama, stepped forward. He began frantically dusting a shelf of spice packets with his sleeve, refusing to look Kaelen in the eye.
"That... that is mine, Lady Kaelen!" Takeo blurted out, his voice cracking with the strain of maintaining his 'part-time employee' cover. "The Human Alliance government... they issued it to me as a reward! There was a dangerous space crack that occurred in Sector One, and I was tasked with clearing it. It was a very... small crack. Not a big deal at all! I just did it between my morning and afternoon shifts here!"
Kaelen stared at Takeo, then at the check, then back at the 'samurai-intern' who looked like he was about to vibrate out of existence. "You cleared a space crack in Sector One? Takeo, you're a part-time delivery boy. Why would the government give a grocery clerk a billion coins instead of calling the Astra League?"
"I have a very sharp mop!" Takeo shouted, his face turning a deep shade of crimson as he avoided looking at Harish. "The Alliance values efficiency! And I value being close to... to the spiritual center of this supermarket! I work here to stay beside my... I mean, beside the best training environment! Yes! Now, please, I must go organize the turmeric. It is very unaligned!"
Kaelen turned back to Harish, her suspicion deepening. "You're both acting so weird. And Harish... why is there a speck of gold dust on your intern jumpsuit? Right there, near the pocket."
Harish looked down at the tiny, shimmering flake of Zero-Logic alloy. He flicked it away with a casual finger. "It's probably just glitter from the detergent boxes, Kaelen. You know how fancy the packaging is getting these days. They want the soap to look 'regal'."
"I don't believe you," Kaelen whispered, her voice full of a growing, terrifying realization. "You didn't look sad when the Knight lost. You looked... relieved. Like the books were a burden."
"Who needs a 'Shadow Sword' when Takeo can apparently fund our entire retirement by fixing space cracks?" Harish said, his voice dropping into that calm, tectonic register for just a second. "Think of the shop. We can finally fix the roof. We can build that factory. We can be... efficient."
Vikas Agnihotri, who was nearby pretending to weigh potatoes, let out a small whimper. He knew Takeo was lying; he knew Harish was the source.
"Vikas, shut up and move the crates," Harish commanded, his "intern" mask slipping back into place. "We have a lot of work to do. And Kaelen? Go take a shower. You smell like a Demonic Cultist's bad attitude."
Harish stood at the loading dock, looking out at the city of xxxxxxxxxxx. In his pocket, the Chronos-Nexus Watch pinged. Just as he was about to signal the Great Sage to begin the encrypted transfer to the Astra Industries offshore accounts, the watch didn't pulse with the usual golden light. Instead, it vibrated with a sharp, rhythmic crimson flicker—a priority override signal.
[NOTIFICATION: Incoming Encrypted Transmission. Source: Biological Signature - Vikramaditya Agnihotri.]
Harish tapped the glass. A small, high-fidelity holographic projection sprouted from the watch face. It was Vikramaditya Agnihotri, looking humbler than ever.
"Master," Vikramaditya's voice came through, thick with reverence. "I watched the final match. I saw the stumble. To the world, you are a fallen knight. To me... you are the architect. You traded the manuals of the past for the currency of the future. But be warned: the Murim Unorthodox Alliance has noticed the Sovereign's Pivot. They are coming to audit the Auditor. I have masked your location for now, but the mountain is moving toward you."
The transmission cut out with a soft [HISS], leaving Harish in the dark.
"Forty-eight hours," Harish mused, a small, dangerous smile playing on his lips. "That's plenty of time. We can finish the inventory, upgrade the shop's security shutters, and maybe... just maybe... I can finally teach Takeo how to lie to my sister without sounding like a crazy person."
He turned back toward the store, the shadows stretching long and thin behind him.
"Let them come," Harish said. "I have a lot of books that need balancing.