I arrived at Nova High, my school. The early morning air buzzed with chatter, the occasional roar of laughter cutting through the crisp air. Students crowded the entrance, some loitering by the gate, others scrolling through their phones or hurrying inside. I was just about to step in and discreetly remove the MicroSynapse Set when the low growl of an engine turned heads.

  A black Shelby Mustang GT500—complete with white stripes—glided into view, sleek and predatory, demanding attention without even trying. It came to a slow, calculated stop right in front of the school, the hum of its engine purring like a beast waiting to strike. The driver’s door opened, and out stepped the Shopkeeper.

  He was dressed as impeccably as always—a white suit, crisp and untouchable, paired with black shoes and a matching black tie. The sunlight seemed to frame him, his presence so unnaturally poised that even passing birds seemed to slow in their flight. His glasses reflected the world back at us, offering no insight into the eyes behind them. Models could only dream of exuding this level of effortless confidence.

  Students gawked, some murmuring, others just openly staring. Even the teachers near the entrance stopped to take in the sight. It wasn’t every day a man like this pulled up in a car like that in front of a high school.

  He walked toward me with that same calculated grace, pulling a letter from his suit pocket.

  “Enzo, you almost forgot your letter,” he said smoothly, his voice calm yet commanding.

  I furrowed my brows. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  He smirked, dapping me up like we were long-time acquaintances, as though the people around us felt like their bodies had just experienced a well-rested sleep. “O.I.A. sent me. Said you needed a letter for your crown.”

  A crown? Right. My traditional crown. “Guess O.I.A. really does care about its user.”

  “More than you think,” he replied cryptically, slipping the letter into my hand.

  I didn’t have time to press him further—because by now, people had noticed. My friends, Masego and Davy, were already heading toward me, eyes darting between the Shopkeeper and the car he came in. The rest of the students continued to stare as the Shopkeeper turned away, stepping back into his car as smoothly as he had stepped out. The moment the door shut, the Mustang let out a low growl before pulling away from the curb, the weight of its departure lingering like a ghost.

  “Dude,” Masego started, still watching the Mustang disappear down the street. “Who the hell was that?”

  I folded the letter and tucked it into my pocket. “Someone I know.”

  Masego didn’t look convinced. “That guy looks like he owns a big company.”

  “He might,” Davy muttered, his eyes flickering with curiosity as he turned to me. “What was that letter about?”

  I sighed, finally looking at it again. “Something about the crown.”

  “The crown?” Masego’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait—so it’s true? You really have to wear it?”

  Davy nodded, as if the pieces were clicking together. “I mean, you always said you were related to a chief or king of something, but I didn’t think it was like… an actual thing.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head. “Told you I wasn’t joking.”

  Masego let out a low whistle. “Damn. That explains why people have been talking.”

  People were always talking. But now? Now they had even more fuel.

  We made our way inside, the weight of the morning lingering on my shoulders. As we walked toward the entrance, I could feel the stares still on me. It wasn’t the first time I was the center of attention, but I wasn’t sure if I liked it this time.

  As we entered the building, the scene shifted to the Shopkeeper's car driving as he passed Black Reef Road (Sector 5). He stopped at an old motel.

  He got out of his car, his suit still demanding attention as the bugs and rats stopped and made way for him.

  He pulled out a letter from his pocket and slid it under the motel door in front of him.

  "He'll be arriving soon. Don't forget to call M.O.I. after you finish your "training". The company will deal with the rest when you're done," the Shopkeeper said as he returned to his car and drove off, leaving smoke in his wake.

  As the smoke cleared and the scene zoomed in on the door, the cans in the trash and on the floor started levitating a bit and stopped as footsteps could be heard. A shadow loomed over the door as a hand grasped the handle and opened it a crack, only to reveal...