Chapter 264: The High Court
The match against the Raptors was over long ago, but the crazy loud cheers from Nash’s huge win wasn’t dying soon.
Down here in the Underground where everything smelled like sweat and old beer, Breakball wasn’t just a game, it was like religion, money, and the law all mixed together.
The Holy Trinity in this world of rats, and now, Nash had become its next big thing overnight.
In three days, Dahlia’s computer almost short-circuited trying to keep up with all the attention. This was no longer standard professional interest; it was a hunting pack. The Upperworld syndicates and corporate houses from the Underground had caught the scent of fresh, bloody sweat-money, and they were descending into the lower sectors to claim their piece of the beast.
Inside the fancy Blacklist meeting room, the AC was blasting, but it couldn’t overpower the thick stink of expensive cigars smoked by three suits from Vanguard-Athletics.
Victoria sat at the head of the long wooden table. Her black sunglasses hid her eyes, but you could tell she was in charge just from how she sat, straight-backed, sharp, like she’d stab you with a pen if you pissed her off.
Her form-fitting black designer suit, tailored to the absolute millimeter, highlighted the dramatic curve of her hips and the heavy swell of her chest without her needing to make a single gesture, and the three men kept sneaking looks at her large chest and legs when they thought she wasn’t noticing.
But sure she did notice, and it was also a strategy. She let them look, treating their passive lust as just one more tactical weakness to exploit.
Next to her, Dahlia tapped away at her tablet, adjusting contracts without even blinking. Nash just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching everything play out like a chess match.
The main suit from Vanguard, a slick-haired guy named Henderson, kept tapping his fancy pen against the table like an annoying metronome.
"Three million credits on a two-year baseline," he said, trying to sound bored. "For the exclusive image rights of Blaze on our next line of high-compression sneakers. That is our absolute highest ceiling for a rookie, regardless of the noise he has been making since Tuesday."
Silence. Good ol’ heavy awkward silence. Victoria let it stretch out, listening to the AC hum while Henderson started sweating. Then, slow as a snake, she leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. When she finally spoke, her voice was ice the eyes behind the glasses.
"Do you think I run some back-alley brothel, Henderson?" she asked, so quiet it was almost scary. "Do I look like a newbie? Am I a newbie to you? Three million credits is what Blaze generates in pure media outreach across the Underground networks during a single half of Breakball. The bidding for his signature starts at eight million credits. Four million guaranteed as an immediate upfront advance, transferred before the end of the day. And ten percent royalties on every single unit sold across districts one to four. If your board has an stomach too fragile for that, the door is right behind you. The teams from Core-Nutrition are already waiting in the hall outside."
Henderson gulped. His eye twitched. He glanced at Nash, searching for a single crack, but the player just stared back like a statue.
Don’t look at me. She’s the Boss.
When Victoria turned toward her golden boy, her face didn’t betray a single drop of personal intimacy. In front of third parties, they were business partners. Nothing more.
"Blaze. You good with this?"
Nash shrugged, taking his most professional tone.
"If the money hits Blacklist’s account by 4 PM, sure."
Henderson reopened his folder, his forehead glistening slightly under the bright overhead lights.
"Five million upfront. Seven million five total. But we demand a priority option to sponsor your pivot. The two-meter girl, Jazmine."
"For our pivot, that will be a separate, distinct contract of two and a half million credits," Victoria cut him off, sliding her sunglasses back up with a sharp flick of her finger. "You want to attach your brand to the raw physical force that break the Raptors’ defense? You pay the market price. Dahlia, finalize the annexes."
"Right away, Ma’am," Dahlia replied smoothly, her fingers flying across the digital interface.
A few signatures later, the suits were gone, and the room finally felt normal again. Nash stared at the empty table, his hands clenched under it.
Four and a half million credits.
He gulped... Nothing. His mouth couldn’t produce anything after hearing that.
For a guy who used to scrape together pennies from his quests, a little bit more from his contract with Blacklist, this was like winning the damn lottery ten times over.
His chest tightened like he might actually pass out. But he forced his face to stay blank.
Then it hit him.
This was way more than what the Baby-Boom girls owed Apex. It was right here. He could pay off Monique’s debt today and get Aiko and the others out of hell.
His nails dug into his palms. He could march into Apex right now, throw the money in Monique’s face, and walk out with everyone free.
But he knew better.
Apex didn’t want money. They wanted control. If they found out Nash had this much cash, they’d just take it and keep the girls. Victoria had warned him a hundred times, this wasn’t just about paying debts.
Having the money right in front of him and not being able to use it?
It was torture.
He breathed deep, forced his hands to relax, and wiped all emotion off his face.
Victoria stood up, stacking papers slowly. She noticed his hands clenching, but she didn’t say anything in front Dahlia.
"Gather your things, Blaze." She said. "We’re moving."
Nash exhaled.
The private elevator took them down to the underground garage where the Aethelgard Spectre waited, this mean-looking car just sitting there in the shadows like some kind of black metal monster.
When they got inside, the doors shut with this heavy "thunk" sound that cut off all the noise from outside. Victoria plopped into the driver’s seat, her hands, covered in these tight black gloves, grabbing the leather steering wheel.
Who need a personal driver when you have a Victoria?
Then boom, the Aethelgard took off like a shot, tearing through these special tunnels only the Underground big shots were allowed to use. The engine growled so deep that Nash could feel it rattling his bones, vibrating up through the seat right into his spine.
To pass the time and maybe calm down a little the frustration from his inability to pay off Baby-Boom’s debt now, Nash started flipping through the fancy car listings on the dashboard screen, the kind only rich assholes could even see. His eyes of a newly rich young athlete, now completely backed by serious capital, scanned the imported surface models.
The first model that caught his eye was the Kallisto G-X, this armored beast that looked like it could survive a war, big and bulky.
[Price: 1,200,000 Credits]
Nash made a face. Too heavy. The kind of car scared rich dudes in Sector One would buy to feel safe.
He swiped across the interface to find the Zenith Silhouette, a sleek, aerodynamic sports coupe whose carbon-fiber body looked as if it floated completely above the ground.
[Price: 1,850,000 Credits]
Nash let out a whistle through his teeth. Yeah, this was the kind of car that screamed "I own this city." But one look at the busted-up roads in the lower tiers and he knew that fancy front bumper would get ripped off hitting the first pothole.
Then his eyes landed on the Vanguard Sentinel v8, a big, tough SUV modified just for the Underground, packed with active magnetic suspensions and a reinforced triple-layer glass system, thick enough to stop bullets.
[Price: 950,000 Credits]
Now that was smart. Fast, sturdy, enough room to move around with his girls in the back without everyone staring like idiots.
Victoria watched him in the rearview mirror, her lips curling into an ironical smirk as she took a sharp turn at like, way too fast a speed.
"Drooling over car pictures, King of Rats? Welcome to the high court," she said, her voice dropping into that smooth, private tone she used when nobody else was around. "The central banks updated your priority status this morning. You officially hold more financial weight than ninety-five percent of the branch directors down here. But don’t start flashing your thunes like a regular street crevard who just touched his first bonus. Money hides, Blaze. It doesn’t show off."
"I’m just checking security specs," Nash said, shutting off the screen. "The Spectre’s clean, but I need actual space."
"Here we are," Victoria said as the car slowed, rolling up to this huge security checkpoint.
The heavy, metal doors slid open real slow, letting the fancy car roll into the richest, most locked-down part of the whole underground city: The Obsidian Spires.
This place was nothing like the dirty, crowded lower levels. Like, at all. This was where the big shots from the Upperworld came down when they had important business, secret deals, or shady shit to handle.
They didn’t live here full-time, but they kept it nice and clean, like their own little hidden paradise right in the middle of the city. Not totally hidden, just... separated. Like a rich kid’s treehouse with walls.
And with time, it had become a place where wealthy people from the Underground would also live.
As the car moved down the smooth, perfect road, Nash stared out the dark windows. The place opened up into this huge, fancy area with giant villas spread far apart, like they didn’t wanna be neighbors. The lawns were weirdly dark green, probably some science-made grass, and tall pine trees lined the paths. Up above, the ceiling of the underground city stretched way high, covered in tiny lights that made it look like it was always twilight, often switching to display beautiful sights you only see in the Upperworld’s sky. The air smelled weirdly fresh too, constantly filtered by immense de-carbonization columns disguised as sleek, modern obelisks.
The car finally slowed down, turning onto a long driveway leading to a massive villa made of concrete and glass. Victoria had picked this one herself, she was picky about security. The place was covered in heat sensors and fingerprint scanners.
Inside, Zayela was already waiting in the kitchen, leaning on the marble counter. She wore tight jeans and a top that showed off her big tits real nice. She’d gotten there earlier that morning, before Nash and Victoria left for their meeting with the businessmen.
When the front door closed behind them, Victoria walked in, her high heels clicking loud on the floor like she was marking territory. She pulled off her sunglasses in one smooth move, her icy blue eyes scanning the room.
Zayela stood up straighter, giving a small, friendly smile.
"Hey. Did everything go okay with those business guys?" Her voice was warm, trying to be nice.
But Victoria didn’t even look at her. No hello, no smile. She just walked right past, acting like Zayela was part of the furniture. Not mean, just... cold. Like she was just another subordinate. She glanced around the kitchen like she was inspecting it.
"This place is good enough for someone like you, Blaze," she said, her voice flat, like she was reading a report.
Zayela’s smile dropped fast. She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. You could see the irritation in her gold-brown eyes as she shot Nash a look, like, You seeing this shit?
Nash stepped closer to his cousin, leaning in so Victoria wouldn’t hear.
"Don’t let it get to you," he muttered, his hand brushing her lower back. "She’s like that with everyone."
Zayela let out a quiet breath, relaxing a little, but she kept her arms folded, watching Victoria like she was waiting for a fight.
"It’s clean," Zayela said out loud, her voice sharper now. "At least here we don’t gotta check the locks every five seconds."
Victoria turned her head slow, giving Zayela this fake polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
"This is The Obsidian Spires, mademoiselle. The mechanics of life here are dictated exclusively by the price of the property, not the law of the strongest. You won’t find addicts or cheap street transactions on this asphalt. The people who live in this sector pay millions to ensure their sins remain strictly behind soundproof walls. It is the civilized side of our world. Learn to adapt to it."
Nash leaned back against the counter, his brain working fast. This place was perfect. If his crew kept winning, he wasn’t gonna leave the other girls stuck in the slums. They deserved spots here too. He’d buy the houses around this one... hell, maybe the whole block, just to keep them safe.
He checked his phone quick, scrolling through property prices. The numbers had so many zeros it made his stomach drop. Even with four million credits, buying up this whole area was gonna be a war.
Still got a fuckton of work to do, he thought.
Victoria pushed off the counter, jingling her car keys between her fingers like she was teasing him.
"Before you go wasting millions on flashy cars to show off in the slums, there’s one problem," she said, dangling the keys right in his face. "You don’t know how to drive. And I have absolutely no intention of acting as a private chauffeur to my point guard indefinitely."
Nash smirked, tilting his head up at her.
"I learn fast."
"We’re going to verify that," she shot back, sliding her sunglasses on with a snap. "The private driving academy of the Spires is strictly reserved for the elite, but I got you a spot. I’ll show you how the other half of this dumpster we call a world lives. Now move your ass, rookie. Let’s go."
Nash glanced back at Zayela, still standing with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes, making him held a chuckle. The change was rough, but Nash’s plan was finally falling into place.
