After leaving the rest of the group behind, Don followed Charles through a quieter section of the top floor, one that seemed deliberately separated from the rest.
The floor seemed to narrow into a corridor-like space, enclosed on one side by reflective glass walls and on the other by the stadium’s structure. The dim lighting and pristine surfaces gave it a surreal quality, as if stepping into a place detached from the lively spectacle of the main viewing area.
Ahead, embedded seamlessly within the reflective glass, was a glowing white outline of a door. Unlike the usual extravagant entrances of high-end establishments, there was no visible handle, keypad, or sign—just the subtle, futuristic frame.
Charles stopped before it, his perfect reflection mirroring him in the glass. As he did, a small white dot appeared at the top of the outline, and a thin beam of light swept down over his figure in a rapid scan.
A moment later, a low, polite synthetic voice, aged and refined like an old-world butler, spoke from the very walls.
"Scan complete. Good evening, Master Charles. Le Salon du Roi is currently unoccupied and has no prior reservations. Welcome."
Charles smiled as if greeting an old friend. "Thank you, Francis," he said smoothly. "A guest will be joining me. We aren’t to be disturbed."
"Of course, Master Charles."
Don barely had time to process the exchange before a second scan projected over him. The door, seamless just seconds ago, slid silently downward into the floor, revealing the exclusive space beyond.
The room was luxury distilled.
The walls were paneled with dark, finely polished wood, decorated with understated but undeniably expensive pieces of art. The lighting was low and warm, casting a rich glow over the space without diminishing its grandeur.
To the right, a mini bar stood stocked with premium spirits, manned by a faceless android butler with an impeccably tailored suit, standing eerily still, waiting to be activated. Across from the bar sat a round poker table, the kind that had undoubtedly hosted absurd sums of money on its surface.
And ahead—facing the panoramic glass wall overlooking the stadium—was the true highlight of the room. A set of five, high-backed chairs were arranged in a semi-circle, each paired with a small side table holding fine cigars and crystal ashtrays. The seating was positioned for the absolute best view of the field below.
But what caught Don’s attention wasn’t just the view—it was the way it moved.
At times, the vantage point subtly zoomed in and adjusted focus, following particular figures on the field. The technology was seamless, to the point that Don couldn’t tell whether the view was being artificially enhanced or if the glass itself was acting as some kind of hyper-advanced lens.
He didn’t say anything, but he was impressed. It was one thing to see a space like this in passing—something straight out of a billionaire’s private meeting room—but another thing entirely to stand in it.
Whether it was the sheer extravagance or just the fact that he’d never experienced anything quite like this in his past life, Don felt a strange sensation being here.
Charles, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. His steps were slow and casual, like someone walking through their own home. He didn’t even spare a glance at the luxury surrounding them—his focus was on Don, his silver eyes watching carefully for a reaction.
Don let his gaze wander once, scanning the room with feigned indifference before settling it forward. In the corner of his eye, he caught Charles looking at him, as if waiting for something.
After a moment of silence, Charles finally spoke.
"I really like this place," he said, his voice smooth as he continued walking toward the seats.
They reached the chairs, and Charles gestured for Don to take a seat. Don didn’t hesitate, lowering himself into one of the plush seats as he replied, "I can understand why."
Charles chuckled lightly, sitting down across from him. "I meant this floor as a whole," he clarified. "Though it wouldn’t be wrong to say this room is my favorite."
He leaned back slightly, draping one arm over the armrest in a posture that exuded effortless confidence. "By the way, would you like something to drink?" he offered.
Don gave the faintest shake of his head. "Not for now."
He kept his tone polite, but inwardly, he knew he wouldn’t be drinking anything Charles offered. Not here. Not in a room where it was just the two of them. He wasn’t naïve enough to think Charles would drug him or something ridiculous like that, but there was no reason to take unnecessary risks.
Charles, of course, was perceptive enough to understand Don’s reasoning. He didn’t comment on it, but a small, knowing smirk flickered across his face.
To Charles, it was rare to see someone from a lower background display such instinctual wariness—most either bent over backward to impress or made the fatal mistake of treating luxury with too much comfort. But Don was neither starstruck nor reckless.
’Smart.’
Charles cracked the smallest of smiles before continuing. "I like places like this in general," he said, shifting his gaze toward the panoramic glass. "They allow those of us above the norm to mingle without the prying eyes of predatory media."
His tone remained light, almost conversational, but as he spoke, his silver eyes flickered back toward Don.
"After all, for people like us, all it takes is one bad story to derail a career or ruin a reputation."
Don turned to meet Charles’ gaze, his expression unreadable.
’That sounds like a subtle threat.’
Despite his thoughts, Don didn’t look the least bit intimidated by Charles’ words. If anything, he seemed mildly amused. He leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the chair’s armrest before offering a small, knowing smile.
"I can’t really relate," Don said casually. "People’s opinions of me won’t change my goals."
Charles’ interest was piqued immediately. His silver eyes sharpened, his fingers lightly tapping against the armrest of his chair as he studied Don. "May I ask what those goals may be?"
Don turned his head away slightly, his gaze drifting toward the view beyond the glass. "Just a few things here and there," he replied, his tone purposefully vague. "Nothing that would interest you."
Charles exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh but close enough. He wasn’t used to being denied information so effortlessly. ’Is he playing hard to get? Or just naturally secretive?’ Either way, Charles could tell from the phrasing—Don did have something interesting going on.
Still, he chose not to press further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and spoke in a more reflective tone.
"When I was younger," Charles said, tilting his head slightly, "being up here alone gave me the feeling of sitting on a grand throne, overlooking my rowdy kingdom."
He raised a hand slightly, gesturing toward the glass wall and the stadium below. His voice was smooth, carrying a faint nostalgia.
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"But as I began to understand the way the world worked, it became clear that, like with any real kingdom… there will always be those after the throne."
Don glanced at Charles from the corner of his eye, silently assessing him. ’What are you getting at?’ On the surface, he gave a simple reply.
"Including you?"
A small smirk appeared at the edges of Charles’ lips, but he didn’t answer. Instead, after a brief pause, he shifted the conversation entirely.
"Don, I’d like you to work with me," Charles said suddenly, his tone both inviting and firm. "Like a right-hand man."
Don raised an eyebrow slightly but didn’t interrupt.
"I promise that the benefits this will bring will be immense," Charles continued smoothly. "For you and your family."
Don didn’t even pretend to consider it. Instead, he made sure his refusal was clear.
"Sounds like a tempting offer," he said evenly. "But unfortunately, I’m not interested in working for anyone. At least not at the moment."
For a split second, disappointment flickered across Charles’ face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced once more by that easy, polished smile.
"I can respect that," Charles said with a nod. "Then how about a partnership?"
Don finally turned to face him fully, his expression mildly curious. "What kind?"
"A mutually beneficial one," Charles answered without hesitation.
Charles straightened in his seat, his gaze settling more intently on Don. "But for that, a showing of trust is needed—on my part, at least. So I’ll share with you what my goal is."
With that, Charles stood from his chair, the soft whisper of his tailored pants shifting as he took a step forward. He walked toward the glass wall, hands casually slipping into his pockets as he looked down at the stadium below.
"It’s like you said," Charles continued, his tone quieter now. "I’m also after the throne."
His eyes gleamed faintly in the reflection of the glass.
"The throne to this city."
The words carried weight, spoken as if they were inevitable rather than ambitious.
Don remained seated for a moment longer, watching Charles as he took in the view below. ’Well, that could be a problem… or an opportunity.’
With that thought, Don finally stood, moving to stand beside Charles. His eyes traced the vast, illuminated field below as he said, "I don’t have any grand ambition like that." His voice was calm, measured. "But for now, I want to become self-sufficient and gain some connections of value."
Charles turned to face him at that, a genuine smile—small but unmistakable—breaking through the usual carefully curated expressions he wore. He extended a hand toward Don.
"Then I think you and I will definitely be of great help to each other," Charles said smoothly.
Don turned to face him fully, his gaze steady as he reached out and met Charles’ handshake.
"I think you might be right," he replied.
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Their handshake was firm, lingering for just a second longer than necessary—long enough to cement the understanding between them.
A partnership had been formed.