Season 2 chapter 13
The Data and The Facts
Walking out of the federal building and back toward their waiting luxury car, Malesh adjusted his expensive cufflinks. He looked up at the sky, seemingly running a complex mathematical equation in his head just for fun.
"Bro, how much money do you have as liquid cash right now?" Malesh asked casually, not even looking at Kniya.
"I have 70 billion credits as liquid cash," Kniya answered, casually unwrapping a piece of mint gum and popping it into his mouth as they walked down the marble steps. "Sitting in three separate offshore vaults. Why?"
"Seventy billion," Malesh repeated, his voice completely flat. He let out a slow, dramatic sigh. "You have a very little amount of liquid cash, I think so. It is almost a statistically insignificant amount of walking-around money. Well, compared to me."
Kniya stopped walking. He slowly turned his head to glare at his partner. The government officers had literally just kissed his boots ten minutes ago, and now he was being patronized.
"Don't flex in front of me, you absolute idiot," Kniya snapped, chewing his gum aggressively. "You literally found a puddle of dinosaur juice by falling into a hole because you were too busy looking at a rock. I built a steel monopoly with my bare hands and heavy machinery. I am an industrialist. You are a glorified puddle-drinker."
"I am not flexing," Malesh replied, his face a perfect, infuriating mask of robotic innocence. "I am just telling you the data. Mathematics do not have an ego, Kniya. Four hundred and fifty billion in liquid capital is simply a larger number than seventy. If you want to be poor, just say that."
Kniya rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. He adjusted his silk tie, a wicked, extremely vindictive light suddenly dancing in his eyes.
"You know," Kniya smirked, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. "For a guy whose brain operates entirely on data and logical efficiency, you have some very... inefficient biological hobbies."
Kniya pulled out a brightly colored, tightly rolled-up magazine and tapped it against Malesh's chest.
"I got this imported, highly degenerate illustrated cartoon-maid magazine from your room back at the hotel while you were unpacking," Kniya announced loudly.
Malesh froze. His perfectly logical, robotic demeanor shattered for a split second. The cover of the magazine featured a 2D-animated girl from the Migrains district wearing an incredibly impractical maid outfit.
"And looking at this absolute, unadulterated degeneracy," Kniya laughed, waving the brightly colored magazine in the air right in front of the government building where several politicians were currently walking out. "I can safely say that the richest energy CEO in the world, the great King of Sand, is basically just a fucking cartoon-maid nerd."
Malesh's face flushed a violent shade of red. He lunged for the magazine, completely losing his cool, but Kniya expertly sidestepped him, holding it just out of reach like an older brother bullying a sibling.
"You cannot do so!" Malesh snapped, completely flustered, his hands grasping at the air. "That is a breach of personal property logistics! Give it back! I am studying their 2D structural integrity!"
"Ah yes, the structural integrity of a maid outfit!" Kniya cackled, tossing the magazine into the backseat of their car and sliding in after it. "I am also stating a fact, you know! Mathematics don't have an ego, Malesh!"
The Royal Invitation
Four days later, the dust from the massive government deal had settled. Malesh was out securing prime real estate in Seistain for his new headquarters, while Kniya remained at the Antrious Hub, overseeing the massive spike in steel production.
The workload was staggering. Because Kniya had effectively bullied the government into making him their primary supplier, the Republic of DI was funneling billions into Kavilson Steel.
Kniya was sitting at his desk, his boots propped up next to a stack of newly acquired, tax-free land deeds.
"Varis," Kniya called out to his exhausted head of logistics, who was currently organizing files in the corner. "The government requisition form for the new naval shipyard... did you charge them the premium rate for the steel bolts?"
"Uh, yes, sir," Varis said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "A two hundred percent markup on the bolts, just as you instructed. We claimed it was an 'administrative logistics fee'."
"Excellent," Kniya grinned, popping a fresh piece of mint gum into his mouth. "If they want to build warships, they can pay me for the privilege of holding them together."
Just then, the private office door chimed. Varis walked over to answer it.
When Varis stepped back in, he looked deeply confused. He wasn't holding a standard corporate telegraph or a shipment manifest. He was holding a thick, premium cream-colored envelope, sealed with heavy crimson wax.
"Sir," Varis said, his voice dropping to a nervous whisper as he handed it across the desk. "A private courier just delivered this. He was wearing an armored uniform. He bypassed all standard corporate mail security, walked right past the armed guards, and handed it directly to me."
Kniya dropped his boots from the desk. He sat up, his eyes locking onto the heavy wax seal.
It bore the unmistakable, intricate, golden crest of the Crown.
Kniya's relaxed, arrogant demeanor instantly vanished. He slowly picked up a silver letter opener and sliced the heavy paper open. He pulled out a gilded, heavy-stock invitation card.
It was an official summons to a grand, highly exclusive gala in the capital city of Seistain.
But what made Kniya's blood run cold wasn't the party. It was the name written in elegant, flowing calligraphy at the top of the card.
It wasn't addressed to "The CEO of Kavilson Steel."
It wasn't addressed to "Mr. Kniya."
It was addressed to Kniya Anderson.
Kniya stared at his full, estranged family name. The Royal Family—the very bloodline he was directly connected to, the family that literally owned the country and ruled its politics from the shadows—was officially inviting him to a party. For years, they had ignored him, treating him like a distant, rebellious offshoot of the royal tree.
But they couldn't ignore him anymore. They had noticed his monopoly. They saw that he was bankrupting the old money and wrapping the government's military around his little finger.
The royal family didn't just want to congratulate him. They wanted to rein him in.
And now, they wanted to play.
The Telephone Call
Kniya sat in his massive office in Antorious, tossing a steel paperweight into the air and catching it. He picked up the heavy receiver of his telephone and dialed the direct line for Malesh, who was currently miles away in Seistain, aggressively hunting for a building to turn into his new corporate headquarters.
Malesh picked up on the first ring. "What is the emergency? I am currently trying to buy a commercial skyscraper, and the current owner is testing my patience by breathing too loudly."
"Drop the real estate hunt for tonight," Kniya said, leaning back in his chair. "You are invited to a party. We both are. VIP guests for an exclusive royal family party."
"I am not going to go to this party," Malesh replied instantly. The sound of him aggressively flipping a page echoed through the receiver.
"Why not?" Kniya asked, already knowing the answer.
"Because why do I have to waste my time on a fucking party?" Malesh stated, his voice completely flat. "I am always not interested in a fucking party. Parties require small talk, which is a statistically proven waste of oxygen. I am currently making four million credits an hour just by existing. Standing around holding a tiny plate of cheese is a financial loss."
"Your presence is necessary," Kniya pushed. Knowing Malesh would never attend without a direct financial incentive, Kniya smoothly deployed a complete lie. "After a deal tonight, the royal family will buy oil from you. It is a massive, exclusive contract for the federal reserves."
Malesh paused. The rapid calculation of profit margins instantly silenced his complaints. "Okay. I accept this offer."
"Good," Kniya smirked. "The party starts around 6:30 PM. Go earlier. Arrive at 6:00 PM."
"I am not arriving early," Malesh denied immediately, his tone turning highly suspicious. "If you go early to the party, you also have to organize the venue and clean the dishes. That is a deeply flawed tradition. I am a billionaire. I am not washing a royal salad bowl. If I arrive at 6:00, I will inevitably be handed a sponge."
"Just be at the entrance at six, you paranoid nerd," Kniya laughed, hanging up the phone before Malesh could calculate the exact odds of being forced to do the dishes.
The Entrance
They arrived at the grand entrance of the royal family mansion at exactly 6:00 PM.
Kniya walked up to the opulent marble steps wearing completely casual clothes. He had no dress shirt, no tie, and no suit—just a simple, comfortable T-shirt and a lower. He looked like he was about to take a nap on a couch, not attend the most exclusive royal gala in the country.
Malesh arrived actually wearing a tie, a shirt, and a pant. However, because he had been awake for two days straight managing his global monopoly, he looked absolutely terrible. His shirt was tucked out, his tie was hanging loosely around his neck like a broken noose, and his eyes were hollow and completely dead. He looked exactly like an exhausted government employee who had been working a triple shift without sleep.
They reached the massive, gilded front doors. A highly decorated royal guard stepped forward, blocking their path.
The guard took one look at Kniya's face, instantly recognized the arrogant, untouchable heir of the Anderson family, and immediately bowed. He stepped aside, allowing Kniya to go inside without a single question about why he was wearing a T-shirt and a lower to a formal event.
Malesh let out a tired sigh and tried to walk in right behind his business partner.
The guard instantly snapped his arm out, planting a heavy hand directly in front of Malesh's chest to stop him. The guard then looked past Malesh, addressing Kniya with a look of utter confusion and disgust.
"Sir, you can go," the guard said respectfully to Kniya. Then, he pointed a white-gloved finger directly at Malesh's messy, untucked shirt. "But I don't know him, and he is looking like a laborer. Why are you carrying a laborer with you?"
An incredibly awkward, heavy silence descended upon the marble steps.
Malesh slowly blinked. His brain, which controlled twenty percent of the Earth's oil reserves, temporarily flatlined.
Kniya froze for exactly one second. Then, a massive, evil grin split across his face.
"Oh, him?" Kniya asked, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. "Yeah, he carries my bags. Very hard worker. Barely speaks."
"I literally have more liquid capital than this entire mansion is worth," Malesh stated to the guard, his voice a perfect, terrifying monotone. "If you do not move your arm, I will legally purchase the ground you are standing on and evict you from your own shoes."
"See?" Kniya cackled, patting the extremely confused guard on the shoulder. "He's very cranky when he hasn't had his minimum wage! Come on, laborer, pick up the pace!"