The night at AIISA passed in silence, but inside the high-altitude suite of Solaris Tower, Steven Blake did not sleep.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the cool, spectral glow of holographic panels hovering before him. Lines of data scrolled endlessly—geopolitical maps, international trade statutes, visa regulations, and banking protocols.
This wasn't the restless energy of a student packing for a vacation. This was the calculated focus of a general studying the terrain before an invasion.
Steven leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly in the quiet room. He laced his fingers together, his eyes reflecting the blue light of the screens.
General Adams' warning still echoed in his mind, heavy and unignorable: "You're weak. Without a proper foundation, rising too high only means you'll fall harder."
He had money. He had technology. He had power. But he lacked roots. To the world, he was still a ghost—a sudden anomaly with clean records but no history. If he wanted to build an empire that could withstand the scrutiny of shadow families and ancient sects, his next step had to be unassailable.
Legitimate. Visible. Absolute.
No shortcuts. No hacks. Only structure.
"System," Steven called out in his mind, his voice steady. "I need access. Not to a weapon, but to the world. Got anything helpful?"
A faint chime rippled through his consciousness, familiar and responsive.
[Ding! System Support Available.]
[Analyzing Host Requirements: Global Mobility, Legal Sovereignty, Financial Fluidity.]
[Solution Found: International Step-Up Package.]
Steven's gaze sharpened as the panel unfolded. The description was minimalist, stripped of the usual gamified flair. It looked less like a reward and more like a treaty.
[International Step-Up Package]Cost: 5,000 SP
Global Golden Visa (Sovereign Tier): Grants unconditional residency and long-term mobility rights across major economic regions (EU, UK, China, Japan, UAE, etc.). Bypasses bureaucratic friction. No queues. No interviews. No political strings.
Global Business & Trade License: A master key for commerce. Authorizes cross-border operations, manufacturing, and investment in 140+ recognized markets. Fully compliant with international trade law.
Universal Banking Architecture: A unified financial identity. All funds are stored in a primary universal denomination, automatically converting to local currency at interbank rates in real-time. One account. Everywhere.
Steven scanned the text, his mind racing through the implications. This wasn't just convenience; it was armor. It would turn him from a wealthy tourist into a global entity.
"This… saves me years of red tape," he murmured.
"Purchase."
[Transaction Complete. 5,000 SP Deducted.]
The holographic panels dissolved into particles of light, reforming into three digital certificates that glowed gold before vanishing into his datastream. In the invisible databases of the world—immigration servers, banking mainframes, trade registries—his status shifted instantly.
For the first time, Steven felt a different kind of weight settle on his shoulders.
Not the weight of secrets. But the weight of legitimacy.
Morning arrived with a pale, washed-out light that promised a clear day.
Steven stood outside the entrance of Selene's Paradise, his hands tucked into the pockets of a charcoal overcoat. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were alert, watching the heavy oak doors.
Moments later, they opened.
Veronica stepped out.
She wasn't wearing the sharp blazers of a student council member or the glamorous gowns of a debutante. Today, she wore a cream-colored trench coat, belted loosely at the waist, over a simple turtleneck. Her hair was tied back with a silk ribbon, and her face was bare of heavy makeup.
She didn't look like a princess or an heiress. She looked like a woman ready to inhale the world.
Her eyes brightened when she saw him.
"You're suspiciously calm," she noted, a playful smile touching her lips as she descended the steps. "Most people look a little more frantic before an international flight."
Steven chuckled, taking her bag from her hand effortlessly. "I am excited. I just process it differently."
She slipped her arm through his, squeezing gently. "That's what worries me. Sometimes I think your heart rate is set to 'corporate merger' instead of 'human'."
"Maybe," Steven admitted, guiding her toward the waiting car. "But today, I'm just a tourist."
"A tourist who probably bought the airline," she teased.
"Just the tickets," he corrected with a smirk. "For now."
The drive to the airport was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between them. There were no grand speeches, no dramatic declarations. Just the hum of the engine and the shared understanding that they were stepping across a threshold together.
The flight was smooth, a blur of clouds and champagne, but the real shift happened when the wheels of the jet touched the tarmac at Charles de Gaulle.
Veronica pressed her forehead lightly against the cool glass of the window, watching the gray sprawl of the airport rush by.
"Paris," she whispered, the word sounding like a secret.
Steven watched her reflection in the glass rather than the city itself. He saw the anticipation in her eyes, the hunger to see, to learn, to create.
Airport security was the first test of his new purchase.
Usually, entering the EU involved lines, questions, and stamps. But as they approached the diplomatic lane, the officer scanned Steven's passport. The screen blinked green instantly. The officer's posture straightened, a flash of respect crossing his face.
"Welcome to France, Monsieur Blake. Mademoiselle Bennett."
They passed through without a single second of friction.
By the time they stepped out of the terminal, the air hit them—cool, carrying the scent of damp pavement, distant coffee, and centuries of history.
It felt older. Richer. Alive.
Their hotel was a historic estate on the Right Bank, a building of limestone and wrought iron that had hosted kings, artists, and revolutionaries. The lobby smelled of fresh lilies and beeswax.
When the heavy door of their suite clicked shut, sealing them in a room of marble floors and velvet drapes overlooking the Seine, Veronica let out a long, shaky exhale.
"This place… it feels unreal," she said, walking to the window. The Eiffel Tower pierced the gray sky in the distance, an iron needle stitching the clouds to the earth.
Steven came up beside her, looking out at the city that had birthed modern fashion.
"It's real," he said softly. "And so is what you're about to build here."
They didn't rush.
Paris was not a city to be conquered with a checklist. It was a mood to be absorbed.
They walked. Calmly.
They drifted past cafés humming with rapid-fire French and clinking porcelain. They wandered down narrow, winding streets in Le Marais where the buildings leaned in like gossiping old friends. They stood before the windows of legendary fashion houses on Avenue Montaigne, where mannequins wore fortunes in silk and tulle.
Steven noticed that Veronica didn't look at the clothes like a shopper. She looked at them like an engineer studying a blueprint. She stopped to examine the drape of a coat, the stitch on a hem, the way light hit a specific weave of velvet.
At the Eiffel Tower, they didn't go up. They stood at the base, looking up at the lattice of iron.
"It's smaller than I imagined," she said softly, tilting her head. "But… intricate. It looks delicate, but it holds up the sky."
"Everything looks different up close," Steven replied. "Strength often looks like art."
Then came the Louvre.
It was vast, overwhelming, and humbling. But they moved slowly through the halls of marble and canvas.
Veronica stopped in front of the Winged Victory of Samothrace. She stood there for a long time, silent.
Steven watched her mind work. He saw her eyes tracing the chaotic, wind-whipped folds of the statue's stone dress—how the sculptor had made marble look like wet silk clinging to skin. He saw her absorbing the balance, the motion, the defiance of gravity.
This wasn't tourism. This was osmosis. She was drinking in the essence of form.
"See how the fabric pulls?" she whispered, pointing without touching. "It's not just covering her. It's telling you the wind is blowing against her. The dress is part of the story."
Steven nodded. "Design with purpose."
"Exactly," she breathed. "It's not just about looking pretty. It's about feeling something."
By evening, the city had transformed. The Seine reflected the city lights like scattered coins in dark water. They took a private cruise, the boat gliding gently under the stone bridges, the music low, the conversation soft.
Dinner was a quiet affair of French cuisine—clean flavors, careful plating, restraint. Veronica laughed more that night than she had in weeks, the shadow of AIISA's gossip and pressure dissolving into the Parisian night.
Later, they stood beneath the glass pyramid of the Louvre, the courtyard hushed and glowing with amber light.
The air was crisp, biting at their cheeks.
"This trip," Veronica said quietly, her breath misting in the cold air. "It already feels… important. Different."
Steven met her gaze. Her eyes were clear, focused, and free of fear.
"It is."
Not because of Paris. Not because of the luxury.
But because this was the first step toward something that would belong solely to her. She wasn't just General Adams' granddaughter or Steven Blake's girlfriend here. She was an artist finding her muse.
As they walked back to the hotel, the city settled into a hum of nightlife.
Steven slipped his hand into hers. His other hand rested in his pocket, touching the cool metal of his phone where the System interface lay dormant.
His foundation was secure. His borders were open. His queen was awakening.
Day one had ended.
Day two would begin with purpose. The world was vast, and they had only just arrived.