Nikoly was sitting in her high-performance ergonomic chair, holding a bottle of Japanese craft beer and her eyes fixed on the interface of her game in development: Mystic: The Crown.
The light from the monitors reflected on her face as she typed lines of code at an absurd speed, almost as if the keyboard was just an extension of her thoughts.
"Hmm... needs more balance on the support cooldown..." she murmured, pursing her lips while adjusting the abilities of a character inspired by yokai folklore.
Then the hologram of ÆVA appeared beside her with a soft but direct voice. "Message received from Ivy. Request for cyber operation against the servers of the True Beauty corporation. Instructions: pressure and saturation attack, no critical damage."
Nikoly smiled sideways, her gaze shining with amusement. "Finally something fun today. I was bored balancing the tank passive."
She dropped the bottle on the table, snapped her fingers, and leaned back like a queen who had just received an invitation for a war game.
"ÆVA, initiate the protocol. And throw in lux_inferior.exe as a bonus. Let's make noise, but with elegance."
"Protocol initiated. Injecting saturation routines into the main servers. Spreading bots with false requests, filtered DDOS attacks, and memes with refined irony."
"Good girl," Nikoly murmured, crossing her legs on the table and watching the show unfold on the holograms before her.
The room was filled with real-time graphics: spikes of absurd traffic, servers crashing, and an entire True Beauty team appearing on internal camera visual records—running like panicked ants.
"They never learn," said Nikoly, taking another sip of beer. "Want to play global corporation and don't even have a decent firewall."
For almost an hour, the rival company's systems were congested. Sites offline, digital store locked, records corrupted. All within the "non-destructive" margin, but absolutely humiliating.
"Attention. European cyber police systems have started moving. Trackers are running," announced ÆVA, with the typical coldness of an AI that had played this game thousands of times.
Nikoly just smiled and stretched like someone finishing a good movie. "Then it's time to end the session."
"Initiating trail cleanup. Traffic reversal. Redirecting to fake Russian IPs and activity camouflage. Deleting internal origin records."
Seconds later, the graphics collapsed into absolute silence. The True Beauty servers were partially restoring their functions, but the damage had already been done—and without any evidence of the real origin.
"Report, ÆVA?"
"Estimated damage to True Beauty accumulated since the first attack: 1 billion dollars. Multiple partnerships and planned collaborations suspended due to distrust in the company's integrity."
Nikoly laughed out loud. "One billion?! Damn, that deserves a trophy. I just wanted to have fun."
"The abandonment rate of commercial agreements with the corporation is growing 18% per hour. Speculative investors are removing shares and analyzing capital transfer to competing companies, including Tycoon."
She clicked her tongue. "What a pity... the world is cruel to the incompetent. By the way, reminds me to send flowers to True Beauty's security director. Signed: 'Improve your firewall.'"
"Message created. Do you also want to send a cookie with tracking code, as a precaution?"
"Of course. And make the package with digital glitter. I want it to cause allergies just by opening."
While Europe was still trying to understand what had happened, Nikoly spun again in her chair and returned to her project.
— America —
At the ancestral Lancaster mansion, in the aristocratic heart of New York, silence dominated the corridors like an ancient fog.
The imposing property was a jewel of the past.
In the front room, where time seemed to slow down, the family patriarch—Lord Edmund Lancaster, father of Victoria—was seated in a Victorian armchair.
In front of him, a marble side table with a steaming silver teapot, two impeccable cups, and a tray of petit fours he didn't even look at.
His eyes were fixed on the hologram projected to the side of the room, where a detailed report of the True Beauty servers' crash was narrated by a digitized informant with a neutral voice.
"…the servers collapsed in three consecutive waves. Overload attacks, bots programmed with random behavior, and emergency route suppression. The estimated accumulated damage is 1.07 billion dollars to date, with no prospect of stabilization before 48 hours. Strategic partnerships are frozen, and markets have started reacting negatively."
The patriarch exhaled heavily, pressing his fingers to his eyes as if the universe itself was exhausting him. His gray hair was impeccably combed back, and his stern expression was that of a man used to winning and who hated losing.
"Incompetents," he murmured with disdain. "Unable to hold an emerging corporation like Tycoon… They are crumbling from within."
He turned to the informant, a man in a dark suit, impeccable appearance, and military posture, and asked without emotion:
"And my daughter? How is Victoria?"
The informant clicked on his tablet and responded efficiently. "Miss Victoria is doing well. Reports indicate continuous progress in Tycoon's marketing management. She has led strategies that multiplied the brand's reach. Personally, she appears balanced. The relationship with Prince Kael is active. He is currently on a diplomatic mission in Asian countries."
Lord Lancaster remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the tea cooling before him. His face austere.
"Keep surveillance. Discreet. I don't want my daughter involved in any scandal caused by this corporate war. If Tycoon sinks… she must have somewhere to escape."
"Yes, sir. Protection is already in motion," said the informant with a slight bow before leaving the room.
Alone again, Edmund raised the cup to his lips and took a slow sip. The refined taste of the tea did not calm his mind. Deep down, he knew the world was changing, and old families like his were being challenged by young and ruthless minds.
The Lancaster name still dominated the old world… but the new? It was in dispute.
He put down the cup and looked at the stained glass ahead.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the continent…
On a glassed-in balcony in the Tycoon headquarters tower, in Phoenix, Victoria was barefoot on a silk cushion. The golden sun passed through the stained glass as she spoke via holographic call with Kael.
"…and then we were taken to a temple on top of the mountain. The view was absurd, Victoria. The sky looked painted. Electric blue. Even I, a terrible poet, wanted to write a haiku," said Kael, smiling through the hologram, his white hair tousled by the wind.
Victoria laughed softly, her eyes shining lightly. "You talking about poetry is something I'd like to see in person… Maybe you'll surprise me and become a born romantic."
"Was that a provocation or a disguised compliment?"
"A bit of both," she replied, resting her chin on her hand. "But honestly… I wish I were there. That kind of trip would do me good."
Kael leaned closer to the screen. "When I return… we'll run away together for a week. Just me, you, the sky, and no email notifications. Promise?"
"I promise," murmured Victoria, smiling sideways.
For a moment, the world seemed to slow down.
— Europe —
In a luxurious corporate skyscraper in the heart of Geneva, Switzerland, where True Beauty™'s European headquarters shone with panels and holograms of its product lines in infinite rotation, the Executive Council room seemed more like an arena about to explode.
A black marble oval table reflected the tense faces of fifteen senior directors, all impeccably dressed, each carrying the weight of a shaken empire.
The panoramic windows showed Lake Geneva in the background, calm and clear, a direct contrast to the hurricane building inside the room.
"Billions…" growled one of the finance executives, looking at the projected screen. "One hundred million dollars evaporated just this morning. Not to mention the two hundred million from the previous attack and the suspension of partnerships with Imperial Vogue and Arken Pharma."
Another executive leaned forward, eyes half-closed in frustration.
"And all this…" he pointed with a thin, deadly finger "because of the incompetence of our global marketing director. Miss Elise von Rathenau."
All eyes turned to her.
Elise, with her posture too elegant to bow before idiots.
"I am the marketing director, gentlemen. I am not responsible for a product that took four years to leave the development bench." Her voice was low, precise, and sharper than a razor. "Four. Years. To deliver a facial mask that, in the 31st century, still uses bioactives from the 2900s decade. Who here wants to talk about real incompetence?"
The atmosphere froze.
Everyone could hear the air conditioning humming silently.
The target of her direct accusation, Henrik d'Val, the Research and Development director, snorted arrogantly. A bulky man, gray-haired, with the air of a misunderstood genius.
"Our Vérité Absolue™ mask was tested in thirty countries. It passed all the demands of the Cosmetic Medical Federation and received five quality certifications. The problem, dear Elise, is not the product. It's you not knowing how to sell it."
Elise turned slightly in the chair, fingers crossed on the table, as if just beginning.
"Tycoon's facial mask, called LUX, has adaptive dermal regeneration technology. A formula based on liquid-structure nanocrystals that integrates with the user's DNA and changes with each application. Do you know how long it would take our team even to understand this structure? Thousands of years. And you tell me the problem is me?"
An awkward silence fell.
One of the market analysts at the table quickly checked the tablet and murmured. "She is right. LUX is light years ahead… our product doesn't even have an adaptation mechanism. And Vérité Absolue™'s profit margin is only 18%. Tycoon is selling with a 26,000% margin."
Henrik slammed his palm on the table.
"That's because they are inflating prices! It won't last! This hype…"
"This hype," Elise cut him off, now standing coldly, "is the result of marketing that used an unknown celebrity and turned her into a global icon in 12 hours. Elena's thirty-second clip has more impact than all our campaigns in the last four years. And who approved Vérité Absolue's advertising script? It was you, wasn't it?"
Henrik turned pale.
Elise then looked around the room. No voice dared interrupt her. She was in control, even when everyone tried to throw her into the fire.
"Gentlemen… the company is sinking, and everyone here is more concerned with finding a scapegoat than presenting solutions. If you want to keep pointing fingers, feel free. But let it be recorded: the next generation of the market won't wait for True Beauty to recover. It will bury it."
Having said that, she grabbed her tablet, closed it with a snap, and sat back calmly like a wolf who had just torn a deer's throat out.
The CEO of the European headquarters, a man of rare speech, finally leaned forward. "Tycoon won this round, yes. But we are far from being out of the game. Miss Rathenau, you will be kept in the position… and have full freedom to reformulate the marketing of our next line. I want your strategy by Friday."
"You'll have it tomorrow," Elise replied with a slight smile. Icy.
Henrik crossed his arms, biting his own tongue.
As they left the meeting, the executives whispered, confused between contempt and respect.
Elise knew: it was always like that.
When you are a woman, young, and brilliant—you either burn fast, or burn others first.
And her? She was not one to burn alone.
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