The Eighty-Five Billion Dollar Problem
"You've been avoiding her," Nine accused, voice ringing inside Amara's skull. "Since you arrived, you haven't even checked if she was asleep before casting that silence charm."
Amara stood in the hallway, ignoring the voice only she heard. Finally, she sighed.
"Let me see your mother."
They entered the room together. Amara froze for a second, her breath catching as she looked at the frail woman on the bed.
"We finally found her," Nine whispered, tone unusually solemn.
"It's clear as day now."
Amara composed herself, turning to Aryan with practiced neutrality.
"I'll arrange her transfer to the Central Defense Hospital."
Aryan's eyes darkened. "How safe is that? I don't want to gamble with her life."
"The Central Hospital is Peace Class territory," Amara said firmly. "Even if Monarch Markus wants to hurt you, his influence stops at those doors. International protocols protect it. She will be safe."
The tension melted from Aryan's shoulders. He nodded, squaring his chest.
"Okay. Train me hard, then. My mother always taught me to repay favors a hundredfold. If we survive this... I'll grant you one request, unconditionally."
Amara's lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Then your training will be doubled. Be prepared."
The transfer was executed with military precision.
Within minutes, an ambulance team arrived—not through the front door, but through a spatial tear in the living room wall. Nurses in crisp uniforms moved with efficient silence.
"Won't they help me?" Aryan asked the lead doctor, a woman with eyes like ice. "You said Peace Class."
"We maintain Peace status by not involving ourselves in conflict," the doctor replied coldly, checking the monitors.
"If sacrificing you ensures tranquility for the city, we would make that exchange without hesitation."
She signaled the team. They wheeled the gurney toward the portal.
Aryan stepped forward to follow.
THUD.
Amara's arm shot out, blocking his path like an iron bar.
"That's as far as you go," she declared.
"I just want to make sure she's settled!" Aryan pleaded.
"If you walk in there, you mark that room," Amara said, forcing him to look at her. "Right now, she is just a patient. If you visit her, she becomes leverage. No visits. No calls. No flowers."
"How long?" Aryan whispered, watching the portal close.
"Until you are strong enough that no one dares touch her," Amara said. "Until you transform from the hunted into the hunter. Until you become the nightmare they fear."
The portal vanished, leaving only a blank wall.
Aryan stared at it for a long moment. Then he turned back, his eyes dry and hard.
"Let's go."
Amara's residence was a fortress masquerading as a brutalist mansion on the outskirts of the city.
The windows were bulletproof glass. The door scanned Aryan's retina, fingerprint, and bone density before hissing open.
The interior was spacious but cold. No family photos. No warmth. Just high-tech training equipment and weapons hanging on the walls like art.
"Do you live alone?" Aryan asked, his voice echoing in the empty hall.
"My parents were killed by a Destroyer Demon when I was ten," Amara said casually, tossing her keys onto a glass table. "Orphans don't need guest rooms."
She walked toward the kitchen. "I'm making protein shakes. Don't touch the swords on the wall—they're cursed."
Aryan collapsed onto a sleek leather couch. He pulled out his phone to check the time.
The screen was pulsing gold.
DING.
[Loot Processing Complete.]
[Target: Anay (Gluttony Demon)]
[Unique Trait Activated: "Greed Eater"]
[Effect: When a Demon of 'Greed' is executed with Truth Breaker's assist, their accumulated material wealth is liquidated and transferred.]
Aryan frowned. "Liquidated? What does that—"
A banking notification slid across his screen.
[Credit: $85,000,000,000]
The phone slipped from his fingers, clattering against the floor.
"Amara," he croaked.
She appeared in the doorway, shaking a protein mixer. "What? Did you break something?"
Aryan pointed at the phone.
Amara picked it up. She counted the zeros. Once. Twice. Then she looked at Aryan, her eyes wide.
"Eighty-five billion..." she whispered.
"This wasn't just a bounty. You absorbed his entire empire. Offshore accounts, stock portfolios, real estate... the System liquidated it all."
She handed the phone back, shaking her head.
"No wonder they sent an Assassin so fast. You aren't just a witness, Aryan. You're a walking vault." She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms.
"Poor guy. You became a billionaire just in time to die for it."
"Hahaha!" Sam's laughter echoed in Aryan's head.
"When you said 'I'm rich and I'm dead,' I thought you were exaggerating. But kid, your instincts are spot on."
Aryan ignored the AI. He stared at the ceiling. "So every demon in Anay's network knows I have their money?"
"They want it back," Amara said, taking a sip of her shake. "And they want your head on a spike."
"So what do we do? Hide?"
"No," Amara said sharply. "We train. We train harder than anything you've ever done. You need to train like your life depends on it."
Aryan looked at his hands—soft, uncalloused hands that had only ever carried trays.
Then he looked at the billions in his account that he couldn't spend because he'd be dead in a week.
"But my life does depend on it," Aryan said, a dry, hysterical chuckle escaping his lips. "It literally does."
Amara looked at him. The corner of her mouth twitched. Then, for the first time, she laughed. It wasn't a smirk; it was a genuine, short laugh.
"Yeah," she admitted. "It sure does."
She finished her drink and pointed down the hall.
"That's your room. Sleep fast. Wake up at morning Four. No magic pills yet. We build your foundation naturally."
"Four in the morning?" Aryan groaned.
"If you're late," Amara called out, walking to her own room, "I'll use the practice daggers. Goodnight, Billionaire."
Aryan entered his room—stark, clean, and safe. He collapsed onto the bed.
As he closed his eyes, the System spoke one final time in the darkness.
[Current Objective: Survive Hell Training.]
[Difficulty: Spartan.]
[Reward Reminder: +5 Strength, +5 Agility, Survival.]
"Advice," Sam whispered in his ear. "Set the bank balance as your wallpaper. You're going to need the motivation."
Aryan pulled the blanket up.
"Wow," he whispered to the empty room. "I'm really going to die."