It was Troy Winter, the No. 2 rookie. One of the few S-rank hunters in the country.

  His signature light-blue hair was a mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed.

  “Heard you needed a hand,” Troy said, stifling a yawn.

  Dammit, Rowland, Shane thought, looking down at the young man who was, unfortunately, his escort for the evening.

  Despite the strict business-casual dress code of the auction house, Troy was wearing gray sweatpants—expensive silk ones, no doubt, but sweatpants nonetheless—and a loose, wrinkled black t-shirt that hung off his broad shoulders. His gray eyes were half-lidded, glossy with sleep and a profound lack of interest in his surroundings.

  Shane should probably be grateful Troy Winter hadn’t shown up in his pajamas.

  The S-rank hunter was basically a walking controversy.

  He found out later that Troy was also Ryan’s younger cousin.

  At the time, having always skipped through the story cutscenes, Shane had no idea the two were related. He was just shocked that Ryan had asked Troy fucking Winter to help him in his place.

  Troy stretched, his joints popping audibly in the tense silence of the lobby. The movement lifted the hem of his wrinkled hoodie, revealing a sliver of taut muscle beneath.

  “Follow me,” he said, already moving past Shane toward the entrance, not even introducing himself.

  He probably thought everyone knew who he was.

  Shit.

  Eyeballs were following that man everywhere. Should Shane just ask Troy to do the bidding alone and leave for now?

  But abandoning Troy to take care of a business this crucial was out of the question. Left with no choice, Shane followed without a word.

  Troy strode past the reception desk and right into the auction room as if he owned the place.

  Rows of simple chairs faced a low platform, and a plain lectern stood at center with a small mic. Two big screens on the side walls cycled through photos of the lots.

  The venue sort of reminded Shane of a fancy movie theater, if it weren’t for the guards at the corners watching the crowd.

  Seats were quietly filling up, creating an eerie energy that was different from the shouting matches of the open market, but intense, nonetheless.

  The basics were simple enough.

  The auctioneer would announce the lot, the item up for grabs, and then the screens would flash the item’s specs that had been approved by official appraisers. Then, they’d set the opening bid, the baseline price usually slightly below market value to get the blood moving.

  It was a fun mini-game. When it was just a game.

  High-end culture stressed Shane out, and obviously, these private auctions operated on a set of iron-clad, unspoken rules.

  If they were the same as his old world, the most critical one would be to respect the increment.

  It was a simple rule to follow. If the auctioneer was raising the bid by fifty thousand, you raised by fifty thousand. You didn’t cut it close with an irregular number, and you didn’t jump the bid five steps ahead just to flex your wallet.

  It might seem counterintuitive, at first.

  Shouldn’t these tycoons love splashing cash around?

  But Shane knew the truth. The rich were the stingiest creatures on the planet. And if there was one thing the elite hated more than monters, it was wasting money.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  And no one would want to paint a target on their back by acting out of order in front of high society.

  Heads turned when Troy walked in, a few people whispering his name.

  A staff member hurried after them and gave Troy a paddle and two masks before escorting them to the center block, where the seats were wider and had armrests.

  Sheesh.

  Not even Ryan received that kind of special treatment.

  How did Rowland convince Winter to help? He wasn’t the type to listen to other people just because they asked.

  Shane settled into the plush leather, keeping his eyes forward as he put on the fancy mask that covered half his face.

  Troy just tossed the mask somewhere before slouching in his seat and yawned again.

  “You want me to scare off bids?” he asked, scratching his messy hair.

  “...No.” Shane kept his tone even.

  That was the exact opposite of what he wanted. He’d really prefer if Troy didn’t do anything stupid.

  Troy grunted in agreement.

  Or not. Shane couldn’t tell.

  Two dealers across the aisle kept looking over. One leaned in, whispered to the other, then looked back and forth between Troy and Shane.

  So much for staying off the radar.

  Shane ignored them and focused on the stage.

  The lights in the auditorium dimmed, leaving only a sharp spotlight trained on the lectern as the room fell silent.

  In the world of high-stakes trading, the lead auctioneer was more than just a man with a hammer. He was the conductor of an orchestra that required absolute authority.

  A good auctioneer knew the tells of the billionaires in the front row. They knew who was hesitating and who was bluffing. They knew exactly when to speed up the chant to create a frenzy, and when to slow down to let the fear of missing out sink in.

  Because of that, the position was almost exclusively reserved for veterans with gray hair, sharp eyes, and decades of experience navigating the egos of the elite.

  So when the velvet curtains parted, the air in the room shifted.

  An auctioneer who looked, at most, in his late twenties walked onto the stage. He gave a polished smile and addressed the crowd.

  “A wonderful evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Luke Hinton, and I will be your lead auctioneer tonight.”

  A few people frowned at his youth. But Shane’s expression stayed neutral.

  It would be stupid to disrespect the head of the underworld’s largest intelligence guild, not that the others would know it. To them, Luke Hinton was just a nepo baby of the Hunter Association Director, using his mother’s connections to act as the lead auctioneer tonight.

  This was the man he had been trying to avoid getting attention from.

  In the game, Luke Hinton was an information broker, who obsessed over accuracy. A perfectionist that didn’t want his reputation to tank because he sold the wrong information.

  He hated “unverified variables” in his perfectly calculated world.

  And unfortunately, after the transmigration, the only legal papers on Shane’s history were a birth certificate and a brand-new hunter license.

  That psychopath could easily turn on Shane and decide to delete him. By his logic, having no history meant predicting his moves was impossible, which posed a security risk to his business.

  His attacks would be unpredictable, because his method of killing people was by pulling a few strings in the background.

  God, just let this go smoothly, Shane thought.

  All he wanted was to lay low until he had enough power to be able to strike a deal with the devil on the stage.

  This was why he had wanted to come here with a nameless stand-in.

  Troy Winter was one of the few S-rank hunters in the nation. He was basically a human spotlight.

  Shane simply had to hope the mask would be enough for now to get Luke off his scent.

  The auditorium was dark, and as long as Troy just did his job like he should, there wouldn’t be a reason for Luke to even glance in Shane’s direction.

  The auction began.

  Lot 1 appeared on the screen. A porter brought the piece out and set it on a small stand. The auctioneer introduced the item, then opened at forty thousand dollars.

  “Forty. Forty-five.” He pointed to the right. “Fifty at the phones. Fifty-five in the room. At fifty-five. Fair warning. Sold. Paddle one-one-seven.”

  A quiet applause passed through, and the porter carried the lot away. The next item came up.

  After a few rotations, Troy pointed at an item on the screen with his chin.

  “How about that one?”

  It was a pair of dark combat boots.

  A higher-grade item than what he’d originally wanted.

  Honestly, in terms of price, they were probably worth more than his pendant.

  Seeing Shane’s eyes widened slightly, Troy gave a small smirk.

  “Let them fight it out first,” Shane said in a low voice. “Then match the increment. Don’t get creative.”

  Troy shrugged. “Fine.”

  “It is an honor to present this next item,” Luke announced. “Ladies and gentlemen, from the Nulltide Dungeon, the B-rank [Mistveil Combat Boots]. Capable of reducing total mana consumption to just a quarter.”

  B-rank shoes were rare. Ones with a mana-related effect were even rarer.

  A ripple of excitement went through the room.

  This might get too competitive to rely on Winter alone.

  The starting price was one million dollars.

  “Bidding will advance in increments of one hundred thousand.”

  The numbers shot up instantly, but the auctioneer showed no sign of tension.

  He conducted the bidding with a relaxed grace, as if he were a maestro leading an orchestra.

  Two million.

  Two-point-one.

  Two-point-two.

  And as it was about to hit three million, Troy raised his paddle.

  “Five.”