Chương 22: The Pearl Above Vernova

Meno was scraping the last of the ice cream when Aureliana Sorell walked into the bar. A bald bodyguard followed behind her, big, quiet, and wearing sunglasses indoors. On anyone else, it would have looked stupid. On him, it looked like a decision someone else regretted. Meno knew who she was before his brain finished comparing her to her avatar. Aurelia had clearly polished her character appearance in-game. Better angles, cleaner symmetry, the usual rich-player vanity. Annoyingly, real life beat the edit.

Her avatar had not been showing off. It had been holding back. She wore a casual summer dress with an open neckline, a thin gold necklace resting at her collarbone, her long blond hair falling straight over her shoulders. She looked better in real life, and Meno took that personally. She noticed him immediately and started toward his table. Meno's confidence, which worked fine through over the net and badly over a phone, decided to abandon him in person.

He straightened in his chair, then half-stood, then realized he still had a dessert spoon in his hand.

"Nice IRL character design," he said. The sentence died the moment it left him. Meno almost choked on air, and Aureliana looked like she had swallowed lemons.

"Follow me."

"Yeah," Meno said.

"That's fair." She turned before he had fully left the chair. Meno took one last look at the empty ice cream dish. The dessert had been excellent. Whatever happened next, The Pearl had already done more for him than most institutions. He followed. The bodyguard fell in behind him, close enough that Meno could feel the man's silence as a pressure on his back. At the elevator, the guard removed his sunglasses and looked at him. Meno looked back for half a second. Bad idea.

The guard's eyes were pale, calm, and professional in the way dungeon bosses were professional. Meno got the sense that if violence happened, the man would not even breathe harder until the report was filed. The elevator doors closed. Silence filled the space. Aureliana faced forward. Meno stood beside her with his hands in his hoodie pockets, suddenly aware of every cheap stitch in the fabric. The bodyguard stood by the panel like a mute. Meno lasted four floors.

"So," he said.

"How was the flight? Good? I went to Jalnor Island once with my family when I was a kid. Flying is actually scary if you think about it for more than two seconds. People just act normal because there are little screens and snacks, but you're still in a metal tube over the ocean." Aureliana slowly turned her head. Her face stayed smooth.

"We don't have to talk." Meno's neck heated, because apparently she was even more annoying in person.

"Are you always this rude," he said, "or am I special?" She glanced at him once, then looked forward again. No answer. Meno stared at the elevator numbers while irritation dug its nails into him. She had called him, found his number, fed the wife meme, summoned him downtown, and now basic speech was beneath her because the building had marble. The elevator stopped at the top floor, opening onto a corridor with only one door. The bodyguard stepped out first, unlocked it, and entered alone.

"Wait," he said. The door closed. In the expensive quiet, Aureliana looked Meno up and down.

"Is this the best you could wear?" Meno looked down at the hoodie. Clean white shirt underneath. Jeans. Shoes that had at least avoided mud.

"Yes."

"You are about to speak to my father." Meno's head snapped up.

"What?"

"My father wants to speak with you first. Then the guilds."

"You told me this was about meeting guilds."

"It is. Afterward."

"Afterward," Meno repeated.

"I would not have agreed to this otherwise," she said.

"Try not to panic. It is only a video call."

"I could have taken a video call from home. Why come all the way here if that's all?" He heard the answer before she gave one. The Pearl. The penthouse. The Sorell name. The bodyguard. The steak-burgers charged to her account. The city below.

"Ah," Meno said.

"I get it. He wanted me impressed by the wealth first, so I'd be more likely to agree to whatever he wants." Aureliana crossed her arms.

"I don't know what he wants. Your guess is as good as mine." That sounded true enough to be annoying. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Meno shifted against the wall.

"So what level are you?" Her mouth tightened.

"Oh, now you are interested? In game, you decline everything. You ignore my email. You mute whispers. But now that you saw me, you speak to me like we are friends. You people are all the same."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Meno said.

"I'm just being nice."

"Exactly. You are terrible at it."

"I don't actually care about your shitty level. What, maybe sixteen? Seventeen?" Her arms uncrossed.

"That is perfectly respectable progress."

"Yeah, sure," Meno said.

"If you're a casual." Aureliana's eyes sharpened, and for a second he saw the Rift Archer again, the one who had threatened to PK him outside safe walls. Before she could answer, the door opened and the bodyguard stood aside.

"You can enter." Aureliana stormed in first, and Meno followed, only to lose his next line to the sheer stupidity of the penthouse. Stupid was the only useful word for it. The living room was larger than his entire apartment. Polished wood, leather sofas, low tables, glass walls showing Vernova spread below in lights and dark water. A chandelier hung overhead in layered rings. One side opened into a kitchen with an island the size of a siege platform.

Through another doorway, he saw a bathroom with a tub large enough to count as a private lake. Three side rooms branched off the main space. A flat screen covered most of one wall. At least a hundred inches. Aureliana stopped before it. The bodyguard tapped something on his phone. The screen lit immediately. A video call connected. The man on the other side sat in a room that looked old, quiet, and expensive enough to have buried several lawsuits.

He was in his fifties or early sixties, with short gray hair, a neatly trimmed gray beard, and a suit that seemed less worn than inhabited. A crystal glass sat near one hand beside a decanter of brown liquor.

"Ah," the man said.

"Meno Varsh. Nice to finally meet you. I'm Carl Sorell. My daughter has had quite a lot to say about you." Meno turned toward Aureliana.

"Hey, wait. Is that true?" Aureliana's face went flat.

"That is false." Carl laughed like he had heard that answer before and enjoyed it every time.

"So, Mr. Varsh—""Can you please call me Meno?" Meno cut in.

"Or PrayerBeadGod if you prefer, but Mr. Varsh makes me feel like I'm talking to a lawyer." Aureliana made a choking sound. The bodyguard looked at Meno like he had become a problem in real time. Carl reached for the decanter and poured himself a drink.

"Of course. Meno, then. Your username is certainly creative, but it rolls a little rough on the tongue."

"Yeah," Meno said.

"That's been mentioned." Carl took a sip. Meno shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"So how can I help you, Mr. Sorell?"

"Good. Let's get to the point." Carl set the glass down.

"I organized this whole charade because you are about to receive another mythic design credit." Aureliana looked at her father like she was hearing this for the first time, and the room seemed to tighten around the silence. Carl continued, smooth as polished stone.

"I am not compensating you to do anything, of course. Your payment from the guilds is for consultation." Her jaw clenched.

"I should have known." Carl turned his eyes to her.

"Be silent." The words were quiet, but Aureliana looked down at once. Meno did not like her. She was rude, arrogant, entitled. But she had folded under those two words like they had been pressed into her since childhood, and the sight put a sour taste under the expensive dessert. Carl looked back to Meno. Meno forced himself to focus.

"You think Titan II gives another mythic design credit?"

"That is my expectation."

"The system might resolve it by deleting me."

"It might." Carl lifted the glass slightly.

"That would be unfortunate."

"For me, mostly."

"For everyone with imagination." Meno paced three steps before catching himself. The room was too nice for pacing. It made nerves look poor.

"Can't you just buy a design credit for yourself?" he asked.

"Or buy the company? You're Sorell-rich, right? I really don't want to get banned." Carl chuckled.

"Do you know who runs Veyrath?"

"The AI," Meno said.

"Badly." Carl's smile widened.

"The mind behind the AI's development would never allow outside purchase of a reward like that. He is richer than I am." Meno blinked.

"Who is this brain guy? I want to file a complaint. His AI needs serious work." Carl was taking another sip and nearly lost it. He coughed once, then laughed properly.

"His name is Morlendo Felt. I seriously recommend you do no such thing. He will take it personally, I assure you. He is a very petty man." Carl leaned back slightly.

"I also recommend you avoid publicly insulting the AI too much."

"Sure, whatever. Falling damage is a valid source of XP."

"I love the passion, young man." Aureliana looked like she wanted to vanish through the glass wall. Carl's amusement faded back into business.

"Do not worry. I do not care what kind of item you design. I have only a small request." There it was. Meno felt the shape of the deal before Carl said another word.

"I would like you to name it after my wife, Marielle. That is all." Aureliana's head snapped toward the screen.

"What?" Carl looked at her, ugly this time, and she went quiet again. Meno watched her for half a second before looking back at him.

"Mr. Sorell, that is the most obvious possible giveaway if I don't name it after myself."

"You are overthinking it."

"Overthinking is not my biggest problem."

"It could be someone you know. A character name. A private reference. It only needs to look explainable." Carl's voice stayed even.

"The credits arrive as consultation. From an unrelated account. Nobody will say otherwise."

"If I get banned, plausible deniability doesn't help me play."

"If you get banned, I will sue them on your behalf." Meno stared.

"Even if you sue them, I stay banned. That ruins my chance at the leaderboard."

"You will not get banned. I am quite certain." Meno resumed pacing. Meno understood fights. Hitboxes, dodge timing, red telegraphs. This was different: money, pressure, and Carl speaking like every outcome had already been placed on a table and priced. He did not want to do it. Saying no would cause trouble too. Carl might not be able to buy Veyrath, but he could buy inconvenience. A payment delay here. A platform review there. WorkLink suddenly harder to use.

Legal pressure from someone who could afford to be bored. Sponsors Meno had not even gotten yet deciding he was not worth the risk. Even his mother's job prospects could narrow without anyone admitting why. A hundred little doors could close without Carl ever raising his voice.

"I was offered one hundred thousand for the previous item design," Meno said. Carl's eyes lit by a fraction, and Meno knew why. He had not said no, and Carl had heard the opening.

"If I wire too much, your chance of enforcement increases exponentially," Carl said.

"Filing one hundred thousand under guild consultation is reckless while you are not yet famous enough to justify it."

"Yet." Carl nodded once.

"Yet." That landed badly because Meno liked it.

"If I risk getting banned, I want more," Meno said.

"Otherwise it's not worth cutting off my future."

"You are increasing the very risk you claim to fear. I would strongly advise against a higher amount now. Once you are more famous, we can arrange something larger with less heat." Carl lifted the glass.

"For now, consider it a favor from me." A favor from Carl Sorell would be useful, dangerous, and not immediate enough. Meno looked at Aureliana. She was staring at the floor, arms held tight, anger trapped behind expensive manners. She had called him nobody, mocked his poverty, and told him not to embarrass himself. Her father had made her smaller with two words. Meno looked back at Carl.

"I want you to hire my mother into one of your companies." Aureliana looked up. Carl did not move, so Meno kept talking before he lost the nerve.

"You own plenty. Find her something real. Good pay, benefits, work she can do without being treated like a pity project. No charity room, no whispering, no making her feel small. She's tired, not stupid." Carl set his glass down.

"That can be arranged." Meno's throat tightened.

"But," Carl said, "I will add a caveat." Of course.

"You will remain in contact with my daughter. If you discover anything of broader significance, not items or materials, but systems, design credits, naming rights, anything with value beyond ordinary play, I would like first refusal." Aureliana shot Meno a dirty look, but he stared back. The caveat was ugly. The whole thing was ugly.

He would be tying future discoveries to Carl, keeping Aureliana in his orbit, and possibly walking straight into the exact account-bound reward loophole enforcement had already warned everyone about. His mother could have something real: good pay, benefits, a life that did not depend on him going viral, dodging bans, or turning his body into a projectile for XP. Twenty-five thousand credits on top meant rent, a proper rig, room to breathe. Meno could tell himself it was only a name.

A lie with plausible deniability, which was apparently what rich people called risk management. He heard himself answer before the better part of him found a cleaner route.

"Deal."