"I'll keep this brief," Jim said, spreading his hands slightly. "What I want to know is: who among you possesses a similar fragment? Or, to put it another way… who can prove they deserve to own that one?"
There was a moment of silence before Livia spoke first. Her voice was disguised, but cold and resolute.
"I don't have one—but I know who does. I can offer information to help you verify its authenticity and origin."
Elias spoke calmly next.
"I do have one. But I won't say more until I know I can actually get that one in return."
The two other hidden participants also responded, one with a gravelly voice, the other with a clear, ringing tone.
Surprisingly—they also had fragments.
Livia's heart skipped a beat. She instinctively glanced toward the other side of the wooden partition. She couldn't see Elias, but she knew—he was just as shocked as she was.
Everyone… has a fragment?
Different pieces, perhaps. Unmatched, unverified… but the quantity and pattern alone were enough to form a potential key—to the end.
Jim leaned back in his chair, looking quietly amused, a glint of smug control in his eyes.
"Good," he said with a slow smile. "I'll give you my answer in a few days—here. But if you want my piece, you'll have to show yours first. Let me see it."
Then his tone shifted, and a shadow flickered in his gaze.
"I'd advise you not to entertain any other ideas. Some of you may know who I am—others may not. But either way… in this place, none of you have a chance."
The air thickened at once. Livia clenched her teeth.
She had considered this possibility—and the truth was, in this city, none of them were a match for Jim.
But just then, Jim reached to his side and pulled out a black velvet case.
Everyone behind the one-way glass leaned forward as he opened it—and their expressions changed dramatically.
It was a complete fragment.
Its metallic curve, the runes at the edges, the subtle yet unmistakable divine resonance—there was no question. It was authentic.
And it was the most intact piece anyone had ever seen.
Silence fell over the room.
No one spoke.
At last, Jim broke the silence.
"To be honest, the one outside earlier—that was a fake. This is the real one."
The light in Livia's eyes shifted rapidly. She didn't know how much of his words she could trust—
Or perhaps… it was time to place a bet.
Did Jim truly want to gather all the fragments?
Or was this just another layer of manipulation?
And even if he was Jim… did that truly mean the game was lost?
No one answered.
Eventually, everyone left the room in silence—no words exchanged, but minds racing with calculation.
They all knew: the next few days would be decisive.
It was time to make their move.
The night deepened. The auction had long since ended, and the city seemed cloaked in a fog too quiet to be natural. But in a small hotel a few blocks away, the air had grown oppressively tense.
In one of the rooms, the door was tightly shut. The lighting dim. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood by the window, his features sharp as if carved from stone. He held a phone in one hand, speaking in a low voice that masked a barely restrained urgency.
"…Yes. I saw the fragment with my own eyes. Nearly flawless—it's a full piece. And I believe he is Jim."
There was silence on the other end, then a hoarse voice replied:
"I don't know what he's planning. But that thing—it's not fake. If he dared bring it out… it means he's not afraid of us taking it."
"He's gambling," the man murmured, eyes drifting to the dim streetlamps beyond the window. His fingers tapped the windowsill slowly.
"Gambling that one of us wants it more than he does. Gambling that we won't trust each other enough… to unite against him."
Silence again. But this time, a deeper kind—an unspoken recognition of the real strategy unfolding.
"…So what will you do?"
At the same time, in another room, a different man sat in a chair, leaning back slightly, his expression tense.
"…Something about this feels wrong," he muttered, as though speaking to himself… or perhaps lying to someone else.
Outside the window, the wind picked up, rustling the curtains with a chilling whisper.
As though warning that an irreversible game had begun.
The night was far from over.
But the moment of reckoning was drawing near.