The lady host's smile widened as she raised her arm dramatically.
"Fifty million gold for Number Four!" she called out. "Going once!"
No one else bid.
Her gavel hovered in the air.
"Going twice—"
"Eightly million gold for that girl."
A new voice cut clean through the hall.
Every head turned.
All eyes shifted toward the source of the voice.
There, standing calmly among the rows of nobles, was a man wearing nothing but roughly tied leaves as clothing—Remus. He stood with his chest puffed out, a relaxed smile on his face, as if everything was completely normal.
The atmosphere in the hall changed.
The guests didn't murmur.
They didn't whisper.
They didn't react like normal people at all.
They simply went still.
Every noble, every guest, every masked face—
Frozen.
Yet the air around them thickened with something else.
Pure killing intent.
Their eyes, though unmoving, seemed to sharpen—cold, hollow, hateful.
Remus laughed nervously.
