The doors of the Carrington Building swung open, releasing a gust of chilled air from the marble lobby into the muggy London dusk. Selena Rockwood descended the stone , heels tapping in rhythm against the weather-worn granite. Her tailored charcoal suit was crisply pressed, the waist drawn in just enough to complement her tall, lean frame. A silver pocket watch hung from her vest like an ornament of power rather than necessity. Her dark hair, pinned into a sharp, no-nonsense bun, only emphasized the intensity of her dark eyes—eyes that seemed to know too much.
Beside her walked Henry, a man in his mid-thirties with neat spectacles and a professional if slightly nervous air. He held a slim folder against his chest and tried to match her brisk pace.
"Miss Rockwood," he said again, clearing his throat, "I truly am grateful for this opportunity. Most wouldn't look twice at someone like me."
Selena didn't break stride. "You're resourceful, Henry. And discreet. That's worth more than a resume."
Her gaze remained fixed ahead, expression unreadable.
"Now," she continued, "how did the meeting with the Sedgewick motor company go?"
Henry adjusted his glasses, voice lowering as they stepped onto the pavement.
"He's holding on. Claims the company still has a future, despite the pull-out from Westpoint Finance and Stanwell."
Selena clicked her tongue. "He's gambling pride against arithmetic. Always a losing bet."
"He was open to the idea of a sponsorship deal—something light to keep the brand afloat."
"No." Her voice was final, slicing through the air. "Sponsorship is for the salvageable. If he wants to keep piloting a sinking ship, he can go down with it. Either he sells it entirely, or we walk."
Henry gave a small nod, keeping his eyes forward.
"I followed your instructions," he added. "I floated the purchase offer, hinted gently at our involvement in the Bloom Project during our other meetings."
A slight, knowing smile touched his lips.
"They're intrigued—even the ones pretending not to be. Though I sensed... some hesitation."
Selena's lips curled slightly at the edge. "It's alright. Curiosity and greed always win in the end. It's just a matter of timing."
She shifted topics as they approached the curb, where a sleek black Jaguar waited.
"And the Evans?"
"Yes. Both parents have accepted the offers—clerical work, unionized, decent pay.
They'll live comfortably."
He paused.
"If I may, Miss Rockwood... why all this for them?"
Selena didn't slow down.
"Let's say... an acquaintance of mine made a request."
Henry tilted his head. "Then you should know. The father—he's got advanced-stage lung damage. Likely cancer. Factory work. He doesn't even know how bad it is."
Selena exhaled through her nose, more irritation than pity.
"Well, with more money he might finally see a doctor. Add health coverage to the relocation packet if needed. The request was for better conditions. That's what they're getting."
Before Henry could reply, Selena stopped—her attention drawn to a man leaning casually beside her car, one hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other twirling a silver pen between his fingers.
Oliver Donovan.
His blond hair was slicked back in a practiced sweep, and his eyes, unnaturally blue and far too amused, settled on Selena like a hunter spotting game.
"Mr. Donovan," Selena said coolly, straightening a loose button on her jacket. "I wasn't aware we had anything scheduled this evening."
Oliver stepped forward, flashing Henry a brief, almost dismissive smile before returning his full attention to her.
"No formal meeting," he said. "Just thought I'd suggest a drink after work. We do have something to celebrate—our little agreement with Empirical Publishing?"
Selena gave him a polite, empty smile. "There's no need for celebrations. We're practically family now."
That phrase—practically family—was delivered with the same sterile warmth that bosses often used when cutting salaries.
Oliver laughed, a low, indulgent chuckle.
"Like family, huh? Took me a while to figure out just how deep your family tree runs. Still—impressive. Truly."
He raised a brown envelope that had been hidden behind his back.
"I have something you'll want to see. Maybe even worth a glass of that overpriced port they keep at the Savoy."
Selena locked eyes with him for just a moment too long. Then, without breaking eye contact, she turned to Henry.
"Take the car to the hotel's underground lot. Have the valet keep it running."
Henry hesitated a second, glancing from Oliver to Selena, then nodded and took the car keys from her gloved hand.
"Of course, Miss Rockwood."
As he stepped away, Oliver's grin deepened.
"Brilliant," he said. "It's a date then."
Selena gave him nothing but a slight arch of her eyebrow and turned sharply on her heel.
---
In the warm glow of the restaurant's wall sconces, two figures sat at a corner table near a large arched window. Rain drizzled against the glass behind them, the blurred lights of passing cars giving the illusion of a dreamlike watercolor scene beyond. From afar, they looked like a couple—perhaps lovers or colleagues sharing a late dinner. But closer inspection told another story.
Oliver Donovan lounged back in his seat, wine glass in hand, one leg crossed over the other. His signature smirk played at the corners of his mouth, his eyes never quite leaving the woman across from him. His whole posture radiated relaxed confidence, the air of a man who knew how to play charm like an instrument.
Selena Rockwood, by contrast, was all precision and control. Her back was perfectly straight, her gloved hands flipped through a folder—her black gloves brushing softly against the typewritten pages. Her dark eyes flicked across the lines like a surgeon scanning an X-ray for fractures. Her expression was a mask of concentration, only occasionally disrupted by the small, calculated flick of an eyebrow.
Oliver observed her—not the file.
How her lips, plush and unpainted, pursed with focus.
How she made no wasted movement, as if even blinking was scheduled.
How the subtle line of her jaw never relaxed.
Finally, Selena closed the folder with a deliberate snap and slid it across the table.
Her voice was sharp, professional.
"Where did you get this?"
Oliver didn't blink. He leaned in slightly, elbows resting on the table.
"That, my dear Miss Rockwood, is a curated list—names of intermediaries, facilitators, discreet brokers. People who, shall we say, understand how money moves in the shadows."
She didn't reply immediately. Her eyes returned to the folder, then flicked back to him.
"All of this is for Bloom?"
Oliver smiled wide, as if enjoying her effort to play innocent.
"For Bloom, of course."
"I'm not following."
"Oh, really?" Oliver chuckled, leaning back and studying her. "When I first met you, I thought: Here is a woman with vision. A cultural patron saint. Art, literature, free speech—your whole Bloom pitch nearly restored my faith in upper-class philanthropy."
Selena cut in, voice smooth but clipped.
"You're trying to frame this as something it's not. I told you from the beginning—Bloom is a guild. A structure designed to help creators reach their potential. Writers, athletes, performers. The kind of people who shape culture, especially during transition periods."
"Uh-huh." Oliver's grin faded. He tapped the folder.
"So where does the money come from?"
Selena let out a long sigh and placed her hands calmly in her lap.
"I'm not sure why I feel the need to explain myself to you, Mr. Donovan."
"Because," he said, lowering his voice, "I don't want my father's legacy—his stake in Imperial Publishing—used to wash the sins of half the East End."
The air between them changed. The flirtation was gone, replaced with unspoken sharpness.
Selena tilted her head, then finally nodded.
"Everything I've said about Bloom is true. It is a legitimate venture. Its goals remain unchanged."
Then, her voice dipped—mischievous, sly.
"But let's not pretend that a good idea can't carry multiple functions."
Oliver waited.
"Think it through," she said. "Right now, private capital is forced to make laps across borders. Illegal transfers from London to Zürich, then funneled through shell companies in Kuala Lumpur or tax havens like the Seychelles. It's costly, it's inefficient, and frankly—it leaves too many breadcrumbs."
She picked up her water glass, then continued, her tone like velvet over steel.
"Now imagine this: instead of laundering cash through half a dozen banks, the client—say, an arms dealer or offshore investor—invests in Bloom as a sponsor. Bloom then 'invests' in artists, writers, athletes. Those creatives then use that money for production—real, visible, taxable results."
She smirked.
"You can't put a price tag on creativity. You can only approximate its value."
Oliver looked at her, eyebrows slowly rising.
"And the money?"
"Circulates back," she said simply. "We structure payouts through contracts, royalties, event sponsorships, all under domestic compliance. No foreign wires. No need for shady intermediaries. The money has a clean source and a clean destination. That makes it safe—untraceable."
Oliver laughed, not from amusement but from disbelief.
"You're fearless."
Selena's smile was razor-sharp.
"No, Mr. Donovan. I'm careful. There's a difference."
She leaned forward slightly.
"And you—well, you're smart enough to know I'm not wrong."
Oliver's face shifted, tension crawling across his jaw.
"Besides," she added lightly, "you value what you have too much to report anything. Your hands aren't exactly clean either, are they? Or shall I remind you about that lot of banned Soviet novels you moved through Gibraltar last year?"
He froze.
She blinked at him innocently.
"I don't mind the hypocrisy, Oliver," she said sweetly. "But let's not pretend you're here for justice."
He grinned despite himself, then shook his head.
"You really are dangerous."
--------
At Hogwarts —
Petunia had finished unpacking. She kept things minimal. Her books were lined up by subject and use, her clothes neatly folded into the drawers, and her satchel hung on the bedpost. The silence of having no roommate suited her fine. There were no curious questions. Just space.
and then she stepped into her sub-dimensional space.
The air changed. The soft coolness of night greeted her, and the faint rustle of leaves echoed through the forest. The dragons, familiar as ever, were there. Some were asleep, others coasting silently above the treetops. The crescent moon overhead bathed the land in pale light.
Zephros landed nearby, wings folding as he trotted toward her. He pressed his nose gently into her hair.
She placed a hand on his snout. "Alright, alright. I missed you too."
A brief flicker of memory pulsed at the edge of her mind—a byproduct of her bloodline. A flash of warm fire, scaled wings, sharp eyes, and a fleeting sense of something more primal. Petunia blinked it away with a wry smile.
"Though, let's be honest," she said, stepping back, "you've been doing just fine. I saw her. She suits you."
Zephros huffed softly and lowered himself onto the ground.
Petunia leaned against his side without ceremony. A few other dragons stirred, shifting their positions. One settled near her feet. Another perched nearby, tail curling gently around a rock. They didn't crowd her—but they lingered close, as if by habit.
She opened the floating panel of the system, fingers moving across the interface. She scrolled through the tabs, checking recent changes, adjusting some configurations.
[Broadcast Channel Subscription Agreement
Section 1. Definitions
1.1. Scenario: A designated narrative environment or world, within which broadcasted content is generated and events unfold.
1.2. Dokkaebi: The authorized entity (hereafter "Channel Administrator") responsible for managing and facilitating broadcast operations within a specific Scenario.
1.3. Constellation: An observing entity or subscriber possessing the right to sponsor individuals (hereafter "Incarnations") within an active Scenario upon payment of the designated entry fee.
1.4. Dormant Incarnation: A native resident of the Scenario who has not yet entered into a sponsorship agreement.
1.5. Incarnation: A Dormant Incarnation that has entered into a formal sponsorship contract with a Constellation.
or have been recognized by the system as an Incarnation , and participates in system missions.
1.6. Sponsorship Contract: A mutual agreement between a Constellation and a Dormant Incarnation/Incarnation, through which the latter becomes an Active Incarnation and may receive support, powers, or guidance in exchange for contributions to the Constellation's influence and reputation.
---
Section 2. Broadcasting Obligations
2.1. The Channel Administrator (Dokkaebi) is required to broadcast the entirety of the Scenario it is assigned to without obstruction, delay, or manipulation unless otherwise approved by the System.
2.2. All events within the Scenario are considered fair and public broadcast content, accessible to subscribed Constellations.
---
Section 3. Subscription and Entry Rights
3.1. Constellations are required to remit the standard Scenario Access Fee upon entry to a Channel.
3.2. Upon successful payment, a Constellation is granted:
a. The right to observe all events within the Scenario broadcast.
b. The right to initiate or propose Sponsorship Contracts with Dormant Incarnations.
c. Access to reward mechanics, contribution logs, and affiliated influence points based on their Incarnation's performance.
---
Section 4. Incarnation Protocols
4.1. All residents of a Scenario are, by default, classified as Dormant Incarnations.
4.2. Upon formal acceptance of a Sponsorship Contract from a subscribing Constellation, a Dormant Incarnation is elevated to Active Incarnation status and becomes eligible for sponsorship benefits and corresponding challenges.
---
Section 5. Termination Clause
5.1. The Channel Administrator retains unilateral authority to terminate a Constellation's Subscription Contract under the following conditions:
a. Breach of broadcast or interference regulations.
b. Violation of contract terms pertaining to Sponsorship behavior.
c. Failure to comply with payment, ethics, or systemic harmony clauses.
5.2. Upon termination, the Constellation:
a. Forfeits all access to past, present, and future broadcasts of the Scenario.
b. Is prohibited from initiating new contracts, influencing the Scenario, or maintaining contact with Active Incarnations therein.
c. Will be marked Blacklisted from the specific channel unless appeal is granted by higher System authority.
---
Acknowledgement
All participating Constellations, Incarnations, and Channel Administrators are bound by the System's fundamental laws. Breach of contract will result in enforced sanctions, up to and including revocation of authority, sponsorship voidance, and universal suspension.]
Inside the quiet of her sub-dimensional sanctuary, Petunia sat beneath the soft glow of a translucent console interface suspended in the air before her—an ethereal panel that hummed with the unmistakable energy of the System. The panel was open to the Broadcast Channel Subscription Contract, a document she hadn't bothered reading in full before. Now, however, her eyes lingered over every clause and footnote with slow, calculated attention.
Her eyes narrowed as she paused on a particular line:
> "The Channel Administrator retains unilateral authority to terminate a Constellation's subscription, provided such authority is explicitly granted within the initial channel authorization."
So it wasn't because [Abyssal Black Flame Dragon] had broken a rule when offering sponsorship to Vald.
She tapped her finger on the clause again, rereading it.
> "Termination rights are executed at the discretion of the Administrator in cases not contingent upon breach, but on internal protocol adjustments or access restructuring."
Petunia leaned back slightly.
It had been her right all along.
The System hadn't punished the dragon for meddling—it had simply obeyed her directive as channel administrator. Her position gave her greater power than she'd fully realized.
And with that, came full control over who could watch, influence, or participate in her world.
A part of her wanted to feel satisfaction.
But then, her thoughts drifted—unwillingly—toward Vald.
> "He's no longer dormant," she muttered to herself. "He's an Active Incarnation now…"
The interface confirmed it.
A notification log hovered on the edge of her peripheral vision, timestamped in golden system script:
> [Vald ███ has signed a Sponsorship Contract with [Abyssal Black Flame Dragon] and has been granted Active Incarnation status.]
Petunia didn't click it. She didn't ask for more details.
Because some part of her knew she wasn't ready to know.
That version of Vald—the one who looked at her like she was his entire sky—was gone the moment the system swallowed him into a new 'role'
With a swift flick of her hand, she closed the tab.
But her mind was far from settled.
If she truly was the channel's administrator, what else could she do?
Among the headers:
Subscription Flow Control
Scenario Injection Rates
Sponsor-Scenario Visibility Threshold
Sponsorship Cost Calibration
Incarnation Elevation Delays
Narrative Integrity Locks
She stared.
"Could I tweak the contract itself?" she wondered aloud.
Technically, yes. She had override access. And she could redefine subscription tiers, even temporarily suspend new constellations from entering. The System even allowed conditional clauses—for example, barring specific constellations unless certain narrative events triggered.
She could also raise the cost for someone like the Abyssal Black Flame Dragon to re-enter the scenario. Make it so exorbitant in energy that even a being of his scale would have to think twice.
Or she could do something more subtle: alter the Sponsorship Permissions for all Incarnations. Block "invasive binding clauses," or prohibit emotional manipulation through sponsor channels.
"How far can I go before the System corrects me?" she asked herself.
She had power.
With the holographic interface still active, a keyboard materialized before her. The keys glowed with faint silver light, symbols shifting between languages in real time, syncing seamlessly to her thoughts. Petunia cracked her knuckles—old habit—and leaned forward, her fingers beginning to dance across the keys without pause.
Her expression was unreadable, but there was a trace of cold finality in her eyes.
[ALL SUBSCRIBERS ARE FORBIDDEN FROM SPONSORING INDIVIDUALS DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY, EXCEPT FOR THE ADMINISTRATOR WHO MAY BE SPONSORED.]
As she struck the final key, the letters glowed fiercely before embedding themselves into the framework of the Broadcast Contract. The clause she had typed was bold, absolute—a hard reset to the very premise of the sponsorship ecosystem.
For one heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—a surge pulsed through the System.
The console trembled.
A large crimson System Panel unfurled before her like a divine mandate, accompanied by a warning tone not unlike the tolling of a bell.
> [ding! SYSTEM ERROR: UNBALANCED REVISION DETECTED]
The system has flagged the recent clause for violating Channel Equilibrium Protocol.
To authorize this edit, the Contractor must willingly forfeit system privileges of equal or greater weight.<
Petunia's pupils narrowed as she read the words. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"What's the equivalent to what I want edited, then?" she asked, voice firm but quiet.
The system didn't delay this time. As though prepared for her question, it answered in a calm, neutral tone:
> [CONTRACTUAL EQUIVALENCE CALCULATION COMPLETE]
To implement the new clause, the following administrator privileges will be permanently or semi-permanently relinquished:
• Loss of Selective Entry Control: The Administrator will no longer be able to handpick or reject constellations entering the channel.
• Subscription Fee Reduction: The standard subscription cost per Constellation will drop from 10,000 to 100 coins, decreasing barrier of entry.
• Banishment Penalty Activated: Each ban enforced by the Administrator will incur a system-debited coin penalty proportional to the Constellation's influence rating.<
A silence fell in the room.
Petunia stared at the panel.
Her first instinct was outrage. That much loss of power—for a single clause?
She bit her lip, her mind already running calculations.
Lowering the subscription fee… meant a floodgate. More constellations would pour in, the system would attract attention, and her channel would become noisy.
Losing selective entry meant giving up control of who could even witness or interfere in the scenario. No more filtering. No more stopping someone like the Abyssal Black Flame Dragon before he even stepped foot in her world.
And coin penalties… would bleed her over time. Every ban would be an expense. And some of those constellations might push limits on purpose, forcing her to choose between her principles and her resources.
"That much?!" she hissed under her breath, eyes flashing.
The system responded as if it anticipated the frustration:
> [The right to sponsor an Incarnation is a foundational principle of all System-regulated Channels.
It is the primary mechanism through which Constellations engage with Scenarios.
Removing this privilege from all except the Administrator is likely to result in formal protest or withdrawal of Constellations.
Proceeding may result in narrative instability and increased difficulty maintaining Scenario interest metrics.]<
She stared at the warning. It didn't forbid her—merely told her what price she would pay.
Petunia turned her gaze to the expanse beyond her sanctuary.
Wasn't this why she got involved in the first place?
She clenched her jaw. The system's rules were clear—but her conviction had never needed permission.
After a moment of stillness, she exhaled. It was a long, burdened sigh, one that tasted of consequence.
"...Sigh. So be it," she muttered.
Then she looked up, and said with a heavy heart—
"Do it."