Night December 5, 2011 — after the meeting in the office of Caelum, Novaeus slung his jacket over and walked to the entrance to ride on the car that's been readied for him by his bodyguard. As they rode to the Macao Jockey Club, Adrian was updating him on the status of the recycling plant.
"Currently, the output and input of the recycling plant is steady, but we already have some problem with the supply — especially metal. We are having issues with that raw material. Plastic and other synthetic materials though, no problem there," reported Adrian.
"Hmmm… in that case, make more trucks from the current supply that we have. Extend the trash collection route and buy from junkyards — metal frames of cars that they don't want anymore. That should alleviate our immediate needs. We can just buy it from them at the normal price of metal. How is our smuggling route looking up?" asked Novaeus.
"We are currently still in the works of fully devouring the smuggling route of other syndicates that we defeated, and nothing is wrong with it. Everything is going smoothly, and the handling of it will be finished — estimated to be in the next few days. That should give us a new income source," Adrian said.
"Hmmm… in that case, buy some cargo ships and extend our recycling plant's business out to the other harbors in the vicinity. We can use the cargo ships for smuggling, and then when they return, they can haul trash that we can use," said Novaeus.
"Yes sir," said Adrian.
Then silence returned to the car. The hum of the engine filled the space as the city lights streaked across the tinted windows. Macao at night was a mix of neon opulence and dark corners, a living contradiction. The car passed the outer districts — the casinos, the riverside lights, the soft reflection of skyscrapers in the still water. Novaeus rested his arm on the window, his eyes distant but sharp, calculating. Every street, every block, every corner of this city — he had begun to shape it to his will.
Adrian occasionally stole glances at him through the rearview mirror. He had long stopped trying to read Novaeus's expressions — calm, detached, unshaken, the kind of calm that unsettled men who spent their lives in chaos.
The drive to the Macao Jockey Club wasn't long, but the air outside was cold, the winter wind carrying faint traces of sea salt. The Jockey Club loomed like a palace of fortune — wide gates, marble pillars, banners announcing the December Derby. The sound of engines, the flash of tailored suits and polished shoes — wealth had a particular scent here, a mix of perfume, tobacco, and power.
They arrived.
As the car rolled to a stop, bodyguards in dark suits immediately stepped out, forming a subtle perimeter. Novaeus emerged, adjusting his cufflinks, the night's air brushing against his face. He looked around — the lights, the people, the noise — all of it alive with desperation disguised as excitement.
Adrian approached, handling the entrance details. The invitation from Julian Chao was presented, and soon enough, an usher escorted them through the velvet-lined corridor to the VIP stands.
Julian was already there, ticket in hand, eyes fixed on the race currently unfolding. His smile was a little too wide, his fingers a little too restless — a man cornered by fate but still pretending to hold control.
Novaeus signaled for his entourage to scatter — some to the bar, others to blend into the crowd. He preferred having his men unseen but always close. He walked to Julian's side.
"Hello, Mr. Julian Chao. How have you been?"
Julian, caught off guard, turned quickly, immediately straightening his coat. "Hello, Mr. Novaeus, I'm fine, thank you very much. How are you?"
Novaeus replied, "Never been better. Please, call me Nova."
He took a seat beside Julian, eyes settling on the track. "So this is horse racing, huh?"
Julian exhaled, relieved by the informal tone. "Yes, yes, it is. Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Nova. I never really thought you would come, but you honor me by accepting the invitation."
Novaeus smiled faintly. "No problem. You helped me when I first got here. So what's a little invite? And to be honest, I was intrigued about this horse racing… so my curiosity got the better of me."
Julian chuckled politely, trying to match his tone. "You've never been to a horse race before?"
"No," replied Novaeus. "Never been to one and never bet on one. It's… intriguing."
He leaned forward slightly, watching the horses line up at the gates — their nostrils flaring, muscles rippling beneath polished hides, handlers whispering to them like priests before a sacrifice. The air thickened as the gates clanged open, and the thunder of hooves rolled across the field. The crowd erupted.
But Novaeus didn't cheer. He just watched.
His mind dissected the movement — not of the horses, but of the people. The bets exchanged, the subtle signals, the way money changed hands like contraband. Every cheer masked a transaction, every smile hid a loss or a gain.
Julian, beside him, clapped and leaned close, shouting over the noise. "It's beautiful, isn't it? The energy, the passion!"
Novaeus's lips twitched. "Beautiful, yes… but also predictable."
Julian blinked. "Predictable?"
Novaeus didn't look at him. "Every man here thinks he's chasing luck. But luck doesn't exist. Only odds. And odds can be manipulated."
Julian laughed nervously, unsure if it was a joke. "You think so?"
"I know so," said Novaeus, his tone even. "In my world, everything is a game of odds. Those who depend on chance die first."
Julian shifted uncomfortably, but forced a smile. "You certainly have a way with words, Mr. Nova."
"Observation," Novaeus said. "That's all it takes."
The next race was about to start. Novaeus's eyes swept the crowd. Businessmen in crisp suits whispered deals, politicians laughed too loudly, women with diamond necklaces leaned close to men with gold watches. A world built on illusion — different faces, same hunger.
Julian gestured toward the betting booths. "Would you like to place a bet? Just for the experience?"
Novaeus tilted his head. "Why not."
They walked together, followed by two silent bodyguards. The booth attendant smiled nervously when she saw them approach — something about Novaeus's calm aura made people's instincts flare.
Julian explained the basics. "You can bet for Win, Place, or Show — simple bets. Or, if you want something more challenging, there's Exacta, Trifecta — guessing the top two or three in order."
Novaeus nodded as he listened, his eyes flickering to the list of horses. The names didn't matter. What mattered was the pattern of bets, the odds displayed on the screens, the ratio of risk to payout.
Julian asked, "So, which one will you choose?"
"I'll bet on the one with the least bets," said Novaeus calmly.
Julian frowned. "The least bets? But that's the one least likely to win."
"Exactly," said Novaeus. "If it does win, it will break the system. I'm not here to play. I'm here to see how the game reacts."
Julian stared at him, confused but curious. "You're a strange man, Mr. Nova."
Novaeus allowed himself a small grin. "No, Mr. Chao. I'm just not afraid to lose small to learn big."
They placed the bet. The race began. The horses burst forward — thunder and dust, speed and chaos. The crowd roared. Julian shouted for his pick, but Novaeus remained still, hands in pockets, eyes following only the motion of the leaders, not caring for who won.
When it ended, Julian cheered. His horse placed second. Novaeus's, predictably, lost miserably.
Julian turned, laughing, "You see, Mr. Nova? Luck can be sweet sometimes!"
Novaeus smiled faintly. "Sweet? Maybe. But it's fleeting. Tomorrow, the same crowd will lose twice as much. That's the nature of dependency. They always return for the illusion of control."
Julian nodded slowly, unsure if he was being warned or taught.
For a moment, silence fell between them again. The lights of the racetrack reflected in Novaeus's eyes — twin embers of thought.
Julian finally cleared his throat. "Mr. Nova, I actually wanted to speak to you about something more… pressing."
Novaeus turned slightly, waiting.
"It's about the Grand Fortuna Casino," Julian began carefully. "We've been… struggling. The market's been unforgiving. I was hoping perhaps we could discuss a potential—"
"Partnership?" Novaeus finished for him.
Julian hesitated. "Yes. I believe with your influence, your… resources, the casino could—"
Novaeus raised a hand lightly. "We'll talk about business tomorrow. Tonight, let's enjoy the race."
Julian nodded, though the relief on his face didn't quite reach his eyes.
Novaeus leaned back, gaze drifting once again to the track, the flashing lights, and the endless turning of wheels — not just of fortune, but of control.
To most, this was leisure. To him, it was reconnaissance. A battlefield dressed in luxury.
And as the night carried on, his mind worked quietly beneath the surface — mapping networks, watching alliances, identifying prey. Because here, under the pretense of a sport, the powerful gathered not for entertainment, but to measure one another.
Novaeus could feel it — the pulse of the city's elite, the hidden conversations behind their laughter. Each smile, each bet, each handshake — a move on a grand board only he seemed to see in full.
He didn't need to win a race. He only needed to understand how the race was run.
The announcer's voice echoed across the stadium as the final race approached. The lights dimmed slightly, focusing on the track. Novaeus glanced toward Julian, who was nervously fidgeting with his cufflinks again.
"Relax, Mr. Chao," he said softly. "Tonight is just the beginning. Sometimes, all it takes to turn fate is to know where to place the right piece."
Julian smiled weakly, not realizing how literal those words would one day become.
The race began.
Horses thundered down the track, the crowd erupting once again in deafening cheers. But Novaeus's mind wasn't in the race anymore. It was already ahead — beyond the racetrack, beyond the night — building the next step of his empire.
Because in the end, luck was just a tool for men who didn't understand control.