The morning after the horse race, December Six two thousand eleven Macau woke beneath a pale haze. The city's skyline shimmered with the afterglow of excess — casinos, hotels, and high-rises glittering like jewels scattered across the South China Sea. The streets below were already alive, filled with taxis, traders, and tourists chasing fortune before breakfast.
Inside the headquarters of Caelum, the air was calm, sharp, and perfectly still. The contrast between the city's chaos and this silent sanctuary was deliberate — Novaeus liked it that way. His office sat high above the streets, walls of glass overlooking the harbor. From that vantage point, everything below him looked small — manageable.
Julian arrived exactly on time. He was dressed impeccably, but his hands betrayed him — fingers fidgeting, his grip tightening on the leather briefcase as he stepped inside.
"Good morning, Mr. Nova," Julian greeted, bowing his head slightly. "I hope you had a pleasant night's rest."
Novaeus didn't turn immediately. He was standing by the window, watching the light play across the sea. Only after a pause did he glance over his shoulder.
"Well, yes," he replied evenly. "It was a good night. Not only did I see a fine show, but I also gained quite a lot at the horse races."
He walked back to his desk with measured grace, setting his jacket neatly across the chair before sitting down. "Now," he continued, "please have a seat Julian "let's get to the point. My time is limited — the business demands more of me lately."
Julian forced a smile, the kind that hides uncertainty. "Of course," he said quickly. "I came today hoping you might be interested in investing in the Grand Fortuna Casino. At present, it's struggling, but I have a plan to turn things around. The owner is old, tired, and willing to hand it over. He's given me permission to seek arrangements."
He paused, gauging Novaeus's reaction. The office's silence pressed down on him, and though the air conditioner hummed softly, sweat glistened at his temple.
Novaeus regarded him with calm detachment — the way one studies a chess piece before deciding where it belongs on the board. "Hmm," he said at last. "In that case, can you convince the owner to sell the entire business to me?"
The question landed like a stone in still water slightly startling the recipient.
Julian blinked, caught off guard. "Sell the whole casino… to you?"
"Yes," Novaeus said, his tone unchanging. "If you can persuade him, I will buy it in full. And you will remain as manager."
The words hung in the air, heavy and deliberate. Julian opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond. He hadn't expected this. In truth, he'd come prepared to plead for partial investment — not a complete takeover.
But before he could speak, Novaeus continued.
"I do not plan to own only one casino," he said. "I intend to expand — hotels, restaurants, entertainment complexes. The industry is lucrative, provided it's handled properly. Macau thrives on risk, after all. It only needs a stronger hand to control it."
Julian's heart thudded in his chest. His mind raced through the implications — the size of the deal, the potential, the danger.
Novaeus's eyes shifted slightly, studying him. "However," he added, "if you wish to retain your position as manager, you must also fulfill another task."
Julian straightened instinctively. "What task, sir?"
"I've been thinking since last night," Novaeus said, leaning back in his chair. "The horse race intrigued me — not as a spectacle, but as an enterprise. I want to enter that field. Not as a bettor, but as a sponsor. I intend to build a horse racing team — horses, trainers, jockeys, everything. Can you handle that, Mr. Julian?"
The question hung in the air like a verdict. Julian's breath caught; he had not expected that turn. The offer had evolved into something much larger — and far more dangerous.
He hesitated, his mind spinning. The old Julian would have said no, but the one standing here now, staring at the man who could reshape fortunes, understood that opportunities like this didn't come twice.
Finally, he took a slow breath and extended his hand. "Very well, Mr. Novaeus. We have a deal."
Their handshake was brief but binding — a silent contract sealed in ambition and unease.
"Good," Novaeus said. "Then do as you see fit. I trust you understand the importance of efficiency."
"Of course," Julian said quickly, his voice steadier now. "The sooner I begin, the better."
"Very well," Novaeus replied, turning back to the window. "You may leave. I have other matters to attend to."
Julian hesitated, then bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir. I won't disappoint you."
He left quietly, his footsteps echoing against the marble. The door closed behind him with a muted click, leaving only silence in his wake.
Outside, Julian walked briskly toward the parking area, the cool air brushing against his flushed face. He unlocked his car and paused for a moment, glancing back at the towering Caelum headquarters.
It looked monolithic from where he stood — dark glass rising into the clouds like something carved out of ambition itself.
He felt a surge of determination. This was his chance. His path upward. If he succeeded in securing the casino and the racing team, his position would be secure — perhaps even powerful.
He started the car, the engine humming softly beneath his trembling hands. As he drove out through the iron gates, the morning light reflected briefly on the building's mirrored windows — and somewhere behind those panes of glass, Novaeus was still watching.
From his office, Novaeus stood silently, eyes following the small black sedan until it vanished into the city. He remained still for several moments, thinking.
Julian had potential. Ambitious, cautious, eager to prove himself. Useful traits — but ultimately, replaceable ones.
If he succeeded, the casino would serve Caelum well. A legitimate business front, open and respectable, perfect for laundering operations. The casino would absorb dirty money and release it clean, legitimized through the endless tide of bets and losses.
Novaeus could already see it: the chips, the cash flows, the silent exchanges between the tables and the back rooms. It was all a system, a perfect cycle of transformation. Money, like power, simply needed to move to stay alive.
He turned away from the window and sat down again, steepling his fingers.
The horse racing venture intrigued him more, though. It wasn't merely business — it was control dressed as sport. A battlefield where the elite wagered pride and fortune under the illusion of luck.
Novaeus understood it for what it truly was — another network of influence. Trainers, breeders, bettors, investors — all bound together by greed.
And Caelum had the advantage: resources, technology, and the expertise of Eidin. The A.I.'s catalogue of pharmaceutical recipe could redefine the boundaries of performance. A horse enhanced chemically, metabolically — not enough to be noticed, but enough to guarantee victory.
With Eiden's help securing victory in the realm of technology, pharmacy, genetics, and other fields that he can think of in the future, winning is never really a challenge it is but a carefully plan dominance that he would unleash when the time is right.
He imagined it: sleek black stallions tearing down the track, unstoppable, untouchable, carrying his insignia to victory after victory. A new front for dominance, cloaked in prestige and glory.
Horse racing, casinos, hotels, shipping — each piece a fragment of a greater puzzle. Each operation feeding into the next. The recycling plants would feed the smuggling routes; the ships would carry legitimate cargo one way and secrets the other. The casinos would wash the profits. The racing team would build public image and connections to the high elite.
Caelum would be everywhere — seen, yet unseen.
Novæus had always known that patience was the foundation of true power. empires weren't built in the noise of conquest; they were woven in silence, thread by thread. He'd waited centuries once — a few months meant nothing.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
Julian thought this was his moment to shine. He thought he was being elevated. But Novaeus knew better. The man was merely a tool — a necessary one. Tools don't complain; they serve their purpose until they're replaced.
Outside, the city pulsed with life — traffic lights flickering, crowds rushing, the faint hum of the harbor blending with distant horns. Novaeus watched the motion from behind the glass, detached, unmoved.
To him, it all resembled one thing — a living organism. A city made of arteries and veins, pumping money instead of blood.
And Caelum would soon become its heart.
He opened a file on his desk, the beginnings of a plan already sketched in neat handwriting. Every detail — acquisition routes, financial networks, offshore accounts — all leading to one central structure. A machine built to operate indefinitely, sustained by greed and disguised as progress.
The casino would be the beginning.
He smiled faintly, a rare, fleeting expression.
The game was unfolding exactly as he intended.