Tyler first left the restroom.
When Tansy and Rose stepped out of the restroom, both looked outwardly unchanged at first glance, but Tyler imdiately noticed the difference.
Each now wore an additional necklace.
They were simple enough not to attract imdiate attention— thin tallic chains resting lightly against their necks, blending naturally with the clothing the Capital had assigned them earlier. To anyone else, they looked like ordinary decorative accessories, perhaps sothing taken from the Lounge or given by attendants.
Only Tyler knew the necklaces were not decoration at all.
"They learned to control nanabots easily." He smiled.
The hidden nanobot reserve inside them gave both sisters one more layer of protection. Not enough to openly fight the Capital, but enough to create a weapon, shield, or ergency tool if the next ga turned worse than expected.
As the two returned toward Sector 11’s section of the Lounge, Tyler’s attention shifted elsewhere.
He had already begun quietly observing the remaining participants one by one, matching faces to numbers and numbers to sectors.
One group near the opposite side stood out imdiately.
Their posture was different.
Even after surviving the first ga, they did not carry the sa visible relief as most others. Their clothing remained cleaner, their expressions sharper, and even the way they looked at the room felt less like survivors and more like people asuring inferiors.
Tyler focused on their badges.
1. 2. 4. 5.
One number missing.
That ant only one of their original five had died.
Given the numbering system, Tyler understood imdiately.
Sector 1.
Kennedy noticed where he was looking.
"They’re from Sector 1," he said while wiping blood near the treated side of his head. "You’ve heard of Sector 1 people, right?"
Tyler shook his head once.
Kennedy stared at him.
"Seriously... which sector are you actually from?" he muttered.
Before Tyler answered, Tansy spoke instead.
"Sector 1 is rumored to be where people closest to the Capital live. Long ago, they were originally Capital citizens who got thrown out."
Her tone remained quiet, but serious.
"They still believe they belong here more than anyone else. That’s why they look down on every other sector."
Rose folded her arms and looked toward them openly.
"Sector 1 always stares at everyone like they’re deciding who to eat first."
Victor, still holding what remained of his strawberry cake, added timidly:
"Miss Aruna said Sector 1 usually has the highest survival rate in the Gas. But this ti... sohow all five of us survived."
He glanced toward the other side nervously.
"So maybe they’re angry because Sector 11 got attention first."
That possibility made sense.
Sector 11 had beco noticeable precisely because no one had died yet.
And inside a place like this, attention itself could beco hostility.
Tyler continued observing the Sector 1 group.
Their faces revealed little, but their eyes had already noticed Sector 11 more than once.
Then suddenly the Lounge changed.
A low chanical vibration moved through the floor.
Several participants imdiately turned toward the walls.
"What now?"
"Did the next ga start already?"
"It’s too early..."
Murmurs spread quickly through the room.
The walls at the far side of the Lounge slowly separated, splitting apart with smooth chanical precision.
Sothing massive began approaching from beyond.
A giant flying platform erged slowly into view.
The entire structure shone gold.
Its lower engines burned with controlled golden fire, even the thrusters designed to produce fla that looked ceremonial rather than practical. The platform floated inward with deliberate grandeur, large enough that every survivor in the Lounge instinctively stepped back or straightened posture without being told.
The Capital clearly understood spectacle.
But what stood upon the platform drew attention even faster.
Several naked young won stood across it in fixed decorative positions, their bodies painted entirely gold so thoroughly that from a distance they almost resembled living sculptures rather than people. So stood motionless beside pillars like ornantal statues. So held trays like decorative servants. Others bent into stylized poses supporting golden dishes placed carefully across their backs as though they themselves were furniture in a moving palace.
If Tansy and Rose didn’t get selected, they might have also turned into decorative items.
Nothing on the platform existed without design.
And at the center, seated with complete ease, was the one person everyone imdiately recognized.
A man whose skin itself glead gold under the lights.
Not rely painted.
His body carried the tallic shine naturally enough to look unnatural even within the Capital.
He wore little beyond a golden fur-lined coat draped loosely over broad shoulders, a crown resting above neatly styled hair, and minimal lower clothing that still matched the sa blinding the of excess. His body was sculpted visibly, every muscle displayed without modesty, as though strength itself had beco part of official presentation.
He lifted a golden glass, took a slow sip, and then rested one leg casually upon the back of one of the painted won near him as though using a chair extension.
His expression remained bored.
As if all of this existed beneath his attention.
Then a voice thundered through the Lounge.
Amplified, ceremonial, absolute.
"By the grace of our First Citizen, the Apex, the President, and the one and only King of Libria—the nation of one Capital and fifteen sectors—John Pmurt Dlanod—"
The reaction was imdiate.
Every participant bowed.
Even those who hesitated half a second quickly lowered themselves when they saw others doing the sa.
Across the Capital, across the sectors, across every ho and public screen where the broadcast continued, people watching also bowed by instinct or fear.
Inside Sector squares, workers lowered heads.
Inside Capital hos, children copied their parents.
Because whether willingly or not, everyone understood the sa truth—
The man now floating before them was not rely ruler.
He was the center around which the entire nation had been forced to revolve.
---
King John Pmurt Dlanod did not even bother standing.
He remained seated on the floating golden platform as though the act of rising for anyone beneath him would already be an unnecessary generosity. One leg still rested across the back of the gold-painted woman serving as part of his seat arrangent, while the golden glass remained loosely held between two fingers. Even his posture carried the kind of arrogance that no longer needed performance because everyone around him had already been trained to accept it as natural.
After a mont, he lifted one hand lazily and made a small waving gesture.
It was enough.
The voice system stopped repeating titles.
The room remained bowed.
Only then did so participants slowly dare to lift their heads again.
Tyler did the sa, but his attention moved imdiately to the giant broadcast screens mounted across the Lounge walls. The King’s face appeared there in close detail, every line of his unnatural body magnified clearly enough that Tyler could study what interested him most, King’s skin.
Tyler narrowed his eyes slightly.
Golden Genes...
He had heard of such things before.
In Libria, advanced biological modifications existed beyond dicine. Healing injections like bronze and silver d were only one part of what the Capital controlled. There were also gene-grade enhancents— rare substances that altered the human body permanently. So improved healing. So slowed aging. So corrected defects.
And above them all were what people called Supre Genes.
They were not rely treatnts.
They rebuilt the body itself.
Perfect skin.
Perfect muscle density.
Extended lifespan.
Disease resistance.
Enhanced regeneration.
And in the entire country, only one person officially possessed the highest known grade.
Golden Gene.
The symbol the Capital reserved entirely for the throne.
anwhile, the King slowly moved his gaze across the gathered participants below, his expression carrying obvious boredom even before he spoke.
His voice spread through the Lounge with smooth amplified authority.
"People beneath ..."
The words alone made several participants lower their heads further.
Then he continued.
"Ti moves in cycles. Sunrise arrives, then sunset follows. Seasons change. Trees flourish, then trees wither."
His tone remained calm, almost philosophical, though every word carried the weight of soone convinced that speaking itself was an act of generosity.
"Life also has its regular patterns. There is birth."
He lifted the glass again.
"And naturally... there is death."
A pause followed.
The King looked down over them without warmth.
"Birth and death are normal occurrences in this world."
He tilted his head slightly.
"So what exactly is there to worry about?"
Tyler’s expression remained still, but inwardly his thoughts sharpened.
What exactly is this man trying to say?
The words sounded like philosophy forced through arrogance without care for whether anyone below understood or not.
The King drank again.
Then gave the answer himself.
"The fact that you can eat delicious food, drink properly, and experience the Capital at all is already a great gift granted by ."
His voice sharpened slightly there.
"So be grateful."
Tyler’s eyelids twitched once.
For one brief second, he genuinely felt that this man belonged to the cultivation worlds he had once known. He talks like those arrogant young masters.
The King continued.
"Try to entertain ."
His gaze drifted lazily across them.
"Try to excite ."
Then with complete indifference:
"Try to make feel... not bored."
The final word stretched slightly.
And then, without warning, he simply closed his eyes.
Silence fell instantly.
The platform remained floating.
The won painted gold did not move.
The attendants remained frozen.
For several long seconds, no one understood whether he had finished speaking.
Then the sound ca.
A soft snore.
Then another.
The King had fallen asleep.
Directly in front of them.
Still seated on the throne-like arrangent, still leaning slightly to one side, still holding his glass while breathing with quiet sleeping rhythm.
No one in the Lounge moved.
No one dared react.
Because even absurdity under power remained dangerous.
The silence deepened until it beca uncomfortable.
Then soone broke it.
A young participant near the middle of the room let out a laugh.
It was probably nervousness more than mockery, but because the entire Lounge had gone completely still, that single laugh sounded far louder than intended.
Every head turned instantly. Even Tyler looked. The participant realized too late what he had done.
The King’s eyes opened. His gaze shifted toward the source of the sound.
Cold. Uninterested. No anger visible.
That sohow made it worse. Then several drones descended without warning, their weapons were already active.
The participant barely raised both hands before the shots fired.
The impact struck instantly.
Several bursts hit chest and neck with surgical precision. The body collapsed before the scream fully ford. Blood spread across the polished floor. The drones withdrew just as quickly as they had appeared.
Silence returned even harder than before. No one moved toward the body. No one spoke.
Because now everyone understood again what the Capital never allowed them to forget—
Even outside the ga, elimination could happen at any second.
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