CHAPTER 151: 151. SWINDLING THE PRINCE?

Suddenly, I felt a presence approach.

I didn’t bother raising my head. I was far too comfortable in my bubble of misanthropy to entertain more people. Maybe they’d take the hint and walk away. But instead—

Thud.

The bastard just sat down. Right beside me.

Uninvited.

And worse, he casually nudged my shoulder like we were long-lost pals in a feel-good reunion scene.

The nerve.

I side-eyed him with a glare sharp enough to cut through reinforced steel.

And then...

He smiled.

That cocky, teeth-showing, utterly punchable grin.

Even worse—I recognized it.

"...Art?" I muttered, voice dipped in disbelief and mild horror.

He nodded, brushing his golden hair back with the same dramatic flair he did every single time.

Then came the cheeky, infuriatingly smooth voice. "Yes, sir. Long time no see. Seems like you’ve been keeping some very interesting company, my friend."

He said that while looking at Kaelira.

Who, to her credit, was currently trying to decipher whether the man seated next to me was a harmless idiot or a walking red flag. Probably both.

He leaned in slightly and, with an elegance that was entirely too rehearsed, took her hand in his own.

Kaelira flinched but didn’t pull away—yet.

His voice dipped into that soft, buttery register he always used when trying to get a girl to bed him. "And who might you be, my fine lady? Has my dear friend here been giving you trouble? Say the word, and I shall valiantly duel him in your honor. By the way the name is Art... Art Alaris."

I watched her face morph from neutral confusion to visible disgust.

She blinked, tilted her head slightly, and said—deadpan, no hesitation—

"Art... Alaris? What kind of name is that..."

But then it hit her.

The dots connected.

Her brows creased as realization slammed into her like a rogue skill crit.

Her eyes widened. Big. Too big. Like they were about to pop out of her head.

She looked at me with a face that screamed, "Tell me this isn’t who I think it is."

I sighed and gave her a solemn nod.

Confirmation received.

She turned back to him, still processing. "You’re... from the royal family, aren’t you? A crown prince? What the hell are you doing here—on a completely different continent?"

Art pursed his lips, then—without missing a beat—casually pointed his thumb at me. "Didn’t he tell you he’s from Alaris too? Did you question him?"

Kaelira opened her mouth to argue, but immediately choked on her own logic.

"...Yeah, I did," she admitted, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "But he was with his friend when we met. She left. He helped me... and I wasn’t about to abandon someone who was actually useful."

I snorted.

Art chuckled, swirling the glass of red wine in his hand like some overly dramatic noble in a stage play. He took a small sip, savoring it, then said in that ever-so-smug tone of his, "Smart girl. I can see why he likes you."

I choked on air.

"What the hell? Who said anything like that? Stop making assumptions, Princey Boi."

He waved a hand lazily in the air, brushing off my protest like it was irrelevant background noise. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Then, as if remembering the actual point of his existence, he added, "By the way, the rest of the crew’s here. Main event’s about to begin."

My expression sharpened. "Wait—what about Amelia’s mother? Did you find anything?"

Art nodded. Another sip. His face sobered just a bit.

"Yeah. Not her directly, but... there’s a trail. A small piece of evidence traced her movements here. And guess what?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "A lot of Opalcrest nobles are gathered in this building. But this," he waved around at the people and the lights and the sparkling facade, "is just the distraction."

Kaelira and I both leaned in now.

He continued, "The real meeting is happening elsewhere. In a sealed lower zone. Something big’s going down. But the cover story is just... well, what you see. A fancy gathering of elites and gamers."

I ran a hand down my face. "Then why not just alert the authorities? Have them storm the place. We’re not soldiers, man. We’re students. We did our job. We found a clue. Time to let the big guys handle the rest."

Art exhaled a humorless laugh and downed the rest of his wine. "If only it were that simple. Even if we handed everything over, what if something happens to her before the cavalry arrives? You know how slow these bureaucratic pricks move."

I hated how right he was.

I looked down at my hands. Flexed them. I still didn’t feel ready for this kind of responsibility.

And yet here we were.

Kaelira, who’d been strangely quiet for a while now, finally spoke. Her voice cautious but direct. "Wait... are you two spies or something?"

I looked at her, then at Art, then back at her—and laughed softly.

"More like... unwilling exchange students who got drafted into a real-life conspiracy theory."

"Spies would at least get paid," Art added with a smirk.

Kaelira crossed her arms. Her eyes flicked between the two of us, unsure whether to throttle us or believe us.

Probably both.

"This is too much," she muttered. "A royal. A hidden meeting. A potential hostage situation. And you guys are just throwing this around like it’s normal."

"We cope with humor," I said.

"And sarcasm," Art added helpfully.

"And suppressed trauma," I finished, raising an invisible toast.

Kaelira sighed like she regretted every decision that led her to this moment. "Gods... I’m surrounded by morons."

"Highly competent morons," I corrected.

"Debatable," she muttered.

Still... she didn’t leave.

...

The moment lingered. The fake lights. The fake music. The fake smiles.

All of it.

I leaned back again, my arms folded, eyes tracking Vaylin as he moved between groups like a seasoned performer on his grand stage. It was almost impressive how effortless he made it look—almost.

Kaelira stayed unusually quiet. She didn’t trust Art. Not yet. I didn’t blame her.

"Alright, Art," I said, tilting my head toward him. "Enough foreplay. Where’s this meeting happening? The real one."

He raised a brow, amused. "You sure you want to get into this now? We just reunited. No hugs? No tears?"

I glared. He sighed.

"Fine, fine. It’s in the underdeck. Hidden zone below the main structure. Accessed only through a biometric-linked elevator near the back of the main hall. Vaylin has the only key signature, but someone lifted his imprint earlier during a handshake."

Kaelira blinked. "You... pickpocketed a digital biometric?"

Art nodded, smug. "I’m royalty. Not just spoiled, y’know."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So you’re telling me we can sneak in?"

"Sort of." He reached into his coat and pulled out a thin, metallic card, glowing faintly at the edges. "This’ll get us in. But we need a distraction—because once the system notices two guests missing from the top floor, it’ll trigger surveillance tracking. We’ll have a ten-minute window."

I looked at Kaelira.

She met my eyes with a reluctant nod.

"I’ll make the distraction," she said, and even Art raised a brow at her sudden boldness. "He already knows me. If I start a scene, it won’t feel weird. Just obnoxious."

I blinked. "You sure?"

She rolled her eyes. "If I can survive your bull, I can survive this. But of course I need my reward too you know"

"...ok, that makes sense. But what?"

She took a deep sigh. "He is royalty right? Then he can talk his way and get me a place in Alaris. I want to leave Opalcrest after all of this is over. So, can you give me the citizenship of Alaris?"

I didn’t say anything, just smiled. Then slightly glanced at Art, who had his brows raised.

He coughed, a deeply fake cough. "For a distraction that’s quite the price."

Instead of renegotiating or lowering her demands, she added. "Of course, if you can provide a permanent job there. It will be even better."

Art raised his hand to stop her, chuckling wryly. "Ok. Ok. I get it, you will get your citizenship. But nothing else, you need to find a job on your own."

Her smile bloomed, she got up from her seat and vigorously shook his hand. "Thanks for your generosity."

Art glanced between us, whistled low. "She’s good."

"She’s better than good," I muttered. "Alright. What’s the plan?"

We leaned closer, heads nearly touching, and began whispering.

Art sketched the route quickly on a napkin—of all things—explaining how the service hall behind the reception desk linked to the elevator system. Once Kaelira pulled everyone’s attention, we’d slip in through the maintenance corridor. With the imprint card, we’d descend straight into the Underdeck.

Easy, right?

Yeah. Sure.

...

Ten minutes later, everything was in place.

Kaelira stepped away, blending into the crowd. Art and I took positions near the right-hand corridor, pretending to admire some overpriced sculpture of a dragon eating itself.

I glanced sideways at him.

"You ever think we’re in way too deep?"

He didn’t look at me. "Every damn second. But it’s too late now."

"Always is," I muttered.

And then—

"VAYLIN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"

Everyone turned.

Kaelira stood dead center of the room, her face contorted into mock-rage, a glass of wine in her hand, which she promptly threw onto the pristine white carpet.

Gasps echoed. Cameras swung her way. Vaylin froze mid-sentence.

Oh, she was selling it.

"You think I’d just come here like some mindless sheep? That I’d be impressed by your stupid monologue and cheap bribes? Screw you, you manipulative fraud!"

She stormed toward him.

Vaylin raised both hands, maintaining calm like some misunderstood CEO in a scandal interview. "Please, miss. I think you’ve misunderstood—"

"Misunderstood? You’re a walking misunderstanding!"

Guests were now crowding in, murmuring, recording, whispering. It was chaos. Controlled, but effective.

I nudged Art.

"Let’s go."

We slipped into the corridor unnoticed.

...

The hallway behind the reception was narrow, dim, and smelled faintly of sterilized bleach and industrial grease. Nothing like the glitzy stage outside. Just metal and wires and humming servers.

"Feels more like home," I muttered.

"Careful," Art said. "Floor sensors activate past this point. Step where I step."

We moved in near silence. His movements were smooth, practiced. Mine were... well, less so, but I managed.

At the end of the hallway was a steel door. No handle. Just a sleek black panel.

Art took out the card and slid it into the reader. It blinked red once.

Then green.

The door hissed open.

I braced myself for alarms, guards—anything.

Nothing came.

Just silence.

And cold.

We stepped into the elevator, the lights flickering briefly as the system adjusted to our presence.

Then the descent began.