"New blood?" Matthew mumbled as he looked at the masked guy. "Was he talking to ?" he wondered inwardly.
"Good! It’s my lucky night," the man got up. Just like Matthew, he was wearing a black suit. Then he extended his hand toward Matthew. "You can call ... Argent."
Matthew lifted an eyebrow. Since they were all wearing masks, they were allowed to use different aliases as well to hide their identities.
"Ghost," Matthew said.
"Ghost?" Argent asked, seemingly confused.
"No, I an—" Matthew frowned. He had just accidentally said the word ghost because there was a ghost standing behind this Argent!
"Good! That’s a good na! Ghost! Great, it imdiately gave so sort of mystery. Was it because you like horror movies?" Argent said, his tone extrely perky.
"Is it?" Matthew asked. This man seed to have such good hearing abilities. He had just mumbled the word ghost, and he imdiately heard it, Matthew thought inwardly.
Argent seed more excited than necessary. "Ghost, huh? Good na. Real edgy. You wouldn’t believe how bad so of the others are."
Matthew didn’t respond. He just kept his eyes on the man’s outstretched hand for another second before finally shaking it.
Argent plopped back down in his booth and motioned for Matthew to sit next to him. "You’re lucky you ended up next to . So of these guys? No personality. Anyway, people here use all sorts of nas. So go for the dramatic types—Shadowfang, Venom, Night Howler. I think soone used Night Raider one ti. It was silly. What are they? Kids?"
Matthew raised an eyebrow.
Argent nodded. "I know, right? It gets worse. There’s a guy here nad Pancake. Swear to God. Another one goes by Hamster. And don’t even get started on soone calling themselves Daddy Doom. That one’s a bit... gross"
Matthew awkwardly sat down beside him, not sure if this was a bit or real. "They let them keep those nas?"
Argent leaned closer. "They don’t care what na you use as long as you don’t break the rules. So people even use their pet’s nas. We’ve got a Luna, a Pickles, and a Mr. ow. Who nas their pet Mr. ow?"
Matthew slowly nodded. "Sounds... creative."
Argent shrugged. "Anyway, since this is your first ti joining a bidding war, I’ll walk you through the rules."
Matthew looked at him. "How do you know it’s my first ti?"
Argent gave a short snort. "Because I’ve never seen that mask before. Simple."
Matthew glanced at the others. Everyone had a different mask, so with strange embellishnts or tallic accents.
"You morize people’s masks?" Matthew asked.
"Of course I do," Argent said, tapping his temple. "These things are custom-made. One of a kind. Only the owner can wear it. The tech inside won’t activate if soone else tries to use it. Besides, I’ve been coming to these events for two years now. Pretty easy to spot soone new."
Matthew looked straight ahead, letting the information settle. Argent seed annoying, but at least he was useful. He could keep talking. Matthew didn’t mind listening.
"Check under the table," Argent said as he tapped the underside of the booth. "There’s always a brochure. I heard there’s so weird stuff at this month’s auction."
Matthew reached under the table and felt around until his fingers brushed a slim folder tucked into a shallow slot. He pulled it out and flipped it open. The first few pages listed basic items—artwork, antiques, and a few high-value gemstones. But as he turned the pages, the list beca stranger.
There was a supposed long-lost tooth of a king from a fallen European dynasty. Another page showed a tiara once believed to belong to a queen who had vanished during a political upheaval.
There was a staff with inlaid eralds, allegedly from a forgotten South Arican priesthood. One section even showcased a small, cracked clay figure said to have been molded by a Chinese emperor during his exile.
Matthew raised an eyebrow and turned the page again.
Argent let out a hum as he flipped through his own copy. "These herbs from the Tai Mountains... these are serious stuff. You know those rich old guys? They go nuts for this. Super rare. So people think it can cure just about anything."
Matthew glanced at him. "Why are they bidding on herbs?"
"Because they’ve got money and ti to kill," Argent replied. "But also, these herbs are real. Like, used-in-imperial-courts kind of real. There are stories. Long-lost recipes. Stuff people think can restore your body, make you younger, clear your blood, whatever. You should get one."
Matthew cleared his throat. "I’ll think about it."
"You okay?" Argent asked. "You sound weird."
"I’m fine. I just need to go to the restroom for a bit."
Argent let out a short laugh. "Got it. First-ti nerves. Happens to the best of us."
Matthew didn’t bother responding. He stood and walked along the edge of the room until he saw the direction signs. One of the staff silently pointed him toward a hallway.
The restroom was nothing like a standard public one. It looked more like a small lounge. Each room was private, complete with a sitting area and a washroom. Matthew stepped inside and locked the door behind him.
He removed his mask and set it on the counter. Then he turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face.
He gripped the edge of the sink and stared at the mirror. "Why was he staring?" he mumbled.
He dried his face, then paused. The ghost. The one standing behind Argent. The whole ti Argent was talking, that ghost hadn’t moved. He had just stood there—still, quiet, and focused.
Matthew had seen ghosts before, but none like this. Most wandered or looked confused. However, all of them didn’t seem to notice that he could see them. They would appear and disappear. "But this one had locked eyes with . And he looked furious."
Matthew blinked and tried to recall the details. A young man. No wounds. No signs of how he died. Neatly dressed in a blue modern suit that made him look like a rich young master of so family. But what stood out most was the way he looked at Matthew.
Like he knew him.
Matthew let out a slow breath and grabbed a towel to wipe his face again. He leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling.
He hadn’t felt anything dangerous from the ghost. No pressure. No headache. Nothing like the usual urge or hunger. But there was sothing about the expression that unsettled him. Not fear. Just sothing... intentional.
He stayed there for another minute before straightening up. He picked up the mask and held it in his hands. The nanomites shifted again, reshaping his features.
"I’ll deal with it later," Matthew muttered.
He raised the mask, ready to slide it back on, when sothing in the mirror caught his eye. A shape. A figure. Then the sa ghost from earlier appeared.
It was standing right behind him.
Matthew spun around but discovered that the room was empty.
But then, in a blur of motion, cold hands grabbed his head and slamd it forward.
His face smashed into the sink. The impact jolted him. His hands instinctively shot out to push himself up, but another force kept him down. He opened his mouth to shout, but a sudden gush of water hit him. It filled the sink fast, swallowing his breath before he could take one.
He struggled, twisting, clawing at the sink, but the grip held firm. The water poured over his face, into his nose and mouth. He tried to cough, but only more water entered. Panic spiked in his chest. He reached up, fingers scrabbling behind him, and finally grabbed the cold hand that held him down.
The mont his skin made contact, the grip faltered.
There was a sudden shift.
The hand recoiled—fast as if burned. Matthew gasped and pulled himself up, stumbling backward. He hit the wall and stayed there, coughing hard.
He ran a hand down his face, expecting water. His suit. His shirt. Everything should’ve been soaked.
But it wasn’t.
His skin was dry. The sink was empty. The faucet hadn’t even been turned.
He looked down. Not a drop. Not on the floor. Not on the counter.
He turned slowly back to the mirror. His reflection looked normal. His hair wasn’t wet. There were no marks on his neck or face either.
Nothing.
He stared at the sink. Then at his hands.
"What the hell was that?" he whispered.
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