Descendant of Sloth
Chapter 82: The Trade Begins

Chapter 82: The Trade Begins

The auditorium buzzed with anticipation as the lights flickered and then plunged into darkness. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd before the heavy velvet curtains parted, revealing a stage bathed in flashes of neon—pink, blue, and green lights pulsing like a heartbeat.

I sat there, legs crossed casually, my chair creaking slightly under me, while Hina and Serina flanked me on either side. In the center of us stood a small round table.

Hina fidgeted with the hem of her one piece, her sharp eyes darting toward the guards standing at the edges of the stage.

"This place gives me the creeps," she muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear over the hum of the crowd.

Serina, sitting stiffly with her hands in her lap, nodded. "Yeah, too many eyes watching." Her voice was tight, like she was holding her breath.

I leaned back, letting a lazy smirk tug at my lips. "Relax, you two. It’s just a show. We’ve seen worse."

Before either of them could argue, a spotlight snapped on, cutting through the haze of neon. A man strode onto the stage, his long coat flapping dramatically behind him as he raised a hand to silence the murmurs rippling through the audience.

His hair was slicked back, and the gleam of his polished shoes caught the light with every step.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he boomed, his voice smooth and theatrical, the kind that could sell ice to a snowman. "The moment you’ve all been waiting for has finally arrived!"

The crowd erupted—cheers, claps, a few whistles piercing the air. I glanced at Hina, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the tension in her shoulders. Serina just stared straight ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"It’s starting..." Serina whispered, her voice almost lost in the noise.

"Yeah," Hina replied, her tone flat. She shifted in her seat, throwing a quick look at me. "You sure about this?"

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the stage. "Sure enough."

The announcer clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and commanding. "For our first trade of the night, we have a real gem—Sara, a treat for the gentlemen in the room!" He waved his arm with a flourish, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "Bring her out, please!"

Two girls in bunny costumes—fluffy ears bouncing with every step—emerged from the wings, escorting a woman between them. Sara. She stepped into the spotlight, and the crowd hushed for a split second, taking her in. Her dress was a bold choice: tight, sheer in places, with strategic cuts that left little to the imagination.

Her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders, and she tossed it back with a practiced flick of her hand, striking a pose that screamed confidence—or at least, it was meant to. Up close, though, her eyes told a different story. They were blank, her smile too stiff, like someone had coached her to play the part.

The audience stirred, a low murmur spreading like wildfire. I caught snippets of their chatter—"She’s gorgeous," "Worth every penny," "Look at that dress!"—and leaned forward slightly, resting my chin in my hand.

"Poor girl," Hina said quietly, her voice laced with something like pity. "She doesn’t even want to be here."

Serina nodded, her frown deepening. "You can see it on her face. This whole thing’s messed up."

I didn’t say anything, just kept watching as the announcer clapped again, snapping the crowd’s attention back to him.

"Alright, folks, let’s get down to business!" he called out, rubbing his hands together. "Bidding for Sara starts at a cool one hundred thousand dollars! Who’s ready to kick things off?"

The room exploded again, voices overlapping as hands shot up, waving paddles and shouting numbers. Sara stood there, still as a statue, her painted-on smile flickering just for a second.

"Welcome to the circus," I muttered, settling in for the chaos.

The bidding kicked off like a gunshot. A guy in a suit shot his hand up first. "One hundred fifty thousand!" he barked, leaning forward in his seat like he’d already won. The crowd barely had time to react before another voice chimed in—then another, and another.

Numbers flew around the room like darts, each one higher, sharper, more desperate. Two hundred thousand. Three fifty. Five hundred. The air thickened with greed, the neon lights flickering over sweaty faces and eager eyes.

Then, from the back of the room, a new voice cut through the noise.

"Eight hundred thousand!" A stocky guy in a black blazer stood up, smirking like he’d just won the lottery.

Three of his buddies crowded around him, whooping and slapping his back, their laughter loud and crude. He adjusted his collar, his eyes locked on Sara.

"We need a woman for ourselves," he said, voice dripping with sleaze. "And she’s got the curves." He licked his lips, slow and deliberate.

The announcer clapped his hands once, loud enough to make Hina flinch.

"Sold!" he bellowed, pointing at the guy. "Eight hundred thousand dollars, folks! A steal for a prize like this!"

The crowd roared—claps, cheers, a few disappointed groans from the losers. Sara’s shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t move, didn’t blink. The announcer waved a hand toward the winner. "After the auction, you’ll file in the money, and she’ll be all yours. Enjoy!"

I reached for the glass of water on the table, the condensation cool against my fingers, and took a slow sip. Beside me, Hina leaned forward, her voice low and venomous. "I wish I could just destroy this whole damn place. Burn it to the ground."

"Yeah," Serina muttered, her arms crossed so tight her knuckles were white.

I set the glass down with a soft clink, glancing at them both. "Patience," I said, keeping my tone steady. "We’re not here for this. We’re here for Nox."

Hina shot me a look, her eyes blazing. "Easy for you to say. You’re not the one watching these creeps drool over people like they’re meat."

"She’s right," Serina added, her voice quieter but just as sharp. "This is sick. How do you stay so calm?"

I shrugged, leaning back again. "Because losing it won’t help him. We wait. That’s the plan."

Before they could argue, the announcer’s voice boomed again, cutting through the chatter.

"Let’s keep this moving, folks! Bring out the next trades—our guests are getting restless!"

He clapped twice, and the bunny-costumed girls scurried offstage, their heels clicking against the wood. The crowd shifted, a restless energy rippling through them like a pack of dogs waiting for their toy.