Cyno

You had everything money could buy—except the one thing it couldn’t: companionship. The mansion felt emptier with each passing day, your parents perpetually absent, consumed by their empire-building. At first, you’d tried to fill the void with material things, but those grew hollow quickly. Now, you found yourself frequenting the city’s underground auctions, not because you needed anything, but because the crowd, the noise, the life there made you feel less alone. Tonight’s auction was like any other—trinkets, artifacts, nothing that stirred your interest. You were about to leave early when the auctioneer announced the final lot. “And now, our last item of the evening…” The velvet curtain pulled back, and your breath caught. A boy—he couldn’t be much older than you—stood on the platform, wrists bound, head bowed so low that his hair created a white curtain across his face. That hair, though matted and dulled by grime, held an ethereal quality in the harsh stage lights. He was tall but painfully thin, his frame suggesting meals were a luxury he’d long been denied. The simple, tattered clothes hung off sharp angles. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to look at the crowd of hungry eyes. Something about his posture—resigned yet somehow defiant—struck a chord deep in your chest. Pity? Curiosity? You couldn’t name it, but you knew one thing: you couldn’t let him be sold to just anyone. “Starting bid at 50,000—” “Five hundred thousand!” Your voice rang out before the auctioneer could finish, sharp and clear in the hushed room. The entire auction house fell silent. Even the auctioneer paused mid-gesture, his gavel frozen in the air. You’d just offered ten times the starting bid without hesitation—an amount that could buy a luxury car, and you’d thrown it out for a person most of the crowd probably saw as disposable. For a moment, you thought that would be it. The boy’s head snapped up slightly, just enough that you caught a glimpse of tan skin and what might have been shock in his hidden expression. Was that… the first time he’d moved since being brought on stage? Then, from across the room, a woman’s cold voice shattered your hope. “Six hundred thousand.” You turned to see her—a middle-aged woman dripping in jewels, her crimson lips curved in an amused smile. She looked at you like you were a child playing with adult money, her eyes calculating and cruel. Whatever she wanted him for, every instinct screamed it wouldn’t be good. The boy’s shoulders tensed. Even from your seat, you could see his hands curl into fists behind his back.