Presidential Suite Gambit
Several hours before Oatanocha uncovered the location of those hijacking the broadcasts.
The top floor of the Larryert Kikiwai Hotel housed a Presidential Suite that commanded tens of millions of gulden for a single night. Only four such suites existed in the entire building, each a duplex marvel where every luxury item—from the chandelier dangling from the soaring ceiling to the marble floors, fireplace, and Persian rugs—carried extravagant value. It was a bespoke haven tailored for the lavish tastes of elite guests.
Among them, Room 11111 stood out even more, hidden from general guests. It came complete with live-in maids, chefs, and other staff, plus a private elevator unknown to the outside world.
The reason was simple: this was where the Larryert Group owner and his family stayed during visits to Kikiwai.
"……."
The suite's master, Isaac Larryert, had just returned from the airport in a limousine, having picked up the "ally" he'd invited. Whiskey glass in hand, he stood by the window, gazing out at the nighttime sea.
The Larryert Group's chairman, Philip Larryert, doted on his grandson Isaac to no end. At first, he'd been skeptical about Isaac becoming a banker. But when Isaac landed a job at the Dimensional Credit Vault—one of Dimension 6-2 Great Huuriten's top-tier financial institutions—and was assigned to the prestigious Kikiwai Multidimensional Branch, a fast track to success, Philip couldn't hide his delight.
Isaac's sponsor? None other than Slick Ellama, ace of the HQ Corporate Loan Division and a guD faction heavyweight. Philip's intelligence network reached far, so he knew Slick well: a merit-first hardliner who feared no authority, the branch manager's most trusted subordinate in guD's push for faction unity, and a combative martial artist banker who scrapped fiercely despite the mismatch.
One fact emerged clearly from this: Isaac Larryert had been selected for the Kikiwai Multidimensional Branch's opening team— a strategic outpost—purely on merit.
'Grandpa's thrilled. He worried so much when you said you wanted to be a banker, but look at you all grown up. Aigoo, my handsome boy.'
With those teary words, the chairman had handed Isaac the keys to the Larryert Kikiwai Presidential Suite Room 11111. Thanks to that, Isaac could stay in the familiar room he'd used since childhood visits to Kikiwai.
"Didn't expect this from you—actually becoming a banker."
The voice came from behind Isaac, from the massive sofa smack in the middle of the living room. That sofa was a masterpiece from Cappelino di Driade, crafted not from animal hide but from bark and fluff of a rare tree unique to Dimension 33—a true luxury.
Lounging on it was a young man whose face suited a refreshing smile. Madden G. Parromonger. In his late twenties, he'd founded a crowdfunding platform and become the industry darling.
"Cut the crap. You knew."
Isaac turned to his university classmate, whom he hadn't seen in years.
"Of course I knew. Word's spread among our cohort."
"……."
Isaac eyed Madden, who grinned brightly as he spoke. Isaac had summoned him strictly as a Larryert family member to discuss "business." But as expected, Madden had full intel on Isaac's recent activities—likely grilling their mutual friends right after the call.
Still, it didn't irk him. Madden had always been consistent: likable to all, never polarizing, always smiling, effortlessly gathering the help he needed wherever he went. He knew everything, extended a hand to anyone asking. Not from wealth, top grades, or looks—he was the quintessential social butterfly. Especially wide network, sharp eye for talent.
Exceptional affinity and empathy let him charm anyone. He leveraged it to scout startups, empathize with buyers and sellers alike, analyze product merits, list them on his platform, run crowdfunding, and rake in massive fees.
That this young mogul had hopped a red-eye to Kikiwai at Isaac's call? They’d been close back in school. No room for complaints—Isaac was grateful he'd carved out time amid his packed schedule.
"Still, I was shocked to hear you'd gone banker."
"Why?"
Isaac shot back immediately, puzzled by Madden's pause. Wasn't graduating into a job the norm?
"Figured you'd start your career at Larryert Group. Thought you'd be a department head by now on the fast track... Not banking. Caught me off guard."
Ah, that made sense.
"...I figured claiming something with my own hands, just once, wouldn't hurt."
Madden's cat ears twitched atop his head as he watched Isaac with a smile, then nodded.
"That's so you. Impressive."
"Hm."
This time, Isaac gave a wry smile. His peer, who'd had far less when they met, had quietly achieved so much with sheer grit. Hearing "impressive" from him stirred unexpected pride.
He'd always known Madden would go far. His assets still paled against Isaac's. But Madden had what Isaac lacked.
Standing before him used to make Isaac feel small—nothing but Larryert blood and money to his name. But not anymore.
Now, working at Kikiwai—judged solely on ability, sans family halo—Isaac had mapped his strengths and weaknesses. Witnessing peer Kim Jian's feats, he'd honed his skills relentlessly, learning nonstop from seniors, sharpening his unique edge like Jian.
The result? A tangible sense of self he’d never grasped living as "the Larryert scion." Now, he owned his identity as Isaac Larryert.
Thus, he could wield the family infrastructure he'd once shunned—boldly, for banking. Unthinkable for the rigidly controlled Larryert youngest. But having proven his worth as a man, Isaac used it without arrogance or groveling. His personal vessel had grown vast enough to embrace the family legacy as part of himself.
"So, when do you explain why you called me?"
At his friend's prompt to get to brass tacks, Isaac handed over a few documents instead of words.
They outlined a plan to save the 0.1-dimensional solar system.
"...This is."
Isaac smirked triumphantly at Madden's stunned reaction to the proposal. The old him, tiptoeing around elders, could've never pulled this off. Madden always surprised him first—making him do the same doubled the satisfaction.
"Leading to victory via crowdfunding, huh."
"Spot on."
"Only possible 'cause the enemy's not sentient."
The Kikiwai bankers' plan was straightforward.
First: Track and neutralize the hijackers of all signals from 0.1 dimension. Bishuti called in old army subordinates; Kim Jian brought in Oatanocha, perfect for signal detection.
Second: Isaac and Razma exploit the shifted odds to flip the board. Isaac handled funding—and had the connections to smooth it.
"Raising funds via crowdfunding page achieves another goal too. Bergenev Masterhand's visit was for this."
"Exactly."
"Insane. Whoever planned it knows zilch about crowdfunding."
The instant negativity was expected. Isaac didn't flinch.
"And?"
He knew exactly how Madden would react.
Because...
"Should've told me sooner. Might not have enough time even starting now. Gotta hustle."
...Madden loved absurd ideas.
Freak through and through, unchanged since school.
"Lemme see. Custom page by morning... gotta rally the team now. Masterhand's here means video's handled?"
"Obviously."
"Sweet. Kick off with SNS, spread the buzz. Make 'em unable to resist donating. Oh, male backers won't cut it—need female appeal too."
"Got a method ready."
"What?"
Madden whipped his head around mid-smartphone frenzy.
"Something only I can do."
"...What're you talking about."
Isaac explained his prepared ploy stone-faced: the ultimate move unique to him among Kikiwai's bankers.
"...You got Grandpa—no, Chairman's—approval?"
"Said it'd boost group image. He smiled—rare sight."
Madden puzzled, recalling his one meeting with Philip. Isaac knew the old man rarely grinned, so no reaction.
"When'd you get bold enough for this?"
"Dunno. Picked up some influence lately."
"From who?"
"Guy among my intake peers."
"Oho."
"Pulls off the impossible, every time."
"College? Me?"
Whiskey. The alcohol hitting? Isaac chuckled unwittingly.
-Pfft
"What? Laughing outta nowhere. Creepy."
"……."
To Isaac, they clearly resembled each other. He grew curious what it'd look like if Madden met Kim Jian.
"Nah, not you."
Rivals who showed up with nothing yet kept astonishing him.
Running alongside them...
I could go even farther.
That thought stirred.