Auction

On the same night, a man named Caesar attended a grand auction. The hall was alive with excitement as bidders competed fiercely for rare items, their voices rising alongside the prices. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over polished marble floors, and every seat was filled with figures draped in wealth and quiet ambition.

Then the speaker stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight’s event will change slightly!”

A large cage draped in red fabric was brought onto the stage. When the cloth was pulled away, a beautiful man in gold-ornamented clothing was revealed. He looked confused and disoriented, as if he had been taken from somewhere else entirely. A hush fell over the crowd—then the bidding erupted.

“1 M.”

“4 million.”

“6 million.”

“7 million.”

Caesar watched in silence, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. His fingers rested lightly against his temple, posture relaxed, as though none of this truly impressed him. To him, this wasn’t about the man—it was about the rarity, the mystery, the undeniable value of something no one else could fully understand. And that alone made him want it.

“200 million,” he said calmly.

The room faltered. A woman quickly countered, “210 million,” her tone sharp, competitive.

Caesar didn’t even glance at her. His voice remained steady, absolute. “1 billion.”

Silence crashed over the hall.

Even the auctioneer hesitated, momentarily stunned before clearing his throat. “O-Once… twice…”

No one spoke. No one moved. The number itself had crushed all competition, leaving only the quiet weight of Caesar’s decision hanging in the air.

“Sold.”

A soft murmur spread across the crowd, disbelief and curiosity intertwining as all eyes shifted toward him. Yet Caesar remained unmoved, as if he had merely signed a routine document rather than spent an absurd fortune.

To Caesar, it was simple—if something held value, it belonged to him.