"Hey…" a woman's voice rang inside his head before he felt someone poke his cheek.
Slowly, Matthew opened his eyes only to see a pale face hovering inches from his own. Big eyes, unnaturally clear, seemed to sparkle with light that wasn't from the ceiling. Her skin was almost translucent, faint veins tracing along her cheekbones like delicate lines of frost.
Matthew jolted up fast. His shoulder moved through her as he sat up.
But she was the one who reacted. She yelped, fell backward, and landed on the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, rubbing her side. "That was my face."
Matthew blinked and scrambled to his feet. He touched his face first. Then his chest. He turned to the mirror.
No water. No bruises. No blood. His reflection looked normal again. Nothing out of place aside from the light feeling that he was having.
He grabbed his mask from the counter and slid it on.
Behind him, the ghost woman stood up and dusted off her see-through clothes. "You're welcome, by the way."
Matthew turned toward her, still adjusting the mask. "What?"
She crossed her arms. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be on the floor, twitching like an idiot."
He narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"
The woman stepped closer again, her tone casual. "I knew it. You really can see me. You're one of them."
Matthew didn't answer immediately. He watched her carefully.
"One of what?" he asked.
"The special ones," she said. "People who can touch and interact with us. It's rare. Very rare. Most humans can't even feel us, not even if we scream into their ears for an hour."
Matthew stayed silent.
"You're lucky," she continued, tilting her head. "You've got some kind of tie to the world of the dead. That kind of thing makes your spirit strong. Fragrant, even. Very noticeable."
He folded his arms. "Fragrant?"
She nodded. "Ghosts can smell that. That guy who attacked you? He noticed. You stand out. Like blood in water. But you're too weak right now. One vindictive spirit is all it takes to kill you."
Matthew frowned. "You're not making sense."
"You will," she said. "Eventually. Right now, you need to start cultivating your spiritual core. Otherwise, next time someone like that shows up? You won't be able to burn them like you did earlier. Just now, you almost died."
Matthew stared at her for a second longer.
"Don't ignore this," she said, floating a step behind him. "The world's already seen what happens when people like you die the wrong way."
"What are you talking about?"
This time, the woman stopped talking. She stared at him, then narrowed her eyes. "You– you are not from that family?"
"What family?"
The woman tilted her head. "That's not possible… Are you… are you perhaps someone who was an illegitimate child? No. Impossible. Those people would never abandon anyone of their blood. Someone with their blood could have the ability to see– hmmm– if you are not one of them then…" she suddenly appeared before him and leaned closer. "How did you end up like this?"
"End up like what?" he hissed. He couldn't understand what this woman was talking about!
"Hmmm…" the woman frowned. "So you don't know about Nexians…"
"Nexians?" Matthew's eyes widened. Nexians? Isn't this the one that he was studying before… before he died in his past life?
Lenox and Catherine wanted access to his vault that stores his wealth. However, that vault also stored the things that he had been studying before he was paralyzed. It also contained an important file about the Nexians or the people who seemed to have developed some special abilities.
Matthew opened his mouth, ready to question the ghost woman further, but she vanished before he could say a word.
Then a knock sounded at the door.
He turned sharply and stepped forward, unlocking and pulling it open. One of the attendants in a white mask stood outside, head slightly bowed.
"Apologies for disturbing your rest," the attendant said. "The auction for the special gems and raw stones is about to begin."
Matthew gave a short nod. "Thanks for the heads-up."
The attendant stepped aside, and Matthew walked past him, adjusting his collar as he moved down the hallway. His pace was steady, his thoughts not so much.
Nexians.
He hadn't heard that word in years—at least not since his past life. It was something he had researched obsessively during the later years, just before everything went to hell.
In his past life, his vault—the very same vault that Lenox and Catherine wanted to open before he died—had contained notes, rare books, and a specific encrypted file labeled after them.
Lenox and Catherine wanted that vault for its wealth, but they never knew about the file. Or if they did, they never understood its importance. Or at least that's what he thought.
But now that he thought about it, he couldn't help but wonder if Lenox knew about that file. Is that why he wanted to open the vault?
He reached the edge of the auction hall and stepped inside.
Argent was gone. So were the women. His booth was empty. He sat down, straightened his jacket, and glanced around the room.
Most of the attendees had returned to their seats. A low hum of murmured conversation filled the space as the staff prepared for the next segment of the event.
Matthew's eyes scanned the seating areas until they stopped at one of the private cubicles along the left side.
Duke.
He was sitting in the same seat as before, alone this time. The woman—no, the ghost—who had been walking behind him earlier was nowhere to be seen.
Matthew narrowed his eyes slightly.
Strange.
She'd been right beside Duke before. She wasn't just following him—she moved with him like a shadow. Now she was gone. He couldn't help but wonder how did that woman ended up following Duke.
He leaned back in his seat, letting his gaze shift to the stage. The lights were dimming again, signaling the next part of the auction was about to start. But his thoughts lingered on the name.
Nexians.
In his past life, he hadn't even scratched the surface of what that truly meant. And now it was chasing him again.
"Hey! Where have you been?" Argent's voice caught his attention. Argent was already back in his seat, the woman beside him was no longer there.
"Restroom," he answered.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?" Matthew said.
Their conversation was immediately interrupted by the host telling them about the rocks.
"Our next item," he said, "is a stone of unique mystery and infamy. It is known only as The Obsidian Core, a dense, black mineral believed to have been smuggled out of an uncharted tomb near the ruins of El-Bahariya in Egypt."
A soft murmur rippled through the crowd.
"There are only twelve of these stones recorded in existence. This one was recovered two years ago during a covert excavation that was later buried—both figuratively and literally—by the Egyptian government. No tool has ever pierced it. Not diamond-tipped drills. Not laser cutters. Not even direct acid exposure has marked its surface."
Matthew's eyes narrowed slightly. The spotlight hit the velvet-draped tray as two attendants brought the object forward. At first glance, it looked like a smooth black orb—no bigger than a grapefruit. Dull, not glossy. Plain, not beautiful. But even from a distance, it pulled at him.
Argent leaned in.
"I've seen that before," he whispered. "Twice, actually. Once in Berlin. Then again in Macau. It never stays with anyone. People buy it, study it, and then... it disappears."
Matthew didn't look at him.
"They say it's a meteorite," Argent continued. "But it doesn't match any known composition. Some think it's cursed. Others think it's extraterrestrial. I think it's more like a relic—older than anything we know."
"No one's ever broken it?"
"Not even scratched it," Argent replied. "It eats equipment. Machines short out. Scanners return gibberish. I know a guy who tried to melt it. The furnace shut down mid-process—and the temperature sensors blew."
Matthew's gaze locked on the stone as it was placed beneath the auction's focus light.
And then he felt it.
That same hum in the air—the faint, low-pressure pull that reminded him of the ghost in the restroom mirror. Of the flickering pain and the vision surge. Of that stone that had vanished in his grip.
It was the same kind of presence.
He sat up straighter.
The host was already rattling off starting figures. "We begin at one hundred thousand."
Almost immediately, a bidder across the room raised a placard.
"One-fifty."
"Two hundred," another called out.
Matthew kept his hand still, watching closely. The bids weren't erratic. As if each bidder was wary of winning too easily. However, people also continued bidding. Does this mean other people knew the origin of this rock?
Then, from the upper left private booth—one of the few curtained sections where only the wealthiest guests sat—came a single, calm voice.
"One million."
The room stilled.
Matthew didn't need to guess. His eyes had already shifted toward the voice.
Duke.
Of course, it was him. This was definitely the Duke he knew! Domineering and wealthy!
Matthew stared, but what caught him off guard wasn't the bid.
It was what happened next.
"Two million." It was from the booth two rows behind Duke. A figure stood, clad in white, robes flowing like a high priest's ceremonial garb. His face was obscured by a hood and mask, but his voice was firm, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Three million," Duke continued.
The man under the hood paused. "You would bid on that stone, knowing what it means?" the man asked.
Duke didn't move.
"Do you truly intend," the robed man continued, stepping forward so his voice projected clearly. "To make yourself an enemy of the Regis Clan?"