To say that Alexander was shocked by the items available in the YGO System's Shop would have been an understatement.
After his exclamation, he kept his gaze locked on one of the most expensive items while thinking, 'The freaking Millennium Puzzle! It says that it grants immense powers and allows the use of Ancient Magic... but five billion DP, what an obscene price!'
At this point, he looked closer at the description of the Millennium Puzzle and started to frown as he noticed something, 'It says "May contain bound consciousness"... Does that mean that Atem is included like some bundle offer? If that's the case, then I'll steer away from it... There is no way I'll risk getting possessed by a long-dead Pharaoh and ending up with a ridiculous starfish-like hairstyle! No matter how much power it may offer, that kind of social death is just not worthy.'
Shortly after thinking that, Alexander shook his head and truly focused back on the list in front of him.
He started to seriously study it, comparing the prices, and considering the best way to invest his DP to accelerate his growth, 'If I want to truly make Duel Monsters reach levels comparable to the anime, then the thing I need the most isn't the Card Database Expansion. The Card Database Series 1 contains around three hundred cards, and those are more than enough for the current state of the game. No, what I need are the Duel Monsters Card Microchips and the Battle Box... With those two, I can already turn the game into a national phenomenon... But I need more than 400 DP for that, and it will take a while to reach that number...'
Having reached that conclusion, he closed the interface and started to gather the cards still on the field and put them back in the card sleeves that he uses to carry them around without revealing the existence of the system.
Alexander stood there for a moment, the quiet of the study pressing in as he made sure he didn't forget anything, then turned and left, heading back to his room.
Once inside, he shut the door behind him and began to undress, moving through the motions without much thought.
The bathroom light felt too bright at first. He let the water run until it warmed, then stepped into the shower, standing still as it washed over him.
By the time he stepped out, the tension in his shoulders had eased a little. He dried himself off, pulled on his pyjamas, and slipped into bed, the sheets cool against his skin.
As he lay down, the fatigue of the day hit him all at once. The physical and mental fatigue he had built up from the intense day he had. In the morning, he spent most of the time at school keeping up his social interactions while constantly planning for the days ahead and in the afternoon, he exercised to maintain an optimal physical state, and in the evening, he spent time working on the card prototypes.
He didn't resist it; he needed all the rest he could grasp, as tomorrow would be important, so he closed his eyes and soon sleep took him in almost an instant.
~~~▽~~~
The next morning passed quietly, or at least, that was how it appeared from the outside.
Alexander's routine resumed with the same kind of mechanical precision as all the previous days.
The familiar rhythm of it all settled back into place as if nothing had shifted.
Alexander moved through it with practised ease.
He arrived at school on time, greeted the students he met on his way to class, took his seat, and answered when called upon.
In literature, he offered an interpretation just insightful enough to earn a nod from the teacher.
In mathematics, he solved problems before most had finished reading them, then waited, pen resting lightly against the page while occasionally helping those nearby.
Even in the corridors, surrounded by passing conversations and idle laughter, he maintained that same careful balance.
"Hey, Lex, did you finish the assignment for Chemistry...? If so, can you—"
The response came before the question was fully formed as Alexander took his notebook from his backpack and gave it to him, "Sure... Here it is... But be careful not to copy it as it is, or Mrs Lawson will notice it. You do not want her to scold you again, right?"
Then he added with a light smirk, "...Unless you enjoy it? I don't judge."
The other student hesitated, then gave a small, awkward laugh as he took the offered notebook, "Right... No wait! Anyway... I'll return them to you when I'm done, thanks!"
Alexander gave a small nod and continued walking, but beneath the surface, his mind was elsewhere.
He was refining, structuring and reconstructing the same idea from different angles, 'The proposal must be precise and deliberate. Something Father would not be able to dismiss with a glance or a word. I've already completed all the necessary preparations; now the only thing left is how to best deliver everything. I should start with...'
He revisited it again and again, adjusting the framing, the order of points, the body language, what to say first, what to withhold, what would hold attention, and what would command it.
By midday, he had discarded three possible approaches, and by the final hour, only one remained.
One that was clean, direct and difficult to refuse.
The last bell rang, its sharp tone cutting cleanly through the low hum of the classroom, and soon after, chairs scraped, and voices rose.
The spell of order dissolved almost instantly as students gathered their things and drifted toward the doors.
Alexander did the same, unhurried as if he had nowhere in particular to be, as if this moment carried no more weight than any other normal day.
The hallway was louder now, filled with overlapping conversations and the restless energy of release.
Someone brushed past him in a hurry, muttering an apology. Another group laughed too loudly at something inconsequential, but none of it held his attention as he calmly walked toward his destination.
Outside the campus, the air was cooler, and the car was already waiting.
Roland stood beside it, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back.
The moment Alexander approached, Roland opened the door and greeted him, "Welcome back, Master Alexander."
Alexander inclined his head slightly, replying, "Hello, Roland."
He stepped inside without breaking stride before the door closed with a soft, final sound. A moment later, Roland took his place in the driver's seat, and the engine started.
The world outside dulled as the car began to move, and for a moment, Alexander sat in silence.
The city slid past the window in blurred fragments, glass, steel, movement without meaning.
Then, he slowly reached forward and lightly tapped the partition. Shortly after, a soft sound followed as the screen lowered, revealing Roland in the driver's seat.
At this point, he quietly asked, "Did you arrange it?"
With no hesitation, Roland replied, "Yes. Your father agreed to see you."
A brief pause, almost imperceptible, before he added, "We are heading there now."
Alexander's gaze shifted, not fully turning, just enough to acknowledge the weight of it, and he said, "Good, I'm ready."
The car smoothly crossed the busy city, getting closer and closer to their destination, the Roxxon Corporation's headquarters.
Once there, Roland turned off the engine, got out, and opened the door while saying, "Master Alexander, we've arrived."
Alexander got off the card while thanking Roland, and then he observed the scenery in front of him.
Roxxon's main headquarters rose from the Los Angeles skyline like it was designed to outlast everything around it.
The tower was all sharp lines and reflective glass, a dark, mirror-like surface that turned the city into something distant and distorted.
The building was set slightly apart from its surroundings, not physically isolated, but deliberate in its presence. The plaza at its base was wide and clean, edged with stone and minimal landscaping that felt more symbolic than welcoming. Security was visible without being intrusive. Cameras were tucked into every corner; guards were positioned just enough to remind you they're there.
After taking a quick look, Alexander grabbed his backpack and confidently walked toward the entrance with Roland following after him in silence.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted immediately. The lobby was vast, almost cathedral-like, with high ceilings and polished surfaces that echoed every footstep.
Everything was neutral in tone with steel, black marble, and smoked glass. There's no clutter, no personal touch.
No one moved to stop Alexander as he walked toward the elevator; the security was already informed of their arrival, and Roland's presence was all that was needed to prove their identity.
Once inside the elevator, Alexander didn't hesitate to press the top floor's button and waited to reach his destination, his father's office.
The CEO's office sat at the top of the tower, set back just enough to feel removed from everything below.
On the way up, Roland glanced at the young man standing next to him and asked, "Are you nervous, Master Alexander?"
Alexander looked back at him and replied in an even tone, "A bit... but I'm ready, and I fully believe in my product."
After a few minutes, the elevator finally stopped, and as soon as the doors opened, Alexander and Roland stepped out, greeted the gorgeous secretary who told them that Alexander's father was expecting them, and stepped into his personal office.
The office was large but restrained, built around clean lines and deliberate emptiness. A single desk of dark wood faces the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city spread out beyond like something distant and controllable.
There are no personal photos, no clutter, nothing that invites familiarity. Just a few carefully chosen objects: a sculpture, a decanter, a chair positioned with exact intent. The lighting is soft, indirect, leaving parts of the room in shadow.
Calmly sitting on the chair, reading a few documents, was Alexander's father, Hugh Jones.
He was the kind of man people noticed without quite knowing why at first. Seventy-one years old, he carried it with a quiet, practised control.
His posture was still straight, his movements economical, like he had spent decades learning how to waste nothing, not even energy.
His face told a longer story. Deep lines run from the sides of his nose to the corners of his mouth, etched there by years of measured smiles that rarely reached his eyes. Those steel-grey eyes were sharp, pale, and steady.
When he looked at someone, it felt like being assessed rather than seen.
There was a sharp intelligence there, certainly, but also a kind of distance, as if he were always calculating a few steps ahead of the present moment.
His hair, once dark, had thinned and gone fully silver, combed back neatly without vanity.
He didn't try to look younger than he is; if anything, he leaned into his age, using it like a credential.
As CEO of Roxxon, he embodies the company's reputation. Polished on the surface, impenetrable underneath.
He's built a career on decisions that never quite cross the line in public, yet always seem to land exactly where they benefit him most.
The voice matches the image: low, calm, and deliberate. He rarely raises it because he doesn't need to.
His father didn't look up; he kept his gaze on the documents and said, "So... You took 39 days."
That was all he said, but the message was clear enough; he was aware of what Alexander was doing.
Alexander, in response, wasn't surprised by this; he calmly closed the door behind him and walked up to his father's desk and replied, "I wanted it to be as ready as possible."
His father released a faint hum of acknowledgement, neither approval nor dismissal, before he added, almost idly, "Roland mentioned that you've developed an interest in illustration."
It wasn't a question.
Alexander allowed himself the smallest pause. Just enough to acknowledge the move on the board before he replied, "I needed control over the prototypes."
"Mm." His father finally looked up at him and said, "Sit."
Alexander brought out the two card sleeves containing the decks and placed them on the desk with deliberate care before sitting and saying, "I had a test run with Roland."
Hugh Jones looked at the two sleeves and commented, "I'm aware."
That was something that didn't surprise Alexander, so he continued, "He found it engaging. He said it has potential. A great deal of it."
A flicker, gone almost instantly, as his father knew that Roland did not waste words, and did not exaggerate.
Hugh glanced at his most trusted man and old friend, and seeing him slightly nod, he focused back on his son. Then he leaned back slightly and said, "Show me."
Alexander opened one of the sleeves and slid one card forward.
His father took the card, turning it once, twice, testing weight, finish, balance, observing the artwork, constantly evaluating the product in front of his eyes before calmly saying, "Explain your proposal."
Alexander didn't start with rules as he knew that for his father those would be irrelevant, so he just said, "It's a controlled consumption model."
That, more than anything, held his father's attention.
"These are complete decks," he continued, resting a hand lightly on them. "But they're not the product. The product is a randomised expansion."
Hugh Jones immediately caught the core of the idea and said, "Scarcity."
"Engineered scarcity," corrected Alexander. "With structured rarity tiers."
A faint narrowing of the eyes that could be inferred as approval, in its most minimal form, made its presence on his face as he asked, "And legality?"
Alexander smiled and replied, "No direct wagering. A clear statement of what the rarity expectations are. Fixed price per pack. The value is in probability, not payout."
Hearing that, his father murmured, "Perception." Which made Alexander nod and say, "Yes."
Silence settled, but it wasn't empty. It was active, like a scale measuring weight, before Hugh said, "Continue."
With that, Alexander started to further explain, "Players compete. Stronger cards become desirable. We introduce new sets periodically, shifting the balance. That forces continued purchasing without invalidating previous ownership."
Hugh Jones set the card down and said, "You're manufacturing obsolescence."
But Alexander shot back, "I'm manufacturing relevance."
That earned him a longer look before his father asked, "Expected cost?"
Without hesitation, Alexander replied, "Two hundred thousand to start, outsourcing production. Just over a million if we bring it in-house."
Hearing that, Hugh stated, "And you chose outsourcing."
"For the first run," Alexander said evenly.
Another small pause before his father asked, "Why?"
Alexander almost rolled his eyes while thinking, 'Because you'd never approve the larger investment without proof.'
But he didn't say that and instead replied, "Because iteration matters more than control at this stage."
His father's gaze held his for a moment longer than before, then he asked, "Return?"
Once again, Alexander replied instantly, "Eighteen months to break even. Faster if organised play scales."
"And if it doesn't?"
"We shut it down."
"No," his father said, voice calm but absolute. "If it doesn't, we reassess whether you understand why."
Basically, this is yet another test.
Alexander didn't look away; he held his father's steel-like gaze and said, "It's not the product that matters; it's the system. Scarcity, iteration, competition. This version is just the first application."
Silence fell in the office once again as Roland calmly watched the exchange between parent and child with a faint smile on his face.
Then Hugh Jones stood, slow but deliberate, the movement carrying weight rather than age as he said, almost conversationally, "You were aware that Roland reports to me."
"Yes."
"And yet you chose to proceed without requesting approval."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if I needed permission to start," Alexander said, "I wouldn't be worth funding."
That, finally, drew something close to a smile to his father's face, but then it quickly disappeared as he said, "You will not use Roxxon's name."
Alexander calmly nodded as he had already expected this, "I understand."
Then his father added, "It will operate independently. You will receive funding for one production run. Outsourced."
Alexander nodded again.
"Distribution," Hugh continued, "you will handle yourself. I will not open doors for you."
This made Alexander internally comment, 'Of course you wouldn't. That would defeat the point.'
At the same time, he asked, "And if it succeeds?"
The old man regarded him for a moment before he said, "Then, we discuss whether you are ready to build something that carries our name."
After that, his father said, "You can go. Let me see what you will do now."
Alexander inclined his head, picked up the two card sleeves and left without another word, with Roland following him. Behind him, the office returned to silence.