Choice

Six hours later.

Inside the auction hall.

A vial of medicine was injected into one of the selected children of wealthy families.

Blood threads wrapped around his entire body, flashing with red light.

He had been selected not because of his family background, but because his physique was among the best in the group.

Yet his body was limp, his spirit listless, and his eyes filled with despair. Even his strong constitution could not resist this mysterious accident.

Under his terrified, panicked gaze, as the medicine entered his body, the blood threads snapped apart inch by inch.

But he himself remained unharmed. There was no further explosion.

"I-I'm cured!"

The young heir cried out in wild delight.

Then medical robots carried him away on a stretcher.

Though less than a day had passed, he had already gone from despair to hope, then from hope back into despair.

His vast fortune, his beautiful women, the company he had painstakingly built...

All of it had returned to his hands!

The feeling of escaping death was indescribable.

It was like a suffocating man finally breathing air, like the relief of a raging fever and splitting headache finally easing enough to let one sleep peacefully.

"Thank you, thank you all! You've worked hard! I'll send you honorary banners and give you bonuses!"

Lying on the stretcher, the wealthy young man made promise after promise.

Hope immediately rose in the others. At least the person who had been treated could speak, couldn't he?

They, meanwhile, were wrapped in blood threads and could not even move their throats.

Some struggled desperately, using the only movable parts of their bodies—their eyelids—to signal at the rescue robots.

They were not stupid. Of course they knew there were people operating behind those robots.

Those looks were not meant for