Chapter 199: Ashes And Neon

Billy had never truly understood darkness until the Osborn limos were no longer there to chase it away.

It wasn’t just the absence of light, Neo-Luminara was never genuinely dark.

Even in the city’s lowest quarters, artificial brightness pulsed everywhere: flickering signs, buzzing neon strips, and headlights slicing through smog-choked air like lazy fireflies.

No, the real darkness was something deeper. It was the absence of certainty, safety, and belonging.

He stood beneath the crumbling canopy of the Grievance Line, what locals called the metro rail that sliced through Sector 9 like a gaping scar, and listened as a drunk hurled curses at a vending bot that had devoured his last cred.

Somewhere to his left, an alley cat screamed as it fled from a larger predator, maybe a rat or something worse.

Billy adjusted the hood of his borrowed windbreaker, tucked his hands into his pockets, and walked on.

The coat had belonged to the last unfortunate soul who stayed in Room 24 at

The Palisade, a moldy hotel that should’ve been condemned a decade ago but had instead been passed down through two crime families and a faceless shell corporation.

His boots weren’t Osborn-made anymore either; he’d traded his gold-tipped ones for these scrappy steel-toed work boots at a secondhand outlet near the station.

He barely recognized himself anymore.

And maybe that was exactly what he wanted.

—

The day Arthur froze his accounts, Billy found himself with exactly 1,127 unicreds on his personal backup wallet, an amount that wouldn’t have even bought him a glass of their signature Arctic Bloom Tea back in Old Heights. Now? That was life support.

He’d done the math already: One week of lodging at The Palisade cost 212 unicreds. Street food? Between 15 to 20 per day if he ate like a normal human, not like an Osborn. Transit rides? About 3 to 5 depending on where he tapped in. That gave him roughly eight days before he’d have to start begging or bartering.

As he stared at the half-empty bowl of soy noodles before him while some reality crime show buzzed on TV behind the vendor, he took in the air thick with grease, burnt oil, and someone else’s sweat.

Billy had never felt more awake.

He was no longer a prince or even an embarrassment; he was just another boy in a city indifferent to whether he vanished.

—

Returning to The Palisade just after midnight felt surreal.

The stairwell reeked of piss and rust as he climbed to the third floor, passing by couples arguing in low venomous tones and spotting a teenage girl asleep under a pile of neon hoodies with a switchblade tucked under her pillow.

Billy didn’t stare and he didn’t speak.

Room 24’s lock was stubborn, its resistance giving way only after he jiggled it twice.

As the door creaked open, he stepped into a world that felt like it had been forgotten: a sagging mattress, a cracked mirror reflecting fragmented thoughts, and a rickety desk missing a leg.

The small bathroom boasted a rust-stained sink that coughed ominously when turned on.

But at least it was quiet, quiet enough for him to think.

He collapsed onto the mattress, pulling his knees to his chest as he stared blankly at the ceiling above.

Just days ago, he had relished quail eggs and croissant clouds crafted by the world class chefs himself.

Now? He hadn’t have a proper shower in two days, faced an avalanche of messages from creditors demanding answers about his frozen cards, and felt so tense that it seemed like his body belonged to someone else entirely.

“This is real”, he reminded himself.

This is the fire Arthur always warned me about.

Yet there was no fear swelling in his chest, only an icy numbness. Beneath that coldness flickered a spark of something more.

He opened his satchel, revealing not just his certificate and job resume but also some unnecessary items cluttering up space.

With a bitter chuckle escaping his lips, he tossed the satchel aside like yesterday’s news.

His fingers hovered over Sophia’s contact profile on his phone as confusion clouded his mind.

Ever since he’d been kicked out, she had called him once and sent no messages over four long days.

He even tried calling her repeatedly, but every time the line was busy, a cruel reminder of how quickly things could change.

Initially, he made his way to Sophia’s penthouse only to be told she’d moved out.

That revelation left him dazed and bewildered; her perfunctory response during their last call offered little clarity or comfort.

Shaking off those thoughts with frustration, Billy lay back down on the mattress with his hands behind his head.

“What do I do now?!”

The question echoed in his mind like an unanswered prayer.

———

The rooftop hadn’t changed much, but everything else had.

Billy leaned against the cool railing, high above the Diamond District.

Below him, Neo-Luminara pulsed with its eternal heartbeat: sports cars zipped down arterial roads, digital billboards splashed vibrant colors into the haze, and the soft tremor of bass from underground clubs rolled up from the streets like smoke.

Yet up here, there was stillness, a pocket of forgotten quiet tucked above the chaos.

This was their escape during their second year at Neo-Luminara Grand University,when lectures felt like cages and expectations weighed like chains.

They’d sneak up here with cheap wine, laughing about taking over the world before lying back to count stars they couldn’t see through the artificial sky.

Back then, she’d held his hand and called him her “reckless prince.”

Billy glanced down at his calloused palms.

That prince was gone.

And now? He wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

—

He checked the time: 7:44 PM.

Sophia had said she’d be here by 7:30.

Not that he was surprised.

He looked different now leaner, sharper, a little more hollow around the eyes. The steel-toed boots felt too heavy; the secondhand windbreaker too stiff.

He hadn’t shaved in days, and that morning’s shower from a sputtering hotel pipe hadn’t quite washed away the city’s grime.

Still, when Sophia’s message pinged, “Alright. I’ll come. Just this once.” he clung to it like a lifeline.

Could things really go back? If he could just look into her eyes again, hear her laugh, feel her fingers intertwine with his… maybe it wouldn’t all feel so broken.

At 7:51 PM, the rooftop door creaked open.

He turned too quickly; his heart kicked against his ribs.

She stepped out graceful as ever Sophia in her sharp white coat and sleek bun. Minimal makeup accentuated her striking features; she looked… pristine.

Untouched by grime. Untouched by what he’d become.

But he smiled anyway, a reflexive gesture born from memories of laughter shared on this very rooftop.

“You made it.”

Sophia nodded and approached him with arms crossed against a breeze that caught her coat just right. “You picked a dramatic spot.”

Billy chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Figured it was either here or some noodle joint with broken chairs.”

Her lips didn’t curve into a smile, not really, but she tilted her head slightly instead. “How have you been?”

The question hit him strangely too clean and polished as if she were reciting lines from a script rather than genuinely asking about him.

“I’ve been… surviving,” he replied honestly.

Sophia gazed down at the glowing veins of traffic below them, a sea of movement beneath an indifferent sky.

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