"A secret remains a secret only if it stays untold."
The moment you tell someone, it stops being a secret — it becomes information, quietly waiting for the right moment to leak.
"Have you guys eaten?" Rex asked, steering the conversation away.
"Yeah, we have," Victor replied, glancing at him. "Just noticed you haven’t had anything."
"It’s nothing," Rex said, waving his hand dismissively. "I just lost track of time. I’ll order something now."
Victor nodded, giving a casual salute before disappearing back into the hallway.
As the door clicked shut, Rex sighed heavily. His stomach wasn’t growling, he wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to keep his strength up.
So, he ordered a simple pizza, then collapsed onto the bed, stretching out his sore, aching limbs. Every muscle protested. His back ached from hunching over charts, his fingers stiff from endless clicking. Still, the mental exhaustion was worse than the physical.
Just a few minutes, he told himself, allowing his body a moment’s reprieve.
The knock came again, barely fifteen minutes later. Opening the door, Rex found Victor standing there once more, a pizza box in his hands.
"Boss, your takeaway just arrived," he said with an easy smile.
"Thanks," Rex said, genuinely touched despite himself. "You didn’t have to."
"It’s nothing," Victor replied, handing over the box.
What Victor didn’t mention—and what Rex keenly noticed—was that the man had been standing guard at the door, waiting to intercept the delivery.
It was a small gesture.
But it spoke volumes.
Rex didn’t say anything more. He just nodded once. He recognized the loyalty behind the gesture.
Honestly, truth was, he didn’t see Victor and the others as mere bodyguards anymore.
They were more like friends, even mentors now.
Carrying the pizza to his desk, Rex sat down, pried open the box, and grabbed a slice. The savory scent filled the room, mixing with the faint, constant hum of electronics.
He grabbed a slice with one hand and refreshed the trading platform with the other.
Trivaxa’s after-hours trades trickled in — small, infrequent blips on the radar.
Exactly what he expected.
The sleeping beast slumbered still.
Analyzing the data carefully, he estimated he’d already bought up about 2.6% of the day’s total volume — a bit more than he had originally planned.
Tomorrow, I’ll need to be even more careful, he thought, chewing mechanically.
Clicking through different tabs, he plunged back into studying Nexora Biotech and a dozen other companies with similar profiles, searching for patterns, weakness, opportunity.
The deeper he went, the more painfully clear it became: he still didn’t know enough.
Sure, he could read price charts. He understood the basics — candlesticks, moving averages, volume spikes, simple financial ratios. But the market was no simple beast. It was alive. Breathing. Shifting.
And those who truly thrived weren’t just good at math or analysis — they were artists of movement, masters of misdirection, predators who stalked in plain sight.
I still lack that sharpness, he thought grimly.
Determined, he started pulling up reports, old institutional trading case studies, articles from insider trading scandals—anything that could show him how seasoned traders operated: how they moved money without leaving tracks, how they masked intentions behind fake orders, how they manipulated volume to deceive retail investors.
It was almost hypnotic. And he began to realize the true nature of market.
One article led to another. One whitepaper referenced ten more. He was absorbing theories about dark pools, spoofing, layering, iceberg orders, wash trading. He noted every trick in the book and watched old conference videos where ex-traders casually spoke about how easy it was to hide millions in plain sight if you knew what you were doing.
Time slipped away unnoticed.
Outside, the city had fallen silent, save for the occasional buzz of a passing car and the low hum of streetlights.
The only sounds inside his apartment were the faint clicking of his mouse and the soft rustle of paper as he scribbled down notes.
His back ached, his eyes burned, his pizza sat half-eaten and forgotten on the desk.
His mind was razor sharp, alive in a way it hadn’t been in days.
Suddenly, while exploring financial forums, he stumbled upon something different. Clicking through a trail of obscure sites, one link leading to another, he eventually found a small, tightly moderated group tucked away on a private server. New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on noveⅼfire.net
From the vibe alone, he could tell it wasn’t like the noisy beginner discussions he had seen before.
There were no flashy posts or clickbait headlines here—just short, precise messages dropped by fake usernames that somehow felt... important.
"Supply chain issues in Southeast Asia — Q4 projections revised downward," one post read.
"New patent approval for a biotech firm, under-the-radar opportunity," said another.
From their writing styles and hints in their profiles, he could faintly guess they were seasoned analysts, junior executives, and even a few hedge fund assistants—people sharing rapid-fire updates about company movements, executive decisions, and market whispers.
They didn’t talk about manipulating stocks or rigging markets. Instead, they exchanged sharp, timely information—the kind only insiders with access to internal reports or boardroom chatter would know.
Earnings reports about to drop, leadership changes before they hit the press, whispers of mergers quietly making the rounds.
The posters didn’t brag, argue, or speculate wildly. They simply shared fresh information—the kind that could move markets long before it reached the mainstream.
Rex didn’t dare comment. He just read quietly, soaking it all in, taking meticulous notes.
Each post gave him a deeper look into how the truly informed operated:
Speed mattered. Connections mattered. And knowing things before they became public made the difference between winning and losing.
A quiet excitement burned in his chest.
Finding this group felt like unlocking a hidden doorway into a different world—a world where knowledge wasn’t just power, it was profit.
He knew this would be a huge advantage in the future. He couldn’t always rely on the system’s intel, and who knew when he’d get lucky enough to stumble across future news again.
But with this, he didn’t have to worry much. As long as he kept his head clear and planned carefully, there was a real chance he could play the game of stocks for quite a while.