Harem Startup : The Demon Billionaire is on Vacation

Chapter 350 – Dreamers Belong in Garages, Empires Belong in Towers

Elias laughed weakly. ”Most people don’t get rescued by... whatever you are.”

Lux smirked. ”A man who hates inefficiency. That’s all you need to know.”

The first bank was a slab of concrete and glass, sterile and cold inside. Air conditioning blasted too strong, smelling faintly of paper and disinfectant. Lux walked in like he owned the place, and within five minutes, every teller, every manager in the lobby was looking at him like gravity had shifted.

Elias trailed behind, clutching a folder like a lifeline.

At the counter, Lux dropped a black card onto the desk with a casual flick of his fingers. ”Elias Moreau’s debt,” he said smoothly. ”Clear it.”

The teller blinked, stammered. ”S-sir, that’s—”

”One hundred and forty thousand,” Lux said before she could finish. ”Yes. Do I look like I need to be reminded of the number?” His smile was razor-thin. ”Clear it.”

[System Notification:]

[Debt Cleared – Elias Moreau.]

[Amount Paid: $140,000.]

[Credit Standing: Restored.]

Elias stared at the receipt in his hand, his fingers trembling. His name—clean. For the first time in years.

They left, and Lux drove to the next bank. The process repeated. And again. And again. Each time, Lux’s presence silenced resistance. Each time, Elias’s shoulders straightened just a little more.

By the fourth bank, Elias wasn’t trembling anymore. He was stunned. Numb. He clutched a fresh savings book in his hands, staring at the rows of numbers inside. Money. Real money. Not debt, not negative balances. His balance gleamed with more zeroes than he’d ever seen tied to his name.

Lux leaned against the hood of the car. ”You better pay your employees well,” he said. ”They bleed for you. Reward loyalty.”

Elias’s throat closed. He nodded quickly. ”Yes. I—I will.”

”And after the first game succeeds,” Lux added, ”move. That rat nest you call a studio? It won’t do. You need a building in the heart of the city. Something that screams legitimacy. Dreamers belong in garages. Empires belong in towers.” ℴℴ𝘮

Elias looked down at the savings book again, at the card still warm in his hand. His chest ached. ”I don’t... I don’t even know what to say.”

”Say thank you,” Lux said dryly, a faint smirk curling his lips.

”Thank you,” Elias whispered.

Lux leaned close, his eyes gleaming like coins catching firelight. ”Use the money well, Elias. Build your empire. And if Thomas crawls back out of his dumpster? Call me. I have my own securities.”

Elias looked at him, really looked, and something inside him shifted. He wasn’t sure if it was awe, fear, or the weight of a new leash tightening around his throat. But one thing was clear—Lux Vaelthorn wasn’t just an investor. He was a storm.

And Elias Moreau had just stepped into it.

The hum of the city filled the silence between them. Cars zipped past on the main road, horns blaring, the smell of roasted peanuts drifting from a street vendor nearby. Elias clutched his savings book like it might vanish if he blinked.

Lux exhaled lazily. ”Now,” he said, voice smooth as velvet, ”we’ve cleared your name. I’ll drop you back at the studio. But first—lunch. I’ll pay.”

Elias stiffened, blinking fast. ”No—wait. Lunch?”

Lux tilted his head, eyes gleaming like he’d just offered a trap and was waiting to see if Elias would step into it. ”Yes. Food. That thing mortals forget to have when they’re busy running on coffee and desperation. I insist.”

But Elias shook his head, surprising even himself. ”No, Mr. Vaelthorn. You’ve done enough. If—if we’re having lunch...” He swallowed, shoulders squaring. ”It’ll be on me.”

Lux raised an eyebrow, intrigued. ”On you?”

Elias nodded, the words rushing out like they’d been waiting years. ”I never treated my team before. Never could. Not properly. But now the debts are gone, the money’s real, and... I want to do it once. I want them to feel like I mean it.”

For a beat, Lux said nothing. He just studied the young man with that unnerving half-smile, like he was reading more than words. Then, finally, he smirked. ”Hmph. Ambitious. Alright. But I’m driving.”

Minutes later, they pulled into a little strip mall tucked between a laundromat and an electronics shop. A red-and-gold sign swung overhead: Golden Dragon Takeout. Steam and the smell of garlic, soy, and ginger poured into the parking lot every time the door opened.

Inside, the counters gleamed with plastic menus under flickering neon. The air buzzed with chatter, clattering pans, the hiss of oil on hot woks.

Elias looked almost shy as he ordered enough food to feed an army: dumplings, sweet-and-sour chicken, stir-fried greens, fried rice, tofu dishes, and egg rolls by the dozen.

Lux leaned against the counter, amused, watching Elias fumble with the card like it was a holy relic.

When they left, the bags were heavy, the smell intoxicating. Elias carried most of them, stubbornly refusing Lux’s offer to help. ”It’s my treat,” he said firmly, cheeks red.

Lux smirked but didn’t argue. ”As you wish.”

Back at the studio, the team was slouched over keyboards, faces pale from screen glow, the weight of their morning still heavy in the air. The moment Elias stepped in with the food, though—everything changed.

”Everyone,” Elias said, his voice stronger than Lux had heard all day. He set the bags on a desk, plastic rustling loud as thunder. ”The debts are gone. All of them. We’re clean.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then the room erupted.

”You’re kidding—”

”Wait, what?!”

”Holy shit—”

One of the VR testers actually ripped their headset off and whooped loud enough to make everyone jump. The artist’s stylus clattered to the floor.

”And lunch,” Elias added, his smile crooked, nervous but real. ”On me.”

He started pulling out boxes, the steam filling the room with the scent of garlic and sesame. Dumplings gleamed in their trays, fried rice steaming, sweet sauces dripping thick over crispy chicken.

The devs crowded around, laughing, cheering, grabbing chopsticks and paper plates. They thanked him one by one, some clapping him on the back, one nearly in tears.