The VIP lounge of the Underworld's financial district did not smell like sulfur or brimstone; it smelled aggressively of aged port wine, damp hundred-dollar bills, and pure, unfiltered avarice.
Tama adjusted his translucent collar, stepping onto the plush crimson carpet with the forced swagger of a seed-round founder walking into a Silicon Valley boardroom. Behind him, the Senior Pocong floated along like a heavily bandaged refrigerator, dragging its bound feet with a low, miserable groan that sounded remarkably like a dial-up modem connecting to a broken server.
"Relax, Big P," Tama muttered out of the corner of his mouth, not breaking his stride. "Confidence is ninety percent of the valuation. If he smells fear, he’ll demand equity and your soul in escrow."
"My soul is already in escrow, Tama. I died with three student loans and a car lease," the Pocong wheezed, adjusting a clump of grave dirt clinging to its shroud. "And stop calling me Big P. It violates my union guidelines."
They stopped in front of a pair of towering, obsidian double doors guarded by two hulking spectral bouncers holding heavy gold-plated ledgers. Before Tama could even flash his holographic business card, the doors swung open with a smooth, expensive hiss.
"Enter," a voice piped up. It wasn't booming or terrifying; it sounded like a ruthless hedge fund manager who had spent the last four centuries inhaling cigar smoke and skimming off the top of underworld derivative markets.
Tama marched in, keeping his shoulders back and his chin high, while the Pocong squeezed its bulky frame through the doorway with a pathetic rustle of linen.
The room was vast, dominated by a mahogany desk carved from a single, petrified tree trunk. Sitting atop a towering stack of glowing, gold-encrusted financial portfolios was the King of Tuyul. He wasn't some mythic monster; he looked like a hyper-aggressive toddler dressed in a custom-tailored Italian Brioni suit, wearing tiny gold-rimmed spectacles that reflected ticker symbols scrolling in real-time. A massive, half-eaten roasted chicken sat on a silver platter beside him, grease glistening on his tiny, pointed chin.
"You're late, human," the King of Tuyul squeaked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence like a diamond glass-cutter. "In this plane, time isn't just money. Time is liquidity. And right now, your liquidity looks about as dry as a desert corpse."
Tama didn't flinch. He walked right up to the edge of the mahogany desk, placed both translucent hands flat on the polished wood, and flashed a smile that had once convinced three venture capitalists to fund an app that delivered artisanal ice to igloos.
"With all due respect, Your Highness, a visionary doesn't run on standard clock-time. We disrupt it," Tama said smoothly, straightening his invisible tie. "I'm Tama, founder and CEO of Gentayangan.co. And I’m here to offer you a front-row seat to the most lucrative asset-backed restructuring in astral history."
The King of Tuyul leaned back in his oversized leather chair, steepled his tiny, clawed fingers, and let out a dry, crackling chuckle that sounded like coins spilling across a marble floor.
"Gentayangan dot co. I saw your deck on the astral cloud. You want to Uberize haunting," the tiny monarch said, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he scrutinized Tama from head to toe. "You think you can take a fragmented, deeply inefficient freelance scare-market and turn it into a centralized B2B SaaS ecosystem. Am I close?"
"You're not just close, Boss, you're spot on," Tama grinned, sensing blood in the water. "Right now, local spirits are working blind. A Kuntilanak screams for free in a random banyan tree; a Pocong hops around damp alleys with zero monetization strategy. No ROI, no brand synergy, no scalable feedback loop."
The King of Tuyul reached over, tore a massive chunk of meat off the roasted chicken, and chewed thoughtfully while staring at Tama with unblinking intensity.
"And what’s your take rate?" the Tuyul demanded, pointing a greasy chicken bone straight at Tama’s nose. "Don't feed me startup buzzwords about community building. I want numbers. What's the platform commission per fright?"
"Twenty-five percent flat on all direct haunt orders, plus a ten percent premium for corporate exorcism avoidance packages," Tama fired back instantly, not missing a beat. "We route client terror requests via GPS-enabled ecto-beacons. Higher fear ratings mean higher tier pricing for our enterprise clients—real estate developers looking to drop property values before a hostile land grab."
The King of Tuyul stopped chewing. A slow, terrifying grin spread across his tiny, sharp-toothed face. The room seemed to drop ten degrees as the sheer weight of financial calculation settled over the mahogany desk.
"Property value manipulation," the Tuyul whispered, the idea clearly tickling every dark, greedy corner of his undead soul. "You want to weaponize ghostly disturbances for real estate arbitrage."
"We call it 'Dynamic Fear Pricing'," Tama corrected smoothly. "Supply meets demand precisely where the poltergeist activity peaks."
Behind Tama, the Senior Pocong let out a low, agonizing groan. "Does dynamic pricing cover lower back pain? Because hopping down three flights of stairs to help a real estate developer drop a condo price by five percent sounds like a terrible way to spend eternity."
"Quiet, Operations," Tama hissed without turning around, maintaining fierce eye contact with the tiny financial overlord. "Big P here represents our legacy infrastructure. Reliable, immovable, and completely ready to scale once we optimize his hop-to-scare ratio."
The King of Tuyul burst into a shrill, gleeful laugh, slamming a tiny fist onto the mahogany desk. "I love it! Absolute corporate ruthlessness wrapped in slick app UI. But execution is everything, human. Ideas are cheap. Ectoplasm ain't."
"Which brings us to the term sheet," Tama said, sliding a glowing holographic proposal across the desk. "We’re looking for a seed round of five hundred thousand spectral tokens. In exchange, we’re offering a ten percent equity stake in Gentayangan.co and a priority seat on our board."
The King of Tuyul adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, scanning the glowing runes of the term sheet with terrifying speed. His tiny fingers tapped a rapid rhythm against the desk.
"Ten percent equity is steep for a dead guy with no credit score," the Tuyul murmured, his eyes darting across the projected revenue charts. "And I don't take payment in stock options that might vaporize if your servers get cleansed by a traveling monk."
"Then name your terms, Your Highness," Tama said, holding his breath just enough to remind himself he didn't need oxygen anymore.
The King of Tuyul leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, a wicked glint shining in his glowing eyes.
"I want fifty percent of the chicken sacrifices generated by your platform’s top-tier influencers, plus first right of refusal on all soul-liquidation assets," the Tuyul bartered smoothly. "And your head of operations over there? He binds himself to my vault treasury for the next three centuries as collateral."
The Senior Pocong stiffened so violently that a cascade of ancient dust exploded from his linen shroud. "Wait, what? My contract specifically states I only haunt old hospitals and suburban crossroads! I am not collateral for a venture-backed startup!"
Tama didn't even blink. He extended his translucent hand across the desk, locking eyes with the most dangerous financier in the astral plane.
"Deal," Tama said firmly. "Welcome to the cap table, Your Highness. Let's make some unholy ROI."
The King of Tuyul grinned, gripping Tama's spectral hand with surprising strength. "Pleasure doing business with you, CEO. Now get out of my office, go find some viral ghosts, and start printing me some money."