The streets of Asterleeds are clean and bright, and its people live with order and precision-like trains running on well-laid tracks. The Council staff sit high in their towers, sipping tea, signing documents, and overseeing everything visible.

But underground, it's a different world entirely. Lift a manhole cover and peer below-it's dark, damp, foul... but full of life. They call it the "Underworld", a living kingdom hidden beneath the city. The Council pretends it doesn't exist. They neither acknowledge nor manage it. No one asks why-just like no one questions why the tides rise and fall.

The Underworld has its own rules. Gang bosses lounge on moldy sofas, eating smuggled ham and drinking imported Specialty Drinks. Their underlings run errands, brawl, collect debts-just to scrape by. They won't go hungry, but no one's getting rich either. There's no council here, only something harsher: a choice between hunger and beatings.

Deals between the surface and the depths were struck long ago. No one knows the exact terms, but everyone understands: the surface leaves the underground alone, and the underground doesn't stir up trouble above. Food, Specialty Drinks, medicine-even weapons-always find their way down. And the money? It flows up quietly from the black markets and fight pits, like groundwater.

No one talks about it. And what if they did? The councilors would still shine in the spotlight, and the thugs would still be counting their cash. The sun keeps rising. The manholes stay shut. And the two worlds continue on their separate paths.