"Young master, Mr. Martyn is looking for you." The old butler stepped backward. He moved his hands onto his back, grazing the cold two-way mirror behind him.
Grunting, the young master remained focused. He continued to deliver quick and heavy punches, concentrating on the toughest part of the punching bag that hung from the titanium ceiling. The clank of chains was echoing inside the resilient glass walls when he scrunched his eyebrows and stood still. Displeased by his performance, he deeply exhaled and pressed the arrow-up button of the system controller attached to his ears.
This training room was sophisticatedly designed by his ally, Allurenzo Collins. It was geared to sate the young man's ache for perfection. Alternate squares of marble and mastic asphalt covered the floor. Red and green beacons interspersed between each other above the control panel. The electromechanical vault door separated the monitoring room, securing the array of computers.
"Gravitational pull set to 14.7 meters per second; one and a half heavier than the Earth's; three notches below the maximum," the system announced.
Tiles of black asphalt surfaced from the floor and replaced all of the white marble. The lights flickered for a few seconds; the sirens blared for a short duration. Three more punching bags dropped from the ceiling, as the previous bag slid to the side.
The new bags were as hard as human skulls.
The young master tilted his head from side to side, cracked his knuckles, and mimicked the southpaw stance—right hand and right foot forward.
In the blink of an eye, a swift punch bore through the first heavy bag.
Hit after hit, the butler's eyeglasses started to crack. The devastating shock waves, added to the heavy gravity, almost pulverized his eyeglasses instantly. He took them off and went into the safe area to avoid the impending doom he had always experienced before the white-floored, green-lighted area was built. He pulled out his backup glasses in one of the hidden pockets in his vest and tested the atmosphere before safely putting them on.
The ambiance thickened, and the air continued to bend. The sound of fists ramming the punching bag almost deafened the butler. Despite that, the butler succeeded to maintain his usually impassive expression, as the handsome young lad relentlessly tore the punching bag.
After few consecutive strikes, the young lad, Ythan, focused his dormant energy on his left knuckle and decisively smashed the bag. The blow pierced through the middle of the second bag, forming a jagged hole.
"Exercise finished. Better luck next time." The system's female voice laughed. The white marble reemerged, carpeting the entire floor.
Ythan's last punch only dented the third bag.
'Not enough! Not enough! Everything is still not enough!'
Ythan closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. After panting for a few seconds, he bowed down, extended his right arm, and straightened his left leg. His world turned into a blur as he spun around and swooshed the punching bag.
The butterfly kick cut the last bag into two.
The stuffing was swirling in the air when Ythan finally stared at the butler.
Mr. Harris hurried over and pulled out a towel from the suitcase he had carried. He placed it in the palms of his hands, careful not to crumple it, and handed it over to his young master, bowing down.
"Young master, that set of punching bags is the toughest I can find for the meantime. I'm afraid that the next batch will be that of lesser quality. We are currently utilizing our subordinates in Russia to find you better ones, though it may take time."
Ythan took the towel and draped it over his naked shoulder. He inhaled and exhaled deeply before his long-slender legs strode towards the changing room.
"I'll replace those broken glasses," Ythan's spine-tingling voice resonated in the room.
"Thank you again, young master."
'That will be the tenth time for this month,' Mr. Harris thought as he left the room to give his young master privacy.
A distinct and highly masculine scent that would overwhelm a coward spirit assaulted across the room. Ythan washed his face and looked at himself in the mirror with his cold eyes. His messy jet-black hair, which was usually tossed to the right side, made him look even more dangerous.
His diamond-cut face was a combination of unique features, producing an impeccable half-american and half-chinese handsomeness: sword eyebrows, almond eyes, aquiline nose, and thin lips. His chiseled jawline complemented his high cheekbones, highlighting his angular face.
He found his entire upper torso drenched with sweat. The liquid slid from his flushed neck down onto his protruding collarbone, his toned chest, and his washboard abs. He wiped the dribble from his happy trail, all the way up to his prominent Adam's apple. After soaking the towel with sweat, he changed into a white polo shirt and a black vest to meet his father. The sensor door opened as he left.
Seeing his father's office wide open, he went in and noticed his father busily signing documents. The city lights of Beijing outside the casement window and the bright yellow light emitted from the lamp on his father's desk illuminated the room. Portraits of his father's American ancestors hung on the wall. Stacks of papers covered the only mahogany table in the office. The fountain pen engraved with a red scorpion logo whirled in his father's hands.
"Sit down," his father said with eyes affixed on the papers.
He sat down and patiently waited for his father to talk. His father finally put down the pen and sternly looked at him with stony eyes.
"I'm starting a new business venture. As the only heir of our company, you'll be taking my place next year. I'm pleased with your performance handling the company's finances so far, and I'm confident that you can also manage its internal affairs." His father pulled a cigarette out from his drawer.
'The time has finally come,' Ythan thought, maintaining a blank expression.
"However, I need you to complete your senior high school at the least." His father lit the cigarette with a pocket lighter carved with the words, 'Martyn Hopkins'.
"I thought we already talked about this?" Ythan finally spoke.
"It's inevitable. Even though your reports and training results in our company are graded A+, Zhou Li University can't confer you the business degree diploma unless you graduate senior high school." Mr. Martyn puffed out a cloud of smoke.
'As I've thought.'
"Even I can't bribe the leading government-owned university here in China." Ribbons of smoke curled from Mr. Martyn's cigarette, as he took another long and satisfactory hit. Eyeing his son, he stubbed his cigarette on the dragon-shaped ashtray. "This will be necessary. An uprising will surely instigate in the company when they'll know that their CEO is not even a degree holder."
Ythan remained still amidst his father's disappointed look.
"No need to worry. You'll be completing senior high at our own institute so you can focus on this person, instead of those unworthy topics." Mr. Martyn pulled a brown envelope from the heap of files and slid it to his son's direction.
Tightening his temples, Ythan glared at the envelope and looked at his father.
Mr. Martyn nodded, signaling his son to unseal the envelope and see what was inside.
As Ythan opened it, he was slightly taken aback. He saw a picture of a petite, delicate-looking kid. The kid's striking blue eyes were enhanced by big round eyeglasses.
'These blue eyes again.' Ythan tried to contain his disgust and shifted his gaze to the kid's other facial features.
Ythan's lips pulled up to the right as a sharp breath came out.
'Why does she look like a kitten?'
"Don't mock him. Currently, he's the best candidate to take your position as the Chief Finance Officer of our company. The principal says that he'll be, more or less, next year's valedictorian. Keep an eye on that kid and tell me if he's suitable to replace you or not," Mr. Martyn monotonously instructed his son.
"Him?" Ythan carelessly spoke what was on his mind.
Mr. Martyn narrowed his eyes. "You couldn't tell? I thought you were better than this?!" His voice almost reached the peak of fury.
Ythan's head bent down. He realized his mistake and blamed himself for letting his stupidity stain his father's confidence.
Mr. Martyn glanced at the photo. He couldn't blame his son; the boy on the picture was truly blessed with a remarkable feminine facade. With this thought, he pacified himself and calmed down.
"He's a boy as young as you. That picture was taken a year ago for his school I.D." Mr. Martyn sighed. "None of it matters anyway, you'll see him soon."
"En," Ythan answered in agreement.
Mr. Martyn picked up his pen and resumed signing documents.
Recognizing that his presence had become trivial, Ythan stood up and approached the door on steady feet.
"By the way, where's the dog your mom sent?" Mr. Martyn shifted his gaze back to his son.
Ythan met his father's stare. "I got rid of it."
Mr. Martyn smiled. "As expected from my only son, you've learned your lessons well. Don't let anything stir up your emotions or demise will welcome you with open arms."
Ythan went out and closed the door. Walking back to his room, he tightly clutched the envelope in his hand. His lips spread to a curve and his cold eyes revealed a faint evil glint.