Ethan stood at the heart of his newly acquired office building, letting his gaze sweep across the vast, empty space. Sunlight streamed through the glass walls, casting intricate patterns on the polished floors.
The building, a masterpiece of Luca Moretti's design, exuded a grandeur that seemed to hum with untapped potential. Yet, for all its magnificence, it lacked a certain warmth—an identity. His identity.
He had already taken steps to change that. Lunar ID, the most sought-after interior design firm in Novan City, had been enlisted to breathe life into the building's interior.
Of course, it helped that Moretti himself had recommended them. The name carried enough weight to ensure Ethan's project would receive their utmost attention.
The design team arrived promptly, armed with blueprints, laser measures, and a flurry of creativity. Clara, the lead designer—a woman with an air of effortless authority—had immediately taken charge, her eyes gleaming with both ambition and skepticism.
"So," she'd said, flipping through her sleek tablet, "what's the vision?"
Ethan, his voice steady, replied, "Modern. Sleek. But also welcoming. I want it to feel alive—like innovation itself lives here. The moment people walk in, they should know this isn't just an office. It's the future."
Clara raised an eyebrow, intrigued but wary. "That's ambitious. A project like this typically takes a few weeks."
Ethan's response was instant, almost casual. "I'll pay triple if it's done in three days."
Clara blinked, momentarily thrown off. She'd heard whispers of the young man who had purchased a Moretti masterpiece outright, but seeing such nonchalance about a cost most would balk at was something else. Triple?
For a second, she wondered if he were playing some elaborate prank, but the unwavering look in his eyes told her otherwise.
A slow smile crept across her face. "Three days, you say?" she repeated, savoring the challenge. "Consider it done."
Ethan nodded, satisfied. But this wasn't about extravagance for extravagance's sake. He had a timeline to meet—missions to complete.
The building needed to be ready for NovaTech's team as soon as possible. The sooner the office was operational, the sooner the app development could begin, and the sooner everything else would fall into place. At least, that was the plan.
Well, sort of. Ethan had to admit to himself that he wasn't thinking everything through as carefully as he should. He was relying heavily on David's expertise to manage the finer details.
But in his mind, the logic was simple: Build fast. Hire the best. Start strong. What could possibly go wrong?
His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket, he saw a text from David.
David: [I'm ready to post the job ads. Are we going with standard offers, or do you have something else in mind?]
Ethan stared at the screen for a moment, considering. Standard offers? That wouldn't cut it. He had a sense—perhaps inspired by the system itself—that mediocrity wouldn't do.
Ethan: [Double the average salaries for each position.]
The reply came quickly, with an understandable note of hesitation.
David: [Double? You need to think about the company's finances, too.]
Ethan could almost see David shaking his head as he typed the next message.
David: [Remember, for the first few months, revenue will be... minimal, at best.]
Ethan sighed, appreciating David's caution but knowing he had to push forward. He typed back confidently.
Ethan: [I get it. But to build the best, we need the best. Top talent doesn't come cheap. Double salaries, better benefits—whatever it takes.]
David, experienced and pragmatic, wasn't convinced. It was a gamble and, in his mind, an unnecessary one.
David: [What if it's unsustainable? This is a huge risk.]
Ethan's response was resolute.
Ethan: [Trust me, I've got this covered. I don't just want employees—I want a team that's all in. The money will handle itself once we have the right people.]
A long pause followed before David's reluctant agreement came through.
David: [Alright. I'll get started.]
Ethan exhaled, his grip on the phone loosening. He knew David still had no idea of the depths of his wealth—or the system backing it. But that wasn't the point.
This wasn't about spending for the sake of it; it was about building something extraordinary.
With the purchase of the office finalized, Ethan turned his attention to an equally important task—finding a secure home for his family. The creeping unease of being watched had been gnawing at him, and he couldn't risk delaying the move any longer.
Pulling out his phone, he found Jessica's contact and fired off a quick message.
Ethan: [Had any luck finding a house? I need to move in as soon as possible.]
Jessica, ever efficient, responded almost instantly.
Jessica: [I have a few I think you'll like. Sending the details now.]
Moments later, his phone buzzed again. Jessica had sent him photos and descriptions of three stunning multimillion-dollar homes. These are the kinds of places Ethan could only have dreamed of a month ago.
He didn't even blink at the price tags, and his focus was entirely on the layout and security features.
Ethan: [These look great. Let's set up a viewing later.]
Jessica's reply came swiftly, laced with a touch of incredulity.
Jessica: [You're incredibly quick at making decisions, huh?]
Ethan couldn't help but laugh softly at her remark. It was true. One moment, he'd been a university student juggling shifts at a bookstore, and now, here he was, breezing through multimillion-dollar decisions like picking out groceries.
'Life changes fast when you have an unlimited money.'
Jessica, too, was riding the whirlwind. From struggling to close deals, she had catapulted into the upper echelon of real estate, thanks to Ethan.
First, a record-breaking building sale, and now, the prospect of selling a high-end home. He appreciated her professionalism—she didn't pry into his background. Not that he had an explanation that would make any sense.
Ethan pocketed his phone and took one last look around the empty office building, letting the reality sink in. This wasn't just an office. It was the foundation for everything he was building.
"I'll be back soon," he murmured, almost as if making a promise to the space itself.
As he headed for the exit, his thoughts turned to a practical dilemma—transportation. He didn't own a car, and while Novan City's public transit was perfectly fine, it wasn't exactly fitting for his new lifestyle.
'Maybe after the move,' he decided. He wasn't eager to drive himself; it had never appealed to him. The thought of navigating busy city streets felt more like a chore than a privilege.
'But hiring a chauffeur?' That was an idea he could get behind. Sitting back and enjoying the view while someone else handled the driving—now that was how a man with a billion-dollar future should travel.
As he stepped out of the building, the security guards stationed at the entrance greeted him warmly. Word had clearly spread that Ethan Cole was now the owner. They seemed eager to make a good impression.
"Heading out already, sir?" one of them called out, his voice carrying a bit too enthusiastically across the marble lobby.
Ethan paused, surprised by the loud greeting. He chuckled softly, reminded that he wasn't just Ethan anymore. He was the boss. He'd have employees soon, and these interactions were just the beginning.
"Yes," he replied, flashing a friendly smile. "I'll be back tomorrow. Keep up the great work, everyone. The safety of this building is in your hands!"
The guards straightened immediately, saluting in unison. Ethan bit back a laugh at their earnest display.
"Seems like the new boss is a good one," one guard murmured as Ethan walked away.
"And young, too," another added. "Means he won't be as grumpy."
"Let's do our best. Who knows, we might even get a raise sooner," said a third, grinning.
Ethan left with a smile, their camaraderie warming his heart. But as he walked a few blocks down the bustling city streets, that warm feeling was replaced by something colder.
A chill crept down his spine, and his steps faltered slightly. That unsettling sense of being watched had returned.
Ethan's pulse thundered in his ears as he stood in the shadowy alley, his fists still clenched and trembling slightly. 'They're back,' he thought, his eyes darting toward the two familiar figures lurking at the alley's entrance.
Zidan and Mark.
The same pair who had tailed him that morning. At first, Ethan had tried to convince himself it was paranoia, but the reality was now glaring. They knew where he lived, and that made his blood run cold.
"What should I do?" Ethan muttered under his breath, his mind racing through possibilities. He briefly considered calling the police but dismissed the thought almost immediately.
'And then what? File a report, and I hope they don't have connections.'
Movies had taught him—sometimes the hard way—that criminals often had networks, and those networks weren't always confined to their own kind. The wrong word to the wrong officer, and things could spiral further out of control.
The thought of his family flashed before his eyes, sharpening his resolve. What if they target them? That was a risk he couldn't take.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Ethan squared his shoulders. He didn't want this confrontation, but it seemed inevitable. And with his newfound skills, perhaps he stood a chance.
"I can take them," he whispered to himself, trying to sound braver than he felt. His training—if one could even call it that—had only been a memory implant, courtesy of the system.
But if Krav Maga and Close Quarters Combat were in his muscle memory, it was time to find out if they were worth anything.
He strolled into the alley as if he hadn't noticed them, his movements casual yet deliberate. His heart pounded, his mind rehearsing the techniques he'd learned while his body moved on autopilot.
Behind him, Zidan and Mark exchanged a look.
"He's going down an alley," Mark said, grinning.
"Perfect," Zidan replied. "This time, he won't get away."
Ethan rounded the corner and quickened his pace, his heart racing not from fear but anticipation. Then, without warning, he spun on his heel to face them.
The suddenness of the move startled them, their footsteps faltering as they came into view.
"Why are you following me?" Ethan asked, his voice steady despite the tremor he felt deep inside. Slowly, he placed his bag on the ground beside him, keeping his eyes locked on them.
Zidan grinned his yellowed teeth on full display. "Kid's got some guts. But you're making this harder than it has to be."
Mark, the wiry one, stepped forward and pulled a knife from his pocket, its blade catching the faint light. "We know you've got money. Hand it over, and no one gets hurt."
Ethan's eyes flicked to the blade. His chest tightened, but his training kicked in, forcing him to focus. 'Keep your breathing steady. Quick, decisive action.'
Zidan lunged first, throwing a wide, clumsy punch. Ethan sidestepped effortlessly, his hand shooting out to grab Zidan's wrist mid-swing. With a sharp twist, he sent pain shooting through the man's arm, following up with a brutal elbow strike to Zidan's jaw.
Zidan staggered back, clutching his face, but before Ethan could regroup, Mark rushed in, slashing with the knife. Ethan pivoted, narrowly dodging the blade, and seized Mark's wrist in a vice-like grip. With a calculated twist, the knife clattered to the ground.
Before Mark could react, Ethan drove his knee into his stomach, sending him crumpling to the pavement, gasping for air.
"Stay calm," Ethan muttered under his breath, his hands trembling from the adrenaline. But there was no time to pause.
Zidan, recovering from the earlier blow, charged again, this time with his own knife. Ethan blocked the strike with his forearm and delivered a swift punch to Zidan's gut, followed by an uppercut that sent the taller man stumbling into the wall.
The alley echoed with grunts and the sound of bodies hitting the pavement. Every move Ethan made was fluid and precise—more instinct than thought. And yet, each action left him more shaken than the last.
Mark clambered to his feet, his face twisted with rage. "You're dead, kid!" he spat, his voice ragged.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. He wasn't about to let fear dictate his actions. "You picked the wrong target," he shot back, his voice low and firm.
In a final surge of motion, Ethan kicked the knife from Zidan's hand and delivered a punch to Mark's jaw, sending him sprawling into the wall. Both men lay on the ground, groaning in pain, their bravado completely extinguished.
Zidan looked up at Ethan, blood trickling from his split lip. His eyes were wide, filled with disbelief and fear. "What the hell are you?" he rasped.
Ethan stood over them, his breath coming in short bursts, his hands still trembling. He didn't have an answer to that question. He didn't even fully understand what he had become. But one thing was clear—he wasn't the same Ethan who had walked into this alley moments ago.
"Stay away from me," Ethan warned, his voice steely. "If I see you near me or my family, you won't walk away next time."
The two men exchanged terrified glances before scrambling to their feet and staggering out of the alley, bruised and beaten.
Ethan watched them go, his chest heaving as the adrenaline began to ebb. He had won the fight, but as the dust settled, the weight of what had just happened began to sink in.