The instant he read the initials “IL” at the end of the message, a victorious and now familiar ding echoed in Max’s mind—a sound sweeter than any symphony.
The strategy had worked, just one day before the deadline.
[Main Quest: The First Ally completed!]
[Objective reached 1 day before the deadline.
Bonuses granted.]
[Rewards granted:]
+12 System Points (SP).
Faction Skill unlocked: [Pack Leadership Lv.
1].
Relationship with Isabel Lovelace established: Neutral -> Intellectual Respect.
Max felt a surge of power.
Twelve points.
It was a treasure trove.
Immediately, he explored his new skill.
[Pack Leadership Lv.
1 (Passive)]
Description: Grants a 5% bonus to the loyalty and efficiency of any individual who recognizes you as their leader or primary partner.
Slightly increases your natural charisma when addressing your “pack.”
Current Pack Members: 0.
Next Upgrade (Lv.
2 – Cost 15 SP): Bonus increases to 10%.
Unlocks the active skill [Pack Order], which allows giving a simple command to a member with a high probability of obedience if it does not violate their core principles.
“Pack Leadership,” Max whispered, letting the name of the new skill roll through his mind like a promise.
“Interesting.”
He leaned back in his new chair, watching the System icons flicker in his vision.
There was a fundamental difference in this new set of parameters: the System was no longer asking him to be the best player, but to be a leader.
This wasn’t a tool for a solo act; it was the architectural blueprint of an empire.
In his past life, Max had been a useful gear in someone else’s machine; now, the System was handing him the oil to lubricate his own.
He understood the subtext immediately: a genius can win battles, but it takes an army to win a war.
However, the weight of his ambition stood in sharp contrast to the cold data of the real world.
With an instinctive gesture, he pulled out his phone and checked his bank account.
The blue interface projected a figure that stared back at him with an implacable gaze: $540.00.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
He looked at himself in the room’s mirror: he was wearing an impeccably cut shirt that screamed status, and beside him sat a state-of-the-art laptop that was, in essence, his mobile command center.
He looked like the heir to a rising fortune, a young tycoon moving with the confidence of someone who owned the world.
But the reality was that Max Adler was walking on a razor’s edge.
He had invested almost all his capital in ‘armor’ and tools.
His image was his greatest asset, but also his riskiest bet.
Those $540 dollars were the last thread holding him above the abyss of bankruptcy—the same abyss that had led him to the bridge in his other life.
Despite his strategic victories on campus and his triumphant entry into the Investors Circle, Max was still a tightrope walker without a net.
A single mistake, an unforeseen expense, or a misreading of the market, and the empire would crumble before the first brick was dry.
I’m still a giant with feet of clay, he thought, closing the app with a look of determination.
It’s time for the Oracle to stop predicting the future and start financing it.
The next day, as he headed to the library for his looming meeting, the world felt different.
Or perhaps, it was he who had changed.
He wore a linen shirt that fit his shoulders perfectly and tailored dark trousers.
The camouflage Victoria had talked about was working; students stepped aside subtly, their glances no longer filled with disdain, but with curiosity and a grudging respect.
In the central plaza of the campus, a shadow loomed over him.
Leo Vargas, flanked by his usual entourage, blocked his path.
His face, normally smiling and confident, was a mask of contained fury.
The rumors about Max and Victoria had been the straw that broke the camel’s back of his humiliation.
Leo blocked the way with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes—a grimace of arrogance trying to hide his seething rage.
“Look at you, scholarship kid,” Leo hissed, projecting his voice to ensure the students passing through the plaza stopped to watch.
“Dressed up like someone important.
Do you think wearing silk and Italian tailoring makes you stop smelling like a hick?
It’s fascinating to see you strutting around in the clothes my girl bought for you.
Do you think you’re a big shot, or do you just feel like a well-dressed pet?”
The attempt at public humiliation was crude, almost desperate, but thanks to [Player Mind], Max experienced the scene with almost clinical detachment.
The venom in Leo’s voice found nowhere to anchor; instead of anger or shame, what Max felt was the kind of distant curiosity one has for a wounded predator that roars because it can no longer bite.
He stared at him with a hint of pity that was more insulting than any shout.
“For starters, Leo, Victoria isn’t ‘your girl’,” Max replied.
His voice was a whisper of steel, calm but with a resonance that cut through the air and forced the onlookers to fall silent.
“Objects are owned; women like her are earned.
And the fact that she preferred to spend her afternoon polishing my image instead of tolerating your company should give you a hint about your place on her priority list.”
Max took a step forward, invading Leo’s personal space without his pulse quickening a single beat.
His gaze became a scalpel.
“Second,” he continued, his tone turning glacial, “if you have so much energy to spare monitoring my wardrobe, I suggest you invest it in your books.
I’ve heard the Economics department is concerned about your performance.
It would be a tragedy if your GPA ended up being as poor as your last bet against me.”
The strike was perfect.
Max didn’t just defend his dignity; he reminded everyone present of Leo’s incompetence, leaving the “king of the campus” speechless in front of his own entourage.
The silence that followed wasn’t one of respect for Leo, but of awe toward the man whom, barely a week ago, no one would have bothered to look at.
Leo’s face contorted in a grimace of pure rage.
Blinded by fury, he raised a hand, threatening to strike Max.
“Leo, what do you think you’re doing?”
Victoria Mont’s icy voice sliced through the air.
She had appeared out of nowhere, her gaze fixed on Leo as if he were an insect.
“Leave him alone.
Or you’ll have to explain yourself to my father.”
The threat, though veiled, was a nuclear missile in the small world of the campus.
Leo froze.
The mention of Victoria’s father was a reminder of the massive power gap between them.
He lowered his hand, trembling with impotent rage.
He shot Max a look that promised future vengeance and retreated with his group, defeated once again.
When they were far enough away, Victoria turned to Max.
She crossed her arms, one eyebrow perfectly arched.
There was no worry on her face, only a cold analysis.
“Looks like my investment needs a bodyguard,” she said, her tone a mix of mockery and something akin to annoyance.
Max adjusted the collar of his new shirt, showing none of the adrenaline a normal man would have felt.
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” he replied calmly.
“But I appreciate the demonstration that you protect your assets.
It’s good business practice.”
Victoria let out a short, dry laugh.
He had called her an “asset,” an investment, and he threw the term right back at her without flinching.
They were speaking the same language.
“Don’t get used to it, scholarship kid,” she said, though a tiny smile played on her lips. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“Next time, make sure that brilliant brain of yours thinks of a way to keep your nose from getting broken.
Fixing that would be a lot more expensive than a new suit.”
She winked at him—a gesture so quick it could have almost been imagined—and turned around, walking away with the same elegance with which she had arrived.
Max watched her go.
Her intervention hadn’t been out of affection, but to protect her reputation and that of her “protégé.” It was a power move, and he understood it perfectly.
Giving it no more thought, he turned and continued his way toward the library.
He had a much more important meeting to attend.
At exactly 4 PM, he found Isa Lovelace at a secluded table on the third floor.
The place smelled of dust and old paper—a sanctuary of knowledge.
Isa didn’t look up from her book until he sat down.
“Your analysis of Finch’s work was…
unexpected,” she said bluntly, closing her book.
“Where did you get that perspective on credit derivatives?”
An intellectual duel began.
Max, leaning on his natural intelligence and the perfect data recall of his [Eidetic Memory], debated her at a level that left him breathless.
They talked about economic models, history, and market psychology.
It was like a high-speed tennis match, each returning the other’s shots with pinpoint precision.
Max realized that Isa was, without a doubt, the most brilliant person he had ever met, in either of his two lives.
Finally, after what felt like an hour, Isa reclined in her chair, observing him in a new light.
“You’re not what you seem, Adler.
You’re not Victoria’s toy or just some lucky guy,” she stated.
“You have…
substance.” Coming from her, it was the ultimate compliment.
“I’m working on a personal project,” she continued, her voice dropping to a confidential tone.
“A predictive model to identify ‘black swans’ in the market: unpredictable events with a massive impact.
My model is robust, but it’s missing a variable—a perspective I can’t quantify.
Yours.”
The offer came, direct and unadorned.
“I want you to work with me.
Not for me, with me.
As a partner.
We’ll combine my analytical rigor with your…
anomalous intuition.
Profits will be split 50/50.
But I need total commitment and access to your analysis method.”
Max fell silent.
The offer was a lifeline.
A revenue stream, an alliance with a genius mind, a way to operate on a whole new level.
But the condition was poison.
Access to my method?
His method was an otherworldly System, a secret impossible to share.
As if reading his mind, Isa added: “I won’t work in the dark.
I need to understand how you reach your conclusions.
You don’t have to tell me everything right away, but if we’re going to be partners, trust and transparency are non-negotiable.”
Max found himself at a crossroads.
He could accept and risk living a lie that the smartest person he knew would inevitably discover.
Or he could reject her and lose the best opportunity he had ever been given.
His first potential alliance was already demanding a price he wasn’t sure he could pay.