All Chapters of I Went Back In Time With A Money Multiplier System: Chapter 81
- Chapter 90
114 chapters
81. Spectator's Set
Adrian dropped Letty off at her apartment a few minutes later. She stepped out of the car, hesitated for a moment as if she wanted to say something more, then settled for a quiet goodbye before heading inside. Adrian waited until the building door closed behind her before pulling back onto the road.He didn’t head home.Instead, he drove toward the university where the three basketball players studied. It was a mid sized private university on the edge of the city, the kind that invested heavily in sports to compensate for everything else. He parked a short distance away, somewhere inconspicuous, and turned the engine off.For a while, he just sat there.“Chaos,” he thought again. “Unpredictability. Confusion. Pressure.”Unpredictability made it hard to guess what was going to happen next. When someone couldn’t anticipate the next move, they would lose their sense of control and started hesitating, second guessing every decision they made.Confusion stacked on top of that. Too much inf
82. Face Sketching
Adrian stayed in his car as the hours passed.He didn’t rush anything. He didn’t fidget. He simply waited, watching through the system feeds as time did its job. Afternoon slowly into evening without incident.For most of the day, the three basketball players did nothing worth noting. They practiced with others on campus, ran drills, joked around, and acted exactly like normal students. No secret meetings. No suspicious calls. Nothing that justified immediate action.Adrian let it play out.At a little past five, the pattern finally changed.The three of them regrouped, left the court together, and headed toward the parking lot. They got into a car that looked noticeably worse than the others around it, slightly beaten up, dull paint, old scratches that had never been fixed. One of them took the driver’s seat and pulled out without hesitation.Adrian started his car and followed at a distance.They drove out of the city and toward a private property on the outskirts, a stretch of land
83. The Cousin
He didn’t chase detail. That would have been inefficient.Each sketch took him two to three minutes at most. He started with the outline of the skull, then layered in the jawline, cheekbones, brow ridge, and chin. Eyes came next, not as detailed shapes, but as spacing and angle. Nose length and width, mouth placement, ear height, hairline, beard or lack of it.He exaggerated nothing and beautified nothing.The goal wasn’t art. It was identification.If someone looked at these sketches later, they would know exactly who was being depicted. No ambiguity. No guesswork.Music continued to echo through the trees outside. Laughter rose and fell. People danced, drank, flirted, and lost track of time. Adrian kept drawing. Page after page filled up steadily as the party continued uninterrupted.Occasionally, he paused for a second to sharpen a pencil or flip to a new page. His hand moved quickly but never sloppily. The skills did most of the work, translating observation into motion without co
84. Reconnaissance Complete
Adrian woke up without an alarm.It wasn’t sudden, and it wasn’t groggy either. His eyes opened naturally, his breathing steady as if his body had already finished deciding that rest was no longer necessary. For a few seconds, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence of the room settle over him.Then he turned his head.The clock read a little past seven.His gaze shifted again, this time to the calendar pinned beside the bed. Seven red X’s were marked on it, neat and deliberate, each one crossing out a day with quiet finality.Seven days.Seven days since Tristan had been taken to the hospital.He reached over and picked up the phone resting on the bedside table. It wasn’t the one he had used before. That one was gone, replaced without ceremony. This phone felt different in his hand. Heavier. Smoother. More responsive. He unlocked it and opened the messaging app before he clicked on Tristan’s name.Adrian: How you feeling?He sent the message and set the phone d
85. Pig's Bar
Liana Cross stood in front of the mirror in her room, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the dresser as she adjusted the strap of her dress.She took her time.There was no rush, no urgency in her movements. Every detail mattered. The fabric sat perfectly against her figure, hugging in the right places without looking desperate. She smoothed it down once, then reached for her makeup kit, leaning closer to the mirror as she worked.Foundation first, clean and even with no visible flaws.She traced her eyes carefully, lashes dark and sharp, lips finished with a soft color that made her look warm without being obvious. When she was done, she tilted her head slightly, examining herself from different angles before nodding in approval.Satisfied, she picked up her phone from the bed.The screen lit up with notifications. Messages, missed calls, names she recognized and names she didn’t care about. Her eyes skimmed over them quickly until she found the one she was looking for.A s
86. Liana's Fantasy Comes To Life
She scanned the room once, heels clicking softly against the floor as she stood there, clearly out of place in her dress and posture. Her eyes moved quickly, already impatient, until she spotted him.Xander sat at a corner table, far enough from the center that the noise dulled slightly around him. He was leaning back in his chair, one arm resting casually on the table. In front of him sat a large plate of nachos, layered with cheese and a deep red, spicy looking dip pooled in the center.No alcohol.That stood out immediately.Liana’s irritation sharpened.She walked over without hesitation and dropped into the seat across from him, crossing her legs tightly as she did. The chair didn’t creak. The table didn’t wobble. Still beneath her standards.Her gaze flicked from his face to the food and back again.“…Seriously?” she said flatly.Her eyes narrowed as she took in the nachos, the casual setting, the complete lack of effort to make this look impressive.Xander looked up at her, unb
87. Rafe Calder, The Assassin
They stepped out of the warehouse together.Liana fixed the strap of her dress as she walked, hair slightly messy, expression relaxed in a way it hadn’t been all evening. Whatever annoyance she’d carried earlier was gone now, replaced with a lazy, satisfied ease. She stretched once, heels forgotten, mind still half elsewhere.Then she stopped.The space where her car had been was empty.No headlights. No silhouette. No familiar shape parked where she had left it.For a second, her brain refused to process it.She took two more steps forward, eyes scanning left, then right, as if the car might have shifted on its own.“…What?” she muttered.Xander stopped beside her. His gaze followed hers, brow furrowing as the same realization hit him.The car was gone.Liana turned slowly, panic rushing in all at once, sharp and overwhelming. “Where’s my car?” she demanded, voice rising immediately. “Where the hell is my car?”She spun in place, heels digging into the dirt as she stared at the e
88. Chaos Begins
Adrian stepped out of the car.It was the same one Liana had driven earlier. The same one that had nearly taken Rafe’s life on the road. Now it sat quietly inside a scrap yard, surrounded by rows of broken vehicles stacked and scattered without order, metal shells stripped of value and waiting to be forgotten.The air smelled like rust and oil.Adrian didn’t react to it.His expression was flat as he looked around, eyes sweeping the space with calm detachment. There was no urgency in his movements, no hint that he had just finished something dangerous. To anyone watching, he would have looked like someone wrapping up a mundane task.He raised his hands and began pulling off the gloves.They were white rubber gloves, the kind doctors used. He peeled them off slowly, one finger at a time, until they came free. He flicked them aside without looking.Before they touched the ground, they dissolved into nothing.No ash. No residue. Just gone.Adrian reached up next, fingers gripping the ski
89. Evan Sterling
Adrian kept cycling.Ten miles passed, then a little more. The road stretched out ahead of him in long, empty lines, farmland slowly giving way to quieter outskirts and then back again, the scenery repeating itself in wide, open patterns. The bicycle moved smoothly beneath him, responding instantly to every shift of weight and pressure.He barely broke a sweat.His breathing stayed steady, unstrained, the motion of pedaling almost meditative. The wind rushed past his ears, cool against his skin, tugging his hair backward as he leaned forward just slightly. The faster he went, the lighter he felt, like the ground had lost some of its pull on him.“…This is nice,” he thought.Not in a grand way, not excitement or adrenaline. Just a clean, simple sense of movement. After days of planning, watching, calculating, the act of moving freely did something subtle to his mood. The tightness in his chest eased. His thoughts stopped stacking on top of each other for a moment and instead flowed in
90. The Massacre
Adrian drove straight toward the port.He didn’t park close. He left the car almost a mile away, tucked into a stretch of empty roadside where it wouldn’t stand out, then got out and started walking. The closer he got, the louder the city sounds became, layered with the dull mechanical noise of cranes, engines, and water slapping against concrete.The yacht was easy to spot.It was larger than most, lights on, music carrying faintly across the water even from a distance. Adrian didn’t slow down or look around much as he reached the edge of the port. He slipped into the water smoothly, without a big splash, and started swimming.At first, he stayed close to the surface. Once the distance closed, he dove inside.The water swallowed him whole, pressure wrapping around his body as the surface ripples disappeared above. He reached into the system shop mid motion, bought a compact oxygen device, and fitted it into place with practiced ease. His breathing evened out immediately.He swam deep