Ethan stood in front of his closet, staring at the empty hook where his black suit usually hung.It wasn't there.He checked his phone. 14:47 PM. The System's timer showed 1 hours, 13 minutes remaining. Plenty of time. Except his suit was gone.He texted Seraphina: "Where's my suit?"Her reply came fast: "Dry cleaner. You dropped it off yesterday. Remember? You spilled coffee on the sleeve."He did remember. Vaguely. A moment of clumsiness he'd forgotten about."When will it be ready?""I can call them. Maybe rush it for—""How long?"A pause. Then: "They close at 4 PM for inventory. If we hurry, maybe 3:30. But that's tight."Tight meant cutting into the System's window. Tight meant risk.He looked at his closet. Options were limited. A few casual shirts. Jeans. The hoodie he'd worn during the crash week. Nothing that said "I belong in a place that sells twenty-million-dollar watches."The System didn't care about appearances. It cared about results.He grabbed the hoodie. The faded

Ethan sat in his office, going over the numbers for the Grand Hall acquisition. The purchase had closed three days ago. A historic venue in the heart of the city, bought for $45 million. Now it was his. AK Holdings was throwing money everywhere these days.His suit jacket hung on the brass hook by the door. Coffee sat on his desk, untouched for an hour. The afternoon sun cut long shadows across the floor.The door opened. Seraphina walked in, phone in hand."Cross Industries on line two," she said. "Andrew Cross. Says he wants to discuss a potential partnership with AK Holdings."Ethan's hand stopped mid-motion.Cross Industries. His father's company. The empire that had disowned him on national television. Andrew. His brother. The heir. The one who'd laughed when he called from the hospital begging for money."Put it through," he said.Seraphina nodded, transferred the call to his desk line, and left. The door clicked shut behind her.Ethan stared at the blinking light on his phone.

Ethan sat in his car, staring at the blue text.[TASK 9: EAT MEAL FROM SIDEWALK. PUBLIC LOCATION. MINIMUM 3 MINUTES.][TIME LIMIT: 10 MINUTES.][REWARD: $150,000,000.00][PENALTY FOR FAILURE: PERMANENT LOSS OF SENSATION OF SWEETNESS.]His hands gripped the steering wheel.One hundred fifty million dollars. For eating off the ground. Ten minutes.Or never taste sugar again. No chocolate. No cake. No fruit. Nothing sweet ever. Every meal forever sour or bitter.He laughed. A hollow, crazy sound."This is my life now," he said to the empty car. "This is what it's come to."He looked at the clock on the dashboard. 9:47 AM.Ten minutes."No," he said out loud. "No way. No fucking way. I'm not doing this."He was Mr. AK. He owned companies. He had hundreds of millions. He wore suits that cost more than people's cars.What if Andrew came back? What if he saw him? What if someone caught it on video? The Hoodie Billionaire eating off the sidewalk? He'd be finished. A joke. A bottom feeder.9:4

Claire stormed out of her mother's house and slammed the front door behind her.Her heels clicked hard against the pavement as she marched to her car. The image of her mother's smashed phone burned in her mind. The dents on the car door. The tears. The shaking.He threw rocks at her. He threatened to kill us.She yanked open her car door. Got in. Didn't start the engine yet. Just sat there, breathing hard, hands gripping the wheel.Then she grabbed her phone.She called him.It rang. And rang. And rang. Voicemail.She called again. Straight to voicemail."ANSWER ME YOU COWARD!"She called a third time.He picked up."What do you want?"His voice. Flat. Bored. Like she was bothering him. Like her mother's attack was nothing. Like threatening to kill them was nothing.Claire's brain exploded."What do I WANT? Are you serious right now? My mother just came home with her phone smashed to pieces! Her car has dents all over it from the rocks you threw! She tried to HELP you! She rolled down

Marcus drove back to the hospital in complete silence.His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white. His jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. His mind kept replaying the scene at the event hall over and over again.The guards. Their badges. The way they looked at him like he was nothing.The way they said "Yes sir" to Ethan Cross like he was their boss.The way Ethan stood there, calm, controlled, looking at Marcus like he was a bug that needed squashing.Who the fuck was Ethan Cross?He parked the car in the hospital garage. Sat there for a long minute. Breathed. Tried to make sense of it. Couldn't.He got out and walked inside.---Claire was in a private room on the third floor. Arm in a fresh white cast. Propped up on pillows. Staring at the ceiling like it held answers to questions she hadn't asked yet.She turned her head when he walked in. Her eyes searched his face immediately."Did you find him?"Marcus pulled up a chair. Sat down heavily. Rub