THE TRASH SON-IN-LAW'S ULTIMATE SYSTEM

EQUATION IN MOTION

CHAPTER 3 — EQUATION IN MOTION

Morning light crept through the curtains of the small apartment, a reluctant golden wash that painted the walls in soft patterns. Liam Hunt stood at the counter, staring at the mug in his hand. The steam from the coffee curled upward like a fragile ribbon — the only movement in a room too still to feel alive.

He had slept, but his mind hadn’t rested. The System’s voice from the night before still lingered faintly in his head.

> [System Equation calibrated. Progress begins with action.]

Those words refused to fade.

He glanced around the apartment — barely furnished, clean, yet impersonal. A place meant for passing time, not living. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled slowly, and reached for his laptop. He had an early meeting at one of Hunt Corporation’s subsidiaries, the only reason he still had access to the building. Officially, he’d been “stepped down” from all major positions, replaced by one of the family’s trusted lieutenants.

Unofficially, they just wanted him to disappear quietly.

But not yet.

He dressed in silence — dark slacks, white shirt, navy tie. Unremarkable, but sharp. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he hesitated. Something about his eyes was different. The calmness was the same, the unreadable expression still there, but there was… weight. A quiet depth that hadn’t existed before.

---

The city buzzed faintly under a gray sky. Liam walked toward the Hunt Innovations tower, a thirty-story mirror of glass and steel that rose above the morning haze. People brushed past him on the sidewalk — interns, executives, delivery riders — the ordinary rhythm of urban life.

Yet, as he passed through the main entrance, something shifted.

The receptionist — someone who used to barely glance his way — straightened instantly. “Good morning, Mr. Hunt,” she said, her tone sharp, respectful.

Liam paused. He nodded once, and she smiled nervously, as if relieved.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Inside the elevator, a notification blinked faintly in his vision — translucent, visible only to him.

> [System Equation Active: Influence Field — 0.3%]

[Effect: Environmental response calibrated to user’s composure and presence.]

His brow tightened slightly. So it wasn’t just in his head. The System wasn’t theoretical. It was real — and subtle.

When the doors opened to the 18th floor, whispers followed. The same managers who once spoke over him now quieted when he entered the meeting room. They stood awkwardly, unsure of the hierarchy anymore.

Liam set his folder down, scanning the digital display on the wall. “Proceed,” he said evenly.

The new director — Paulson — cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, Mr. Hunt. The quarterly numbers—”

His voice trembled. Liam didn’t raise his tone, didn’t even move. He simply watched. Calmly, unreadably. And as he did, Paulson began correcting himself mid-sentence, his words tightening, his voice steadying only after a nervous pause.

The rest of the room followed. Discussions became sharper, more focused, as though an invisible hand had adjusted the air.

Liam said little. He listened, made a few notes, and occasionally looked up. That alone was enough.

> [System Equation Update: Influence Field — 0.7%. Behavioral synchronization detected.]

He suppressed the smallest smirk. Not arrogance — curiosity.

When the meeting ended, the team almost scrambled to shake his hand. Even Paulson’s palms were clammy. Liam nodded once, turned, and left.

---

The rain started by noon — thin, silver threads sliding down the glass windows of the café he always stopped by after work. It was the same café he’d visited countless times before, yet even here, things had changed. The barista smiled too brightly, the customers in line gave him space instinctively, and when his order arrived, it came with a free refill “on the house.”

Coincidence?

He stirred his coffee slowly, eyes half-lidded. The System’s tone appeared again — quiet, mechanical, but somehow knowing.

> [Observation: Subject’s emotional stillness amplifies environmental conformity.]

[Recommend testing through directed action.]

He raised a brow. Directed action?

He looked out the window. Across the street, a man stood arguing with a taxi driver — loud, aggressive, waving his arms. The driver, visibly younger, looked trapped.

Without thinking much, Liam murmured under his breath, “He’ll stop.”

A pulse flickered faintly in the corner of his vision.

> [Equation Executed. Probability Adjustment: 22% → 83%]

The man froze mid-yell, glanced around as if suddenly embarrassed, muttered something, and walked away.

Liam leaned back, silent. His reflection on the window met his gaze — calm, unreadable, but the faintest trace of a smile curved his lips.

He now understood. The System wasn’t simply data or missions — it balanced equations. It recalculated human reactions, probabilities, and the world’s subtle rhythm to align with his will… when his emotions remained perfectly controlled.

That was the key. Emotionless equilibrium.

> [System Note: Emotional variance reduces Equation Stability.]

So the calmer he became, the stronger the effect.

He finished his coffee slowly, absorbing the implications. This was power — quiet, invisible, and far more dangerous than open force.

And yet, it came with a price.

The System’s interface flickered again.

> [Equation Cost: Energy exchange required.]

[Balance: -3.4%]

Liam’s vision blurred slightly for half a second — a soft pulse at the back of his skull, like static. Then it cleared.

So there was a cost. Something was being consumed — maybe stamina, maybe focus, maybe something deeper.

He closed his eyes briefly. “Everything has a balance,” he murmured. “Even equations.”

By the time he left the café, the rain had thickened into a misty drizzle. His phone buzzed — an encrypted message from an unknown number.

Unknown: You shouldn’t be in the building today, Mr. Hunt.

Unknown: They’re watching the subsidiary transfers. Someone doesn’t want you touching company assets again.

Liam stopped under the awning, unreadable as ever.

Another message arrived seconds later:

Unknown: Consider this your only warning.

He locked the screen, pocketed the phone, and looked toward the Hunt Tower — its lights cutting through the gray afternoon like cold fire.

So they had started moving again.

The family.

The betrayal.

The silent war he’d avoided for too long.

But this time, the Equation was his weapon.

He stepped back into the rain, unhurried, each step measured, precise — like a man who already knew how the numbers would fall.