The Rise Of The Humiliated Son-in-law

Signature: USER-02

The rain had stopped by morning, leaving London wrapped in a grey haze.

The streets glistened, buses hissed through puddles, and Rafe moved quietly among the crowd, just another face in the city that had already forgotten him.

He stopped by a lamppost to check his phone.

A faint blue flicker appeared in his vision.

[SYSTEM MISSION #2: PROVE YOUR WORTH]

Objective: Earn £10,000 profit in 48 hours without using System money.

Reward: unknown.

Penalty: Balance deduction – £1,000,000.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, huh?”

Two days. No System funds.

Just him, and his brain.

And honestly comparing it to what he faced in the Li’s house, it was nothing.

By afternoon, he wandered through South Bank’s quieter streets, the ones where old shops clung to life between shiny glass towers. Thaat’s when he saw it: “CLOSING DOWN SALE – 3 DAYS LEFT”, printed across the dusty window of a small café.

He paused. The place looked dead — lights dimmed, furniture stacked near the counter.

But through the window, he spotted a woman sitting behind the register, shoulders slumped, her hands buried in her hair.

Something about her expression, exhausted, defeated, stopped him.

He pushed open the door. The small bell above it chimed weakly.

The smell of stale coffee and cinnamon hung in the air.

“Sorry,” the woman said without looking up. “We’re closed.”

“I can see that,” Rafe replied, his tone calm but firm. “I just came to ask — why?”

That made her look up. She was in her late twenties, dark curls tied back loosely, eyes rimmed red from sleepless nights.

“Why?” she repeated, almost scoffing. “Because business is dead. Rent’s up, bills are doubled, and my last employee quit yesterday.”

Rafe nodded, studying the space. Faded posters. A broken espresso machine. A once-loved place that had clearly lost its spark.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Amara.”

“Rafe.”He extended a hand. She hesitated, then shook it weakly.

He glanced around. “How long have you been open?”

“Five years. My mum started it before she passed. I kept it going, but… now it’s just debt. I can’t even sell the place, no one wants a dead café.”

Ethan’s gaze lingered on the chalkboard near the counter:@AmaraBrew | 12.6K Followers

His brow furrowed. “You have a social media page?”

“Had. Doesn’t matter. No one comes anymore.”

“Maybe not yet,” he said, tapping the board. “But that number tells me people used to care.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why do you care? You’re just a stranger who walked in.”

He smiled faintly. “Because everyone deserves one last chance.”

She blinked, unsure what to say.

Rafe stepped closer, his tone turning firm.

“Let me help you. I’ll flip your marketing in 48 hours. You’ll have customers lining up by the weekend.”

Amara gave a bitter laugh. “You sound like one of those internet scammers. What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just a deal,” he said, leaning on the counter. “If you make over £10,000 in profit by the end of two days, I take twenty percent. If not, I walk away.”

She hesitated, studying his eyes. There was something calm and dangerous about him, not threatening, but focused.

“…You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

Amara folded her arms. “And how do you plan to do that without money? Ads cost. Marketing costs. Everything costs.”

Rafe grinned. “You’d be surprised what a little creativity and social influence can do.”

He spent the next hour inspecting every corner of the café, the menu, the décor, the dusty I*******m feed. Most of the posts were old photos of pastries and latte art. Good pictures, bad timing. No engagement.

He turned to her. “You used to get a lot of attention.”

“Before my mum died,” she said quietly. “She was the face of this place. People came because they loved her energy.”

“Then that’s your story,” Rafe said. “We’re not going to be selling coffee, we’ll be selling memories. Emotion. Londoners love nostalgia. We’ll make this café feel like home again.”

She frowned. “And how do we do that in two days?”

He smirked. “Watch me.”

That night, Rafe stayed in the café with nothing but his phone, her Wi-Fi, and his brain.

He dug through her old I*******m analytics, followed dormant customers, revived hashtags, and drafted a campaign.

Concept: #OneLastCupAtAmara’s _The Farewell Brew Event. He wrote:

“After five beautiful years, Amara’s Café is closing. But before we say goodbye, we’re inviting everyone for one last cup, one last memory. Friday, 10 AM. Bring your stories, your laughter, your hearts.”

By midnight, he’d scheduled it across all platforms — I*******m, TikTok, T*****r, and local café groups.

[SYSTEM NOTICE:]

Skill Unlocked: Business negotiation +10%

He blinked. “Negotiation? From what?”

*[From your successful persuasion. You turned despair into opportunity.]

He couldn’t help but smile. “Guess you’re learning from me now.”

[Correction: You’re learning from yourself.]

He chuckled softly and kept typing.

By dawn, Amara arrived with coffee and a tired expression.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said. “Thought you might’ve left.”

“Didn’t need sleep,” Rafe said, showing her the phone. “Needed results.”

She frowned, scrolling through her notifications.

“Wait—” she breathed. “We’ve got hundreds of comments. People are tagging the café, sharing old photos—”

Her hand trembled slightly. “It’s… it’s trending?”

Rafe grinned. “You tell people they’re losing something they love, and they’ll fight to keep it alive. Nostalgia sells faster than caffeine.”

By afternoon, the street outside was full of people. Former customers. Locals. Influencers. Even a few journalists. They came with flowers, laughter, and cameras.

The air buzzed with chatter and warmth.

Amara was behind the counter, overwhelmed but smiling for the first time in months.

Rafe worked silently beside her, taking orders, fixing the line, and optimizing payments.

By sunset, they had sold out of every pastry and every roast.

Amara leaned against the counter, breathing hard. “That’s… impossible. We made nearly £8,000 in a day.”

Rafe checked the numbers. “Not profitable yet, but we’re close.”

She looked at him, still amazed. “How did you know it would work?”

He gave a half-smile. “Because people don’t follow products. They follow stories.”

That night, after closing, they sat in the empty café, boxes stacked, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound.

Amara handed him a cup of black coffee. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I did,” he said quietly. “Because when everyone calls you worthless, sometimes proving them wrong starts with helping someone else win.” He sighed.

“So trust me, this is more for me than it is for you.”

She studied him for a long moment. “You’ve been through something, haven’t you?”

Rafe didn’t answer. He just sipped his coffee, his gaze distant.

Day Two.

The momentum didn’t stop. The farewell event exploded across social media, local news picked it up, even a food blogger came for a feature.

By 6 P.M., the total profit stood at £12,340.

Amara stood beside him, tears glistening. “We did it.”

He nodded, smiling faintly. “No. You did.”

The System chimed softly in his vision.

[MISSION COMPLETE: Objective Achieved.] Reward: Skill Upgrade – Negotiation +15% (Permanent). Bonus Unlock: Influence +5%.

Rafe took a deep breath, letting the satisfaction settle.

But then, another alert flickered.

[SYSTEM UPDATE DETECTED.] Warning: Unusual interference detected near current location.]

His smile faded. “Interference?”

The café lights flickered once.

Amara frowned. “Power issue again?”

But Rafe wasn’t listening. His pulse had quickened.

Another message appeared, the text distorted, glitching.

[Unauthorized System Signature Detected: USER–02 nearby.]

He froze. Someone else… here?

[Caution: Unknown Host is scanning your activity.]

Rafe turned toward the window. Outside, across the street, stood a man in a dark coat, holding his phone up, pointed directly at the café.

Their eyes met through the glass. The man smiled faintly.

And then his phone flashed once before he disappeared into the crowd.

[ALERT: Your System Data Has Been Accessed.]

Rafe’s hands clenched slowly around the coffee cup.

Amara noticed the shift in his face. “Rafe? What’s wrong?”

He forced a small smile. “Nothing. Just… another opportunity.”

But inside, his thoughts were a storm.

Someone out there had a System.

And now, they knew he did too.

Was this the enemy the system talked about? Was he already exposed?

The café’s last light flickered and went dark, putting the room into silence.

The only glow left was the blue shimmer of his System interface that only he could see.

[Next Mission Unlocked: TRACE THE USER

》 Time Limit: 1 Hour. 

Failure Penalty: Total System Exposure.]

Rafe stared at the floating words, his reflection faintly visible in the glass. His calm expression hardened.