The Supreme God of Wealth

Chapter 6

Marcus Sterling bowed his head one last time, his eyes lingering on the closed door of the suite with dread and respect. Once he heard the latch click, the manager finally allowed his posture to relax, though his expression remained grim.

"Those idiots," Marcus scoffed under his breath, leaning back and exhaling a long, weary sigh. "Fortunately, he stayed calm, but the hotel could have been ruined by a lawsuit before sunrise. I had better ensure he wants for nothing." He turned on his heel and moved quickly toward the service elevators, already barking orders into his radio to summon the staff.

Inside the two-hundred-thousand-dollar suite, the silence was heavy. Adam didn't feel the rush of victory or the thrill of his new status. Instead, a bone-deep exhaustion settled over him. He stood in the center of the plush carpet, his legs finally giving out. He slid down the wall until he hit the floor, his breath coming in ragged hitches. The Absolute Authority aura had vanished the second the door closed, leaving him feeling like an empty shell.

For the first time since the rain started, he wasn't running. He wasn't begging. He was just there. He looked down at his lap and saw his pudgy hands, the skin red and raw from the freezing wind. His cheap sneakers had left muddy streaks on the pristine rug. His shirt was a ruined rag, the thin fabric translucent where it clung to his stomach, stained with the grit of the road.

The image of the white van’s headlights flashed behind his eyes. It had been so bright and hot. He remembered the sound of his own bones snapping, a sound the system had since erased, but his mind still clung to that memory.

"I almost died," he thought, his chest tightening.

Then, he remembered the cold, mechanical text of the system log from earlier: [Host’s Recorded Death: 6:30 PM]. The realization hit him like a physical blow. No. He hadn't almost died. He actually had.

The familiar chime of the system interrupted his spiraling thoughts. The blue holographic display cast a cold light over the darkened suite, reflecting in his brown eyes.

[Host: Adam Carter]

[Current Wealth Points: 50]

[Physique: Obese]

[Status: Enigma]

He stared at the word obese. It felt like a slap, even coming from a machine. He remembered the look on Olivia’s face when she called him a pig. He remembered the security guard looking down on him as if he were a stain on the marble.

"System," he whispered, his voice cracking. "You said I could use wealth points to change my physique. I’m done being the doormat. Fix me."

[Confirming...] the cold voice echoed in his mind. [The Host currently possesses 50 Wealth Points. A Total Body Reconstruction is available for 40 points. This will optimize muscle density, metabolic rate, and bone structure to the peak of human potential.]

"Do it," Adam said.

[Please lie on a flat surface. The process involves significant cellular restructuring.]

Adam dragged himself to the massive king-sized bed. He lay on his back, staring at the crystal chandelier. A sudden wave of heat started in the center of his chest. It wasn't the warmth of a blanket; it was a searing, internal fire that spread through his veins. He gripped the silk sheets as his muscles began to twitch and seize. He felt the fat on his frame melting, the energy being repurposed to knit together new, dense fibers of muscle. His bones groaned, lengthening and hardening. It felt like being broken apart and put back together by a thousand invisible hands. He wanted to scream, but his throat was tight.

Then, as quickly as it had started, the sensation vanished. Exhaustion, heavier than any he had ever known, pulled him down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, the high-altitude sunlight of the city pierced through the gaps in the velvet curtains, waking him. 

Adam sat up, expecting the usual ache in his joints and the heavy roll of his stomach. Instead, he felt light.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He didn't stumble. His movements felt perfect, balanced. He walked toward the bathroom, and when he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror, he froze.

The man staring back wasn't the Adam Carter who had stood in the rain. This man was tall, easily six-foot-two, with broad, powerful shoulders and a chest that tapered down to a lean waist. His arms were corded with functional muscle. But it was his face that truly shocked him. The puffiness had vanished, revealing a jawline that looked like it had been chiseled from granite. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high and sharp.

His eyes, however, remained that deep, familiar brown. They held a clarity that made his gaze feel like a physical pressure. He turned on the shower, scrubbing away the toxins the system had purged from his pores. Once the hot water hit his new frame, he felt his body relax in a way he hadn't known since his father passed away. He wasn't just a man with money anymore. He was a man who could finally stand his ground.

After drying off, he found a thick, white terry-cloth robe. He tied it shut and walked back into the bedroom just as a soft, rhythmic tapping sounded at the door.

"Come in," he called out.

The door opened, and Sophia, the Assistant Manager, stepped inside. She was carrying a silver tray and several high-end shopping bags. She began her rehearsed greeting, "Mr. Carter, I have the items you requested—"

She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes traveled from Adam’s bare shins up to his face. Her breath hitched, and she stood frozen for a long, silent beat. She had seen the security footage from the night before; she knew the man who checked in was a disheveled, overweight boy. The man standing before her now was a titan.

"Is something wrong?" Adam asked. His voice was deeper now, vibrating with a resonance he had never possessed.

"No!" Sophia said, her face flushing a deep pink. She looked down at the floor, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. "No, sir. I apologize. I have your new device here. It’s the latest Titanium Fold, custom-encrypted as requested."

She set the tray on the mahogany table with trembling hands. Beside the phone sat a stack of legal documents. She quickly rattled off the updates: Samuel Vance was promoted and paid; Elizabeth and the guard were blacklisted.

"And the videos?" Adam asked, picking up the phone.

Sophia nodded, still looking slightly dazed. "Our legal team issued takedown notices. The narrative is being controlled. You are being described as a reclusive investor testing our security protocols."

Adam nodded. "Thank you, Sophia. That will be all."

She lingered for a second, her gaze drifting back to the way the robe hung off his broad shoulders, before she bowed slightly and beat a hasty retreat.

Adam sat in the leather chair by the window. He ignored the food. He powered on the phone, and as the screen flickered to life, a notification from the RM23 site—the university’s primary social hub—already sat at the top of the trending list. It was a video posted only an hour ago, and the view count was skyrocketing.

He hit play.

The video showed a rooftop restaurant. The camera panned to Olivia, wearing a designer dress, glowing under the heater lamps. "So, some of you are asking about the drama from earlier," she said, her voice dripping with fake pity. "Honestly, it was a long time coming. You can only try to help someone so much before they become a parasite. I’m finally surrounding myself with people who actually have a future."

The camera shifted to Charles Rick. He smirked, his expensive watch catching the light as he leaned into the frame. "Let’s be real," Charles said, chuckling. "Some people are born to lead, and some are born to be used as a footstool. If you’re watching this, big guy, thanks for the necklace. I gave it to my dog this morning, but even he wouldn't wear it. Stay in the gutter where you belong."

Olivia laughed and clinked her glass against Charles’s.

Adam stared at the frozen frame of her smiling face. He checked his messages. Not a single text from his roommates or his Aunt. To the world he had known yesterday, he was a ghost that nobody missed.

He checked his system balance.

[Current Balance: $1,000,000,000,000.]

Adam stood up and began to dress in the clothes Sophia had brought: bespoke shirts, Italian leather shoes, and a watch that hummed with accuracy. The silk felt cool against his skin. The trousers fit his long, powerful legs perfectly. 

He didn't need to block Olivia or leave an angry comment. A man with a trillion dollars didn't argue; he reshaped the world.

"System," Adam said, adjusting his collar in the mirror. He stared at his new reflection, the sharp lines of his face unrecognizable from the boy who had cried in the hospital.

[Host.]

"The man in the video, Charles Rick. Trace his family's assets. I want to know exactly what makes him so confident."

[Processing…]

[Analysis complete. Charles Rick is the sole heir to Rick Global, a mid-cap construction and real estate firm.]

​Adam’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Charles’s smug face on the screen. "Wealth doesn't always mean stability. Dig deeper. Find the cracks in the foundation. Is Rick Global as untouchable as he wants the world to think?"

​[Scanning financial records... Cross-referencing debt-to-equity ratios...]

​[Analysis updated.]

[Data shows the company is currently over-leveraged on a luxury development project in the north district. They are secretly seeking a massive capital injection to avoid a default on their primary loans within the next thirty days.]

Adam smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Charles hadn't mentioned the company, but he didn't have to. The system saw everything. The perfect life Olivia had jumped into was built on a foundation of sand.

"Monitor their debt," Adam commanded. "If any bank prepares to pull their funding, let me know. I want to be the one holding the leash when they go looking for a savior."

[Acknowledged.]

Adam checked his watch. It was nearly time for his morning lectures. He could have stayed in this suite forever—hidden away in this gold-lined fortress from the world that had spent twenty-two years hating him—but that wasn't the point of the system. He hadn't been brought back to life just to hide. He needed to go back. He needed to see the looks on their faces when the fat loser they had mocked, spat upon, and abandoned walked back through the campus gates as a god among men.

​He looked at the gold-embossed key card resting on the nightstand. A fleeting thought of his mother crossed his mind, but he suppressed the urge to rush to her side. He didn't need to check on the hospital every hour anymore; she was in the VIP wing, surrounded by the best specialists and life-support technology that money could buy. For the first time in his life, her safety wasn't a desperate prayer; it was a paid-for fact. She was safe.

​Now, it was time to deal with the people who had made his life a living hell.