Risaliyah

Noah, a highschooler was struggling due to his family's poverty and his father's declining health.

Despite that, he was content with his life... Until he visited his girl, trying to surprise her with a gift.

"~~~" Muffled sounds came out of her room as he stood at the door.

"She is... cheating on me?"

Just as Noah is about to confront her, a mysterious robotic voice echoes in his mind:

[Ding! Congratulations to the host binding the Ultimate Choice System!]

Option 1: Enter the room. 
[$100 Reward and a green hat]

Option 2: Leave the house and break up later.
[Rolls Royce Phantom and Basic-Driving Skill Reward]

Option 3: Marry her mother. 
[Lamborghini Aventador SVJ, Intermediate-Driving Skill  and $10,000 Reward]

"Naturally, option 3." He grinned.

________
Disclaimer: 'Ultimate Choice System: I Became The Richest!' is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book may reference real companies and organizations, but these references are for narrative purposes only and are not intended to depict the actual conduct or involvement of these entities. The use of these names and references is not meant to harm, defame, or discredit these companies or organizations.

Ultimate Choice System: I Became The Richest!

A sliver of unease crawled up the assassin's spine. He had been in this game for years, had killed countless targets undetected. And yet—something about the way this man in the helicopter locked onto him felt wrong.

His fingers tensed on the trigger.

The suppressed shot cracked through the night, slicing through the air like a ghost.

A split second later, a hole the size of a bullet bloomed in the assassin's skull. His body went rigid, then slack—slipping from the tree branch, his lifeless form disappearing into the foliage below.

His rifle immediately shifted, barrel tilting just slightly—adjusting for wind, for distance.

Fifty meters away, the second sniper—hidden among dense leaves, blending seamlessly with the trees—felt something cold coil in his chest.

And then, he saw the rifle aiming at him.

Protection Mission (3)