Chapter 59: The Calm Before The Storm

A year had passed. A whole damn year, and still—nothing.

David Lawrence had vanished.

After Langley's defection, I had expected retaliation. Surveillance. Sabotage. An outright attack, even. But instead, there was only silence. The kind of silence that stretched thin, like the eerie stillness before a storm.

I wasn't stupid enough to think he had given up. No, this was calculated. He was planning something, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

That was fine. Let him wait. I had plenty to do in the meantime.

With the system still updating, I had to rely on what was still accessible. Fortunately, my bank remained untouched, and so did the stock market.

Money was a weapon—one I wielded with precision.

I diversified my portfolio, moving my funds into the most promising investments.

Tech giants like Amazon, Apple, Microsoft, and Tesla.

Biotech startups working on next-generation medicine.

Cryptocurrency,primarily Bitcoin, which I knew would dominate in the future.

I bought low. Again and again. Every dip, every panic sell—I was there, sweeping up more.

I didn't just invest. I manipulated.

Through my contacts in the financial world, I subtly influenced the market. I leaked rumors, stirred fear, encouraged sell-offs—all to create opportunities for myself.

By the time my senior year rolled around, my accounts were overflowing.

Over $1 million sitting in my bank.

100,000 shares spread across major companies.

500,000 bitcoins.

This wasn't just wealth. This was power. A foundation to ensure that when my system came back online, I would already be miles ahead of everyone else.

But money alone wasn't enough.

Without my system, I was just another man. And I refused to accept that. If David ever decided to make his move, I wouldn't be caught unprepared.

That's where Edward Olani came in.

"You're soft," Edward said, standing over me as I lay on the warehouse floor, breathless, battered, and bruised.

I spat blood onto the cold concrete and smirked. "I think you mean refined."

Edward smirked back. "Refined gets you killed in a real fight. Your system made you dependent. You've been using a crutch your whole life, and now you're just a cripple trying to walk straight."

That pissed me off.

But he was right.

So I trained.

1. Hand-to-Hand Combat

Edward's method wasn't about technique—it was about survival.

Multiple opponents, no weapons. Five men at once, each trained to hurt me. They came at me like wolves, and I had to dodge, counter, and outthink them.

No rules. Anything was fair game. Elbows to the throat. Finger jabs to the eyes. Kicks to the knees. A street fight had no honor, and neither would I.

Endurance training. I fought until I collapsed. Until my arms refused to move, and my legs felt like lead. And then Edward would shove me back up and make me do it again.

One night, he set me up against seven men.

"They're not going to hold back," Edward warned.

I cracked my knuckles. "Neither will I."

The first one lunged at me, aiming for my ribs. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted—snapping it like a twig.

The second one swung at my head. I ducked, drove my elbow into his gut, then grabbed him by the collar and slammed his skull into my knee.

The others rushed in.

I parried a punch and countered with a jaw-breaking uppercut.

I grabbed a steel pipe from the ground and used it to deflect an incoming strike before ramming it into my opponent's stomach.

I used my surroundings—**walls, debris, even bodies—**to outmaneuver and overpower them.

By the time it was over, I was panting. Bruised. Bleeding. But standing.

Edward watched, nodding in approval.

"You're finally getting it."

2. Swordsmanship

Hand-to-hand combat was essential. But a blade? A blade was power.

Edward's swordsmanship was flawless. Every strike, every parry—it was precise, calculated, lethal.

I studied his movements, memorized his footwork, his grip, the way he controlled his blade.

And then, I made them my own.

Where Edward's swordplay was refined, mine became adaptable.

Speed over strength. I focused on light, rapid strikes—cutting tendons, slicing arteries before an opponent could react.

Unpredictability. I mixed swordplay with street fighting—throwing dirt, using kicks, headbutts, anything to win.

Single vs. multiple. I trained against two, then three, then five enemies at once. If I was ever outnumbered, I had to be faster and smarter.

One night, Edward handed me a wooden sword and took one for himself.

"Show me what you've learned," he said.

I didn't hesitate.

We fought.

Our blades clashed in the moonlight, each strike sending a shock through my arms. Edward was relentless, his attacks like a storm—fast, powerful, unyielding.

I dodged, countered, used the walls, the ground, the air itself to maneuver around him.

Then, I saw an opening.

I twisted my body, redirecting his strike with a sharp parry before spinning behind him.

My wooden blade stopped just inches from his neck.

Silence.

Then, Edward chuckled.

"Well," he said, stepping back. "You might actually survive this war after all."

Then, two months before graduation, it happened.

I had been walking through the school hallway when I saw him.

David Lawrence.

He was standing outside the principal's office, speaking to someone I couldn't see. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable—the same cold arrogance he always carried.

I took a step forward.

Blink.

He was gone.

I pushed open the office door. The room was empty.

Not a trace of him.

Later that day, John messaged me.

John: Dude, I swear I just saw David at the café.

Me: You sure?

John: Yeah. He was sitting in the corner, talking to someone. But when I went in, he was gone.

My grip on the phone tightened.

That night, as I walked home, I felt it again.

A presence.

A shadow moved in my peripheral vision.

I turned my head—and saw him.

David.

Standing under a streetlight, watching me.

My heart pounded. My body tensed, ready to react.

I took a step toward him—

And he disappeared.

The next morning, when I arrived at school, the teacher made an announcement.

"We have a new transfer student joining us today."

I turned my head toward the door.

A boy walked in.

And my blood ran cold.