Chapter 20

[David POV]

I stood there, arms crossed, watching Jayden shift uncomfortably. His bruised face and busted lip told me enough, but I wanted to hear it straight from him.

"So," I began casually, keeping my tone light. "You gonna tell me what happened?"

Jayden scowled, avoiding my gaze. "It's nothing."

Sure. His busted knuckles and the defensive wounds on his hands told a different story.

Since my character assimilation progressed, I'd started noticing things, small details, body language, micro-expressions. It wasn't exactly Sherlock Holmes-level deduction, but I could piece things together with unsettling accuracy.

And right now? The evidence was written all over him.

"Let me guess, bullies?" I muttered. "Rich kid from the sports team? You got into it with one of them, didn't you?"

Jayden's head snapped up, his mouth hanging open. "H-How the hell..."

I smirked. "You talked to the class beauty. The rich sports guy, he warned you. You ignored him. A tussle happened." I gestured toward his bruised knuckles. "But you fought back, huh?"

Jayden clenched his fists, staring at his hands. "I just… I wasn't gonna let them push me around anymore."

I nodded slightly. His knuckles bore wounds, he hadn't just taken a beating; he fought back. He stood his ground.

Reminded me of myself. Back then, I dealt with bullies the only way I knew how, physically. Being an orphan made me a target, but I wasn't the type to roll over and take it. If someone swung at me, I swung back. Simple as that.

Jayden's suspicious gaze snapped back to me. "Wait… are you stalking me?"

I snorted. "You wish."

"Was she worth it?" I asked.

Jayden's lips twitched into a faint smirk despite the swelling. "Yeah, she was."

I chuckled softly. "Then at least you didn't get your ass kicked for nothing."

His smirk faltered as he shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't get my ass kicked."

I raised an eyebrow. "You sure? 'Cause your face says otherwise."

Jayden groaned in frustration. "Okay, maybe a little. But you should've seen the other guy."

"Yeah, right," I said finally, shaking my head. "Just don't go picking fights. There are some you can't win."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he muttered.

I glanced back at him as he sighed heavily. "You suspended?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "Two weeks."

"How much time you got left?"

"Another week and a half," Jayden replied.

Shaking my head, I glanced around Jayden's apartment. Clothes were scattered across the floor, dishes piled high in the sink, and the air carried that distinct, stale quality of someone who hadn't bothered cleaning in a while.

I walked over to the fridge and pulled it open, only to slam it shut a second later.

A horrible stench hit me like a punch to the gut.

Seems like I've got a curse with fridges, first mine, now this one.

"Jesus, Jayden," I muttered, pinching my nose. "How long has your fridge been broken?"

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Uh… a while?"

I exhaled sharply. "Yeah, I figured. What have you been eating?"

"Mostly takeout," he admitted with a shrug. "Or whatever doesn't need refrigeration."

Right. That explained a lot.

"So what have you been doing all day?"

"Freelance work. Coding, small projects, some website stuff." He replied.

Just then, my stomach growled. I glanced at the clock. It was late afternoon.

"Alright, enough of this. Let's eat first. Let's go," I said

Jayden blinked at me, confused. "What?"

"You're coming to my place," I said simply. "No point sitting here in this dump when you could be somewhere with, y'know, edible food. And I'm making lunch," I added before he could argue.

Jayden hesitated but eventually, he sighed and stood up.

"Fine."

After we got to my apartment, I headed straight for the fridge. Grabbing a handful of ice, I tossed it into a plastic bag, twisted it shut, and wrapped it in a thin towel before handing it over to Jayden.

"Here," I said. "Put this on your face."

Jayden took it reluctantly and pressed it against his swollen cheek with a wince.

"Yeah," I muttered as I watched him flinch. "That's gonna hurt for a while."

He moved over to the couch and sat down with a groan. His posture stiffened immediately. Probably some bruising on his ribs too.

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You sure you don't want to get checked out?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine."

I squinted at him, unconvinced, but let it go. Instead, I turned toward the kitchen.

"Alright," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "Just sit there and keep pressing on the swelling. I'll make lunch."

I grabbed a brown apron hanging on the wall and slipped it over my head, tying the strings at the back. 

I set a pot on the stove, drizzling in a bit of olive oil before tossing in finely diced onions, celery, and carrots. The gentle sizzle filled the air, soon replaced by the warm, rich aroma of the sautéing vegetables. I let them soften, stirring occasionally, before adding in a few cloves of minced garlic, letting the scent bloom.

From the fridge, I pulled out bone-in chicken thighs, seasoning them with salt, black pepper, and a touch of paprika. In a separate pan, I seared them until golden brown, the crispy skin adding an extra layer of depth to the dish.

Once done, I transferred them to the pot, pouring in homemade chicken broth along with a bay leaf and fresh thyme. The soup was left to simmer.

I took two fresh chicken breasts, patting them dry with a paper towel before seasoning them with sea salt, black pepper, rosemary, and thyme. With my pan already hot, I added butter and olive oil, letting it sizzle before laying the chicken in skin-side down.

I let it cook undisturbed, ensuring a crispy, golden crust formed before flipping it over. Lowering the heat, I added crushed garlic, a knob of butter, and a sprig of rosemary, basting the chicken continuously to keep it moist and packed with flavor.

While the chicken cooked, I turned my attention to the Yukon Gold potatoes boiling on the stove. Once fork-tender, I drained them and mashed them with heavy cream, melted butter, and roasted garlic, blending until they reached a silky consistency. A sprinkle of grated parmesan added a subtle nuttiness, while finely chopped chives gave a refreshing contrast to the rich flavors.

For the final touch, I prepped baby carrots, zucchini, and bell peppers, tossing them with olive oil, smoked paprika, and a pinch of sea salt before spreading them on a baking tray. A quick roast in the oven at high heat caramelized the edges, locking in their natural sweetness while keeping a slight crunch.

I adjusted my brown apron, making sure nothing was out of place before plating the meal.

First, a smooth mound of mashed potatoes, followed by the perfectly cooked chicken breast, sliced. The roasted vegetables were arranged on the side.

With the soup ready, I ladled it into deep bowls, garnishing with a sprinkle of fresh parsley. The broth shimmered, filled with tender chicken and vegetables.

I carried the plates to the table, setting them down with a quiet sense of satisfaction. "Alright, Jayden, let's eat. I'm starving."

From the couch, Jayden lifted his head, his expression shifting as he took in the meal. He got up and joined me at the table, settling into his chair.

He picked up his spoon and took a sip of the soup. After a brief pause, he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "Damn… this is really good."

I smirked, already slicing into my chicken. "Of course it is."

Jayden kept eating, barely stopping to breathe. "Dude, I swear, if you ever need a second job, open a restaurant or something."

I just shook my head, grabbing my own bowl. "Just eat and stop talking."

Jayden had no restraint. He was inhaling the soup, barely giving himself time to breathe between spoonfuls.

I smirked. "Slow down. You're gonna choke."

He waved me off and kept eating. I just shook my head and focused on my own meal.

By the time we were both done, the bowls were practically spotless. Jayden leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach with a satisfied sigh.

"Damn. That was the best thing I've eaten in weeks."

"Not surprised," I muttered. "Your fridge is basically a biohazard."

He snorted but didn't argue.

After clearing the table, I leaned back against the counter and crossed my arms. I just waltzed into the kitchen and started doing the dishes. Jayden offered to help but I declined.

Once I finished cleaning up, I stepped out of the kitchen and glanced at Jay, who was already hyper-focused on whatever he was working on.

Without a word, I headed straight to my bedroom.

I pulled both my PC and laptop from my inventory, powered them on, and sat down. Screens flickered to life, the hum of the hardware filling the quiet space.

Time to get to work.

With Harold Finch template integrating and pairing that with Chris Wolff's expertise suddenly, making money through stocks became a piece of cake.

This was the perfect time to act. With the right investments, I could build a fortune without attracting unnecessary attention for the time being.

I leaned in, eyes scanning through financial reports, algorithmic trading strategies, and global market shifts.

Let's see just how far these new skills can take me.