Chapter Thirteen: "Public Enemy #1? Time to Roll Out"

The crowd at Westfield's parking lot wasn't just shocked—they were nuked. Sophia Winters, the Ice Queen with a fan club bigger than a boyband's, stepping out of Ethan Black's Ferrari at 8 a.m.? This wasn't news; it was a campus apocalypse. Sophia had rejected every hotshot from frat bros to trust-fund heirs, her vibe colder than a polar vortex. Zero rumors, zero scandals—until now. A morning supercar drop-off? That screamed "we spent the night together."

"My eyes are unemployed!" a guy wailed. "Sophia's taken?!"

"This dude's living my GTA fantasy!" another moaned, snapping pics.

The fanboys were in shambles, clutching their hearts like they'd been dumped via text. Phones blazed—photos, videos, memes. Group chats erupted: "Who's this Ethan Black punk stealing our goddess?!" Some dude even posted, "Forming a posse to 'chat' with this guy. Who's in?"

Sophia, unfazed, clocked the gawkers and shrugged. "Thanks for the ride," she told Ethan, her tone cool but polite. "You're late for training—go." She strutted off, leaving whispers in her wake.

Ethan, dodging the mob, hit the dorm, swapped into his camo gear, and sprinted to the field. He slid in just as the whistle blew—clutch. His roommates, Jake, Mikey, and Tim, pounced. "Yo, where'd you crash last night, man?" Jake asked, eyes gleaming.

"Yeah, you ghosted us!" Mikey added. "We covered for you at roll call—spill!"

"Chilled at my place," Ethan said, keeping it vague. Villa #8 was his home now, right?

He planned to file for off-campus status—dorm life was too risky with his new "public enemy" rep. Before the guys could pry, the drill sergeant barked, and training kicked off.

Meanwhile, the internet was on fire. Sophia exiting Ethan's Ferrari was THE post—forums, X, campus confession pages, all ablaze. "My queen fell!" one guy sobbed. "Who's this rich jerk?!" another raged. A blurry video sealed it: Ethan's side profile, clear as day, next to Sophia. Pair that with her water-delivery stunt? The math was mathing—Ethan was either her man or the luckiest dude alive.

Mid-morning, training hit a break. Ethan slumped under a tree, wiping sweat. A classmate, Greg, spotted his wrist. "Yo, Ethan, that watch is fire!"

Others leaned in. The Patek Philippe 5074R gleamed—rose gold, black dial, pure class. "How much, man?" Tim asked.

"Five hundred-ish," Ethan said, shrugging.

"Five hundred bucks? Not bad!" Greg nodded, thinking it was a steal. But a wiry kid from another squad—Nate, a wannabe flexer—overheard and snorted. Five hundred? Chump change. He strutted up, flashing his Rolex Yacht-Master. "Five hundred? Cute. Check this—Rolex, baby. Dropped nine grand on it."

The group oohed. Rolex was legend—movie-star stuff. "Nine grand?!" Mikey gasped. "That's, like, a used car!"

"Looks tight," Jake admitted, though some whispered it wasn't that slick.

Nate preened. "Ethan's watch is giving flea-market vibes next to this."

A girl, Claire, piped up. Her dad was a watch nerd, and she'd inherited the bug. "Hold up—Ethan, is that… a Patek Philippe?"

"Yeah," Ethan nodded, casual as ever.

What?! The group froze. Claire gaped. "You're serious? That's, like, top-tier!" Nate's smirk vanished. Patek Philippe was the holy grail—Rolex was cool, but Patek was god-mode.

"Wait," Greg stammered. "You said 'five hundred'… five hundred what?"

"Million," Ethan clarified, wiping his brow. "Five point six, give or take."

The air went dead. Five million?! That wasn't a watch; it was a penthouse on Ethan's wrist. Nate's $9,000 Rolex looked like a gas-station trinket now. "You… you're joking," he croaked. "Five million? Prove it!"

Before Ethan could shrug, Tim yanked out his phone. "Yo, check X!" A post was blowing up: Ethan and Sophia stepping from the Ferrari, timestamped that morning. Caption: "Freshman king Ethan Black—Ferrari, Patek, and Sophia? Bro's living a cheat code."

Nate's face crumpled. A guy with a $600,000 car didn't bluff about a $5.6 million watch. His Rolex flex was a pebble tossed at a mountain. Ethan's crew erupted:

"Ferrari and a Patek?!" Jake whooped. "You're a freakin' mogul!"

"Spill, man—last night, you and Sophia?" Mikey teased, nudging him.

Ethan sighed, scrolling X. Comments were wild: "Friendly fistfight with Ethan, anyone?" He muttered, "Off-campus status, ASAP. I'm a dead man if I stay." Sophia was just a friend—barely that—but the campus had him married off. If they ever did date? He'd need a bunker.

Training resumed, and at noon, Ethan skipped the cafeteria. "Not safe," he joked, half-serious. Fanboys might shank him over a burger. He hit a nearby taco joint, remembering his x1000 Cashback Card—three days left. Limit was $5,000, netting $5 million. "No world's richest today," he grinned, "but I'll take seven figures."

He spent $1,200 on gear—sneakers, tech—cashing $1.2 million. Then $3,800 on a luxe dinner for later, banking $3.8 million. Card maxed, his account jumped from four digits to $5 million-plus. "Not bad for lunch," he smirked.

Post-training, Ethan met his advisor and filed for off-campus status. "Villa beats bunk beds," he thought. Plus, dorms were a warzone now—he was Westfield's most wanted. That night, he cruised back to Villa #8. At midnight, he opened the game:

[Purchase: Bentley Continental GT, $0.20]

[Confirmed: Bentley Parked in Your Garage]

Ethan hit the garage. Next to his Ferrari sat a sleek black Bentley—$500,000 of four-seat swagger. "Ferrari's for flexing, Bentley's for chilling," he nodded. Squad rides just got an upgrade.

Next morning, hyped to test the Bentley, Ethan drove it to campus. Halfway there, his phone rang—unknown number. He hit speaker. "Mr. Black? SkyHigh Estates. Your private island deed's ready—when can we deliver?"

Ethan blinked. "Island? Uh, swing by tonight." The game's $10.00 buy was real. As he hung up, the Bentley's rearview caught a familiar sight: that black SUV, tailing close. His phone buzzed:

[Auto-Purchase Detected: Private Army, $20.00 – Deployed]

[Next Suggested Item: Space Station, $50.00]

[Warning: Reality's Melting. Strap In.]

"Private army? Space station?!" Ethan gripped the wheel. The SUV's lights flared. Campus drama was child's play—whatever was coming was big.