Walking into Fire

As Vincent walked back, the system's buzz hit harder this time. The screen flared to life, neon text burning against the gray evening.

[New Task: Neutralize Local Threat.]

[Objective: Meet with local gang leader, Ricky Voss, to ensure motel operations remain unhindered.]

[Suggested Approach: Establish terms for a truce or partnership.]

[Time Limit: 72 hours.]

[Reward: Access to Tactical Awareness Module.]

[Failure Penalty: Increased System Oversight.]

Vincent stopped dead. His breath fogged in the cold air.

"A gang leader?" His stomach twisted.

Ricky Voss wasn't a name he knew, but the implication was clear—the motel wasn't just struggling financially. It was vulnerable. Local players had their own stake in the territory, and now the system was pushing him straight into it.

The Tactical Awareness Module sounded useful—maybe the only advantage he'd have in a negotiation like this. But the penalty was "Increased System Oversight."

Vincent swallowed hard.

He was already on a leash. He couldn't afford to tighten it further.

Shoving his hands into his hoodie, he kept walking, snow crunching under his feet, mind racing. He'd need information. He'd need to ask Stephanie about Voss—carefully, without tipping her off too much. And he'd need a plan, fast.

But for now, he stayed quiet. Kept moving. One problem at a time.

***

Back at the motel, Vincent threw himself into work. Supplier contracts. Calls to renegotiate with the laundry service. Drafting a basic ad for the motel.

Stephanie hovered occasionally, her approval grudging but undeniable when he showed her how much money they were cutting.

By evening, he was exhausted. But his mind was still wired, the Marcus deal set for tomorrow, the system's new task looming over him.

After a half-assed dinner of vending machine snacks, Vincent retreated to his room. The system screen lit up.

[Qi Cultivation Required: 30 Minutes.]

Vincent sighed. He kicked off his sneakers, sat cross-legged on the bed, and started.

At first, nothing. Just breathing in a dark motel room, the heater humming quietly in the background.

Then, after a few cycles, it shifted.

The warmth in his core returned, stronger this time. A slow-burning ember in his chest, spreading through his limbs.

His mind sharpened. The weight of the day loosened, like fog lifting.

The system pulsed.

[Qi Cultivation Progress: 10% Complete.]

Vincent kept going, the rhythm becoming automatic.

By the time the system updated—

[Qi Cultivation: 30 minutes completed. Basic Breathing Technique – Level 1 Progress: 10%.]

He felt different.

More alert. More in control.

His hands flexed instinctively, half-expecting something—sparks, an aura, a rush of power.

But nothing. Just him, sitting on a creaky bed, feeling stronger than he had in days.

[Qi Energy: Latent Potential – 2% Unlocked.]

[Daily Task Completed.]

[Physical Condition: Optimized.]

Vincent exhaled, staring at the ceiling.

Qi training was working. He couldn't deny it.

Tomorrow, he'd sign the contract with Marcus, then tackle this Ricky Voss situation.

The system was tightening its grip. But for now, he'd use every advantage it gave him—physical, mental, and whatever the hell Qi turned out to be—to carve out his own path.

The screen faded, leaving its final directive:

[Rest Period: Initiated.]

[Prepare for tomorrow's objectives.]

Vincent smirked faintly.

"Bring it on," he whispered.

***

Vincent woke up to the familiar, grating BEEP BEEP of the system kicking in. His eyes snapped open, body instinctively tense as the neon-blue screen flared to life.

[Daily Task for the Heir:]

[100 push-ups.]

[100 sit-ups.]

[Running 2 km, 10 laps.]

[Time Remaining: 20 hours 30 minutes.]

[Failure to complete the Daily Task will result in system penalties.]

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Same fuckin' routine," he muttered

Rolling out of bed, he started with push-ups, his arms steady despite the lingering soreness from yesterday. He worked through the motions without thinking, his mind already set on what came next—signing Marcus Reed's contract and meeting Ricky Voss.

The system's directive had given him 72 hours to deal with the local gang presence. That meant today was for gathering intel. Tomorrow? He'd walk straight into Voss's territory.

He pushed through the last few sit-ups, breathing controlled, then laced up his sneakers and stepped outside for the run.

The air was biting. Snow crunched under his feet as he took his laps around the motel, the streets still quiet except for the occasional delivery truck passing by.

[Daily Task Completed.]

[Physical Condition: Optimized.]

[Qi Energy: Latent Potential – 2.5% Unlocked.]

Vincent stood in the parking lot, exhaling, hands on his hips. His stamina was better. Recovery faster.

Didn't mean jack if today went south.

***

By mid-afternoon, Vincent walked through town, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets.

The system's task weighed on him—Neutralize Local Threat.

Ricky Voss.

He hadn't heard the name before, but the system made one thing clear: this wasn't just about securing the motel. It was about controlling the territory.

And that meant walking straight into a gang's den, making it clear that Stardust Motel was off-limits.

The address led him to Redline Garage, a rundown auto shop near the edge of town. The rusted metal sign barely clung to the entrance, hanging crooked over the doorway.

Black SUVs lined the lot. Windows tinted. Unmarked.

Vincent exhaled. Showtime.

He pushed open the heavy garage door.

Inside, cigarette smoke curled through the air, mixing with motor oil and burnt rubber. A few guys leaned against cars, their conversation cutting short as Vincent stepped in.

At the center of the room stood Ricky Voss.

Mid-thirties. Stocky build, leather jacket, cigarette between his fingers. His eyes locked onto Vincent instantly.

"Who the fuck are you?" Voss muttered, flicking his cigarette into a metal tray.

Vincent held his stance. "Vincent. Stardust Motel."

A low murmur ran through the group. One of them chuckled.

Voss raised an eyebrow. "The motel? You stroll in here yapping about that dump?"

Vincent kept his voice steady. "Yeah. Word is there's been trouble around. I'm here to sort it."

Voss laughed, shaking his head. "Trouble? That's cute."

He gestured lazily at Vincent. "What, you got a fuckin' complaint, kid? Think you're gonna waltz in, play boss, and negotiate?"

Vincent ignored the mocking tone. "I run operations now. If there's a problem, we fix it—before it gets messy."

That got a reaction.

Voss's guys exchanged looks. One scoffed. Another shook his head.

Voss leaned forward, elbows resting on the metal counter. "Let me get this straight. You're the new hotshot at the motel, and you think you can march in here, throw weight, and set terms like you own this damn town?"

Vincent didn't flinch. "I don't hold the deed, but I call the shots at the Stardust."

Dead silence.

Voss studied him now, fully.

Then—he grinned.

"Fuckin' balls on you, I'll give you that."