Learn to Fight or Perish

Vincent sat sluggishly at the dirty table in Marge's diner, sipping cheap coffee that tasted like burnt asphalt. The place smelled of bacon grease and stale beer, with only a few early-morning drunks lingering around.

Marge, thin with wrinkled skin, flipped eggs behind the counter with ease, like someone who had done it thousands of times.

"You look like hammered dogshit," Marge grumbled, sliding a plate of eggs and toast toward Vincent. "Voss's boys fuck you up again?"

Vincent smirked, rubbing his bruised knuckles from the beating at Redline Garage. "Nothing I can't stomp into the dirt, Marge."

He reached for his fork, but suddenly, a neon-blue screen from the system appeared in front of him, interrupting his meal.

[Notification: System Override Function Disabled.]

[Combat Operations Now Manual. Learn to Fight or Die.]

Vincent gripped the fork tighter, the cold metal pressing into his palm. His stomach twisted at the sight of the system's message.

"What the hell is this?"

Did this mean the system would no longer take control of his body? Now he had to face Voss and Dario on his own.

But he had never fought before. He had always been behind his computer, his laptop, working with CSS, JavaScript, Python, SQL, and other codes. His company was a bootstrap startup, and Selena had always handled face-to-face meetings for him.

Marge noticed his tense expression, raising an eyebrow. "Bad news, huh? You okay?"

Vincent exhaled slowly, frustrated. "Just a swift kick in the nuts, Marge. I'll sort it out."

He scooped up his eggs, barely tasting the greasy food as his mind raced. The system had recklessly pushed him into challenging gangsters, forcing their men to submit, and making deals with Dario.

But what if something went wrong?

Fine. He would learn to fight the hard way or die trying.

After finishing his meal, he tossed a few bills onto the table and stood up. "Food's decent, Marge. Keep an ear out for me, yeah?"

Marge snorted, not looking up. "Yeah, just don't get yourself killed out there."

Vincent grinned, pushing the door open.

***

The cold morning air hit him immediately, but his mind was still focused on the system's words. It had told him it would no longer assist him in combat.

He wasn't a coward. He just didn't know how to fight gangsters. He had to train fast if he wanted to avoid getting beaten to a pulp while trying to take control of them.

Suddenly, the screeching sound of tires braking on the empty street snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned his head, and the memory of Pearson's men kidnapping him flashed through his mind, making him tense up.

A black sedan stopped beside him, and its doors suddenly swung open. Three men in cheap suits with rough faces jumped out and rushed toward him.

"Damn it," Vincent muttered and tried to run.

The first man grabbed his arm and swung a fist toward his gut. Vincent tried to dodge, but the punch landed, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He staggered, and the other two men grabbed his arms, dragging him toward the car. Vincent struggled, but another punch slammed into his ribs from the side, nearly knocking him unconscious from the pain.

They threw him into the back seat, slamming the door shut. The sedan sped off as soon as they were inside.

Vincent kept struggling, but repeated blows to his face and body forced him to stop resisting.

Were they from Universe? Or Voss? Dario?

The brutal ride lasted for hours, winding through unfamiliar roads. Vincent knew they had left the city when the car finally stopped in front of a gated mansion. The gate opened automatically as the sedan approached.

The mansion had glass walls, and the hedges and grass were neatly trimmed.

The thugs dragged him out, pulling him through a marble foyer that echoed under their footsteps. After passing through several rooms filled with expensive furniture, they threw him into a small chamber.

The room contained only a metal bed with a hard mattress, no sheets or blankets, a toilet, and a surveillance camera blinking in the corner.

They locked him inside without food or water for what felt like an eternity. His body ached, bruised and beaten.

After a full day, they finally shoved a tray of food and water into the room. The meal was nothing but stale bread with no flavor. He had no choice but to eat it.

With nothing else to do, Vincent either meditated or slept.

He grew restless and eventually sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling before speaking to the system. "System, what exactly are you?"

The screen appeared before him, and letters began forming rapidly.

[I am the Sovereign Syndicate, an AI-driven inheritance system designed to select and train the next ruler.]

"Ruler? What ruler?" Vincent asked, frowning.

[Ruler: The heir who will control global networks, both in legal and underground sectors.]

[Objective: To ensure that only the strongest, most strategic, and most ruthless individual will survive.]

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Global networks in what fields?"

[Global networks include all sectors of power: economy, politics, military, and crime.]

[The heir must control corporations, governments, and underground organizations to achieve full dominance.]

Vincent frowned deeper. "So I have to control everything?"

[Correct. Heirs who fail to take control will be eliminated.]

He held his breath as he read the response. "Eliminated? You mean… killed?"

[Yes.]

Vincent felt his skin crawl. The system's words echoed in his mind, cold and emotionless.

Elimination.

He steadied himself, forcing his breathing to slow, then asked again, "Why was I chosen as one of the heirs?"

The letters on the screen shifted, as if the system was processing his question.

[Selection of heirs is based on the following evaluation:]

[1. Psychological resilience: 98%]

[2. Crisis adaptation: 95%]

[3. Strategic analysis ability: 92%]

[4. Potential for dominance: 90%]

[5. Willingness to survive: 99%]

Vincent frowned. "So I was chosen because of these numbers?"

[Correct. Heirs are not selected based on background, but on their ability to endure and take control.]

Vincent clenched his fists. "But you said there will only be one heir in the end. How many other candidates were chosen?"

[More than one.]

Vincent felt a chill run down his spine. That meant there were others out there, people who also knew about this system, people who might already be stronger, more prepared, and more ruthless.

He took a deep breath, preparing to ask another question, when suddenly, the door to the room where he was being held swung open.