New York City – Afternoon
"Numbers don't lie, gentlemen. But people do. That's why I never trust optimism—only projections."
Liam Weston stood tall at the head of the polished glass table, laser-pointer in one hand, espresso in the other. The screens behind him glowed with charts, growth lines, and competitor burnouts.
"By the end of Q4, we're looking at a 37% ROI minimum—assuming no idiotic delays, which we both know your board is good at creating."
The room was silent. Tense. Then—
A chuckle. Followed by a full laugh from the man across from him.
"You're a cocky bastard, Liam."
"I'm a realistic one," Liam replied smoothly, taking a slow sip. "And if you sign today, I'll make sure your grandkids thank you for it."
A pause. Then a handshake.
Deal closed. Millions secured.
He didn't need to look around for applause. He already had a private message from his assistant:
Flight to Dubai rebooked. Press conference moved. Your mother still thinks you're poor.
Liam smirked.
Later That Day – Downtown, Near 6th and Brier
He should've gone to a steakhouse. Hell, he could afford a private chef now.
But instead…
"Same corner table, huh?"
A soft voice broke his thoughts. Mia—short black hair, flour on her apron, tired eyes—stood beside him, holding a steaming plate of fries and a grilled chicken sandwich.
"You remembered." Liam smiled.
"You're hard to forget when you used to sit here for four hours sipping one coffee and calculating crypto."
He laughed.
"Hey, I paid eventually."
From behind the counter, her father, Mr. Aziz, shouted, "Only after my daughter shamed you into it!"
Liam grinned and waved back. "Best investment I ever made."
He stared at the sandwich.
Not out of hunger. But nostalgia.
This tiny cafe—scratched tables, flickering bulbs, and a dying fridge—was once his fortress. The place he wrote plans. Sent proposals. Got rejected. And dreamed.
Today, he returned not because he was hungry. But because he wanted to feel again.
"Just a few more deals like today, and I'll hit billionaire status. Fly private. Start my VC firm. Get into politics? Nah. Maybe own a football team. I wonder if Mia would ever leave this place if I bought it outright…"
His thoughts drifted into fantasy.
A kingdom of his own. Maybe an island. No taxes. No rules. Just vision, power, and—
SCREEEEECHHHHHHH.
"…what the hell?"
He turned his head toward the cafe window.
There, beyond the outdoor tables and rusted bike rack, came a delivery truck—no brakes, no slowing, just an accelerating beast on wheels.
Liam's eyes widened.
"WTF is that… TRUCK-KUN?!"
CRASH.
Glass. Metal. Screams.
The vehicle smashed through the window—plowed through chairs and tables—heading directly for Liam.
Mia screamed.
Aziz dropped a tray of cups.
Liam's last thought wasn't fear. It wasn't regret.
It was:
"I just wanted one more bite of that sandwich…"
And then—nothing.
Darkness. Cold. Silence.
[System Booting…]
[Scanning Host: Liam Weston – Age: 28 – Psychological Profile: Strategic. Ambitious. Dominant.]
[Reality: Terminated.]
[Reassignment: Initiated.]
[Welcome to the Velmont Empire, Slave #8791]
A World Away – Unknown Desert – A Boy Awakens
Sand bit into his back. The air reeked of sweat and filth.
Pain. Everywhere.
He opened his eyes—blurry—and found himself staring at a cracked ceiling inside a rusted metal cage. His skin… was darker. His hands—small and thin. A collar dug into his neck.
Around him were other children, all silent, all broken.
His lips parted:
"…What the actual f—"
[System Activated: Empire Ascension Protocol]
Trait Unlocked: Entrepreneurial Mindset
Passive Skill: Trade Manipulation I
🪖 Locked: ??
[Mission 001: Survive 100 Days]
A gruff voice outside barked in a foreign tongue, then cracked a whip.
The pain was sharp.
Liam didn't scream. He just smiled faintly.
"This is going to be a hell of a hostile takeover"