Chapter 17: Aurora Heights (1)
The Ferrari glided through the streets of Grayport City.
Nolan's hands moved on the steering wheel with practiced ease. His foot pressed the accelerator, and the engine responded with a deep, powerful roar. He switched lanes smoothly, signaled at every turn, braked gently at the red lights. The car moved like it was part of him.
He passed a bus. Through the window, he saw a man staring at the Ferrari, his mouth slightly open. At the next light, a woman in a sedan glanced over, her eyes wide. A teenager on the sidewalk pulled out his phone and started recording.
Nolan looked ahead. The navigation screen showed Aurora Heights, two minutes away.
He shook his head. 'Did anyone believe that this is my first time driving a car?'
The Ferrari pulled into the hotel roundabout. The engine hummed softly as he parked near the entrance.
He stepped out and looked at his phone. 7:35 PM.
The hotel rose before him—thirteen floors of glass and steel, lights glowing from every window. A fountain stood in the center of the roundabout, water dancing under colored lights. The entrance was a cascade of marble and gold.
He muttered to himself, "Did anyone believe that this is my first time driving a car?"
A man approached him. Mid-twenties. Sharp suit. Clean-shaven. His eyes kept drifting to the Ferrari—the red paint, the prancing horse logo, the low stance that screamed money. His expression wasn't jealous. It was respectful. Genuine.
"Good evening, sir. Valet parking?"
Nolan nodded. He tossed the keys.
The man caught them smoothly. "I'll take good care of it, sir."
Behind him, two men in business suits stood near the entrance. One of them spoke, low enough that Nolan almost didn't hear.
"Who has that model in Grayport City? I haven't seen an SF90 here before."
The other replied, "Must be someone new. Some tycoon moving into the city."
Nolan walked past them. He heard their words, and a small smile crossed his face.
'Definitely a new one. Not just in this city. Soon, the country. Soon, the whole world.'
The lobby was enormous. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each one the size of a small car. Marble floors reflected the lights like a mirror. A grand staircase curved up toward the upper floors.
A young woman stood behind the reception desk. Her uniform was crisp. Her smile was professional.
"Good evening, sir. How may I help you?"
"The 666 Private Room."
Her smile widened slightly. "Of course, sir. The elevator to your right. Thirteenth floor. The party has already started."
Nolan nodded and walked toward the elevator.
Behind him, whispers followed.
"Yeah, that's him. The one with the Ferrari SF90."
A second voice, lower. "Look at his clothes though. No luxury brands. Nothing flashy."
A third voice joined. "Maybe he's just a driver. Posing like he's rich."
The fourth voice laughed. "Yeah, that makes more sense."
Nolan pressed the elevator button. The doors opened.
He stepped inside and turned around. The doors closed, cutting off the voices.
He leaned against the wall. 'No matter what, people always judge. They always decide who you are before you even speak.'
The elevator music played softly. Soft piano. Gentle strings. Normally, he wouldn't notice it. But tonight, it felt different. Refreshing. Not because it was a five-star hotel.
Because it was his hotel.
The doors opened on the thirteenth floor.
He walked down the hallway. Thick carpet muffled his footsteps. Gold sconces lined the walls. At the end of the hall, a large door with gold lettering: 666.
A man stood outside. Broad shoulders. Dark suit. Earpiece in his ear. Security.
He stepped forward, blocking Nolan's path.
"Hold on," the man said. His eyes scanned Nolan's clothes. No luxury brands. No designer labels. "There's a private party here. Mr. Harlan is hosting his classmates tonight."
He looked at the guard. "I'm a classmate."
The guard laughed. Short. Dismissive. "The party started at 7 PM." He glanced at his watch, then back at Nolan. "It's 7:40 now. You're telling me a classmate shows up forty minutes late to a party hosted by Mr. Harlan?"
Nolan's face was calm. 'The staff at this hotel—the valet, the receptionist—they were good. Professional. But everywhere, there are bugs like these.'
Nolan didn't respond. His patience was thinning.
The guard crossed his arms. "Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but—"
Nolan stepped past him. His hand touched the door handle and pushed.
The guard's hand shot out. He grabbed Nolan's collar, stopping him. His voice rose.
"I said stop!"
The door swung open. Heads turned. The chatter inside faded.
The guard spoke quickly, his voice loud, framing the situation. "Sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Harlan. This man was trying to sneak in. Claims he's your classmate."
Chad was sitting at the center of the main table. Lila was beside him. They had been laughing, giggling, their heads close together.
Chad's eyes landed on Nolan.
His face shifted. Recognition. Then surprise. Then something else.
"Oh, Nolan," Chad said, his voice carrying across the room. "Is that you? I didn't recognize you in new clothes."
Someone from the group added, "Look at him. Actually wearing something that fits."
Another voice. "Did he borrow that from someone? Or save for six months?"
Laughter rippled through the room.
The guard standing behind Nolan understood quickly. His posture changed. His hand dropped from Nolan's collar.
'So,' the guard thought, 'he really is a classmate. But he's trash. Not worth protecting.'
He stepped back. "Sorry for the disturbance, Mr. Harlan." He walked away, back to his post, without looking at Nolan. Without apologizing to him.
Nolan stood in the doorway.
'He should apologize to me. He grabbed my collar. He tried to throw me out. And now he just walks away like nothing happened. Because he saw how Chad treated me. Because he knows who the real power in this room is supposed to be.'
He let out a slow breath. 'Later. I'll deal with him later.'
He walked inside.
The room was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall. The night sky of Grayport City sprawled beyond—thousands of lights blinking, the river cutting through the center like a dark ribbon.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Long tables draped in white linen. Gold-rimmed plates. Crystal glasses. Fresh flowers in small vases.
And the screen. At the far end of the room, a massive curved display dominated the space. It was at least twenty feet wide, the kind of screen that cost more than most people's cars. Currently, it was dark, waiting.
Nolan looked at it for a moment. 'What is that for?'
He didn't care. He turned his attention to the table.
Chad was still talking.
"I thought you wouldn't dare come," Chad said, leaning back in his chair. "After everything. After that night. I thought you'd hide in your dorm forever."
Nolan didn't respond. He walked to an empty seat at the far end of the table and sat down.
Chad's smile flickered. He wasn't used to being ignored.
"You know," Chad continued, louder now, "I put together something special tonight. A surprise. I was afraid it would be wasted if you didn't show up."
Nolan looked at the table. The food was already laid out. Seared scallops on saffron risotto. Lobster bisque. Wagyu steak. Dishes he had only seen in magazines.
He picked up his fork.
Not because this was his first time seeing food like this.
Because this was his hotel. His kitchen. His chefs. He wanted to taste what they had made.
Someone across the table whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. "Look at him. He just got here and he's already eating."
Another voice. "Probably his first real meal in months."
"He's acting like he'll never get food like this again. Which, to be fair, he won't."
Laughter.
Nolan didn't look up. He cut a piece of scallop. The knife went through it smoothly. He put it in his mouth.
The scallop melted on his tongue. The risotto was creamy, rich, each grain of rice perfectly cooked. The balsamic added sweetness.
'My chefs made this. My kitchen. My hotel.'
He took another bite. 'The taste lives up to the name.'
Chad watched him. His smirk tightened. He turned to the group.
"Leave him alone," Chad said, his voice dripping with fake kindness. "Let him eat. Probably the first time he's smelled food like this, let alone tasted it."
More laughter.
Chad stood up. He raised his voice, addressing the whole room.
"Okay, everyone. I have a special show for you tonight. Something I've been planning for a long time."
People stopped eating. Forks paused. Conversations faded.
Lila tugged Chad's sleeve. She whispered something, her voice low, her face tense.
Chad leaned down. Whispered back. His jaw was tight. His eyes were sharp.
Lila lowered her head. She didn't speak again.
Chad walked toward the massive screen at the far end of the room. He pulled a pendrive from his pocket and plugged it into the port beside the display.
The screen flickered to life.
A video started playing.
Nolan's freshman year. The courtyard. He was walking across it, his head down, his old clothes hanging loose on his frame. Someone shoved him from behind. He stumbled. Almost fell. People laughed.
The video changed.
The classroom. Nolan sitting at his desk. Someone threw a crumpled paper ball at his head. He didn't react. Another one hit him. Another. The class laughed.
Another scene. The canteen. Nolan sitting alone at a corner table. An empty tray in front of him. No one beside him. People at other tables pointing. Laughing.
Nolan put his fork down.
He stood up.
The chair scraped against the floor. Loud. Sharp. The sound cut through the room.
The giggles stopped. The whispers stopped. Everyone turned to look at him.
"Stop it," Nolan said.
Silence.
Chad stood in front of the screen, his arms spread wide, his smirk sharp. He wasn't afraid.
"Or what?" Chad said. His voice was loud. Mocking. "What are you going to do about it? You trash?"
The word hung in the air.
Nolan looked at the screen. The video had moved to that night. Lila's apartment. He was standing at the door, holding the small box. The ring.
Chad grabbed Nolan's collar. Shoved him against the doorframe. Nolan fell. The small box fell from his hand. The cheap silver ring rolled out.
Chad grabbed Nolan by the shirt and lifted him. He dragged him to the door and threw him out. Nolan hit the ground hard. His head snapped back against the concrete.
The door slammed.
Nolan lay there for a moment.
The video kept playing, frozen on that image. Nolan alone. Broken. Defeated.
Nolan's fists clenched.
He looked at his stat points.
[Stat Points: 30]
He looked at his strength.
[Strength: 4]
He focused. Ten points. Allocate.
[Strength: 4 → 14]
[Stat Points Remaining: 20]
The change was instant.
His muscles tightened. His bones felt denser. Energy flooded through him like electricity. His blood felt hot. His hands felt like they could crush stone. His legs felt like they could run through walls.
He walked toward Chad.
His steps were slow. Measured. The room was silent. Everyone watched.
Chad stood in front of the screen, his chest puffed out, his chin raised. The video played behind him. Nolan being thrown out. The door slamming. The ring rolling across the concrete.
"What are you going to do, Nolan?" Chad said. His voice was confident. "Hit me? Go Ahead"
Nolan reached him.
He didn't stop. He didn't hesitate.
He threw his fist.
Not at Chad.
At the screen.
His fist connected with the massive display. Glass exploded outward. Sparks flew. The image of himself being thrown out fractured into a thousand pieces, then went dark. The screen crumpled inward, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface.
The sound was deafening. A crash. A crunch. Glass raining down.
Chad stumbled backward, his arms coming up to shield his face. He stared at the ruined screen. Then at Nolan's fist. Then at Nolan's face.
'When did this bitch become this strong?'
His mouth opened. No words came out.
A girl screamed. "Ahhh!"
The sound echoed through the room.
The door burst open. The guard from before rushed in, his hand on his earpiece. He saw the shattered screen. He saw Nolan standing in front of it, his fist still raised.
He turned to Chad. "What happened, Mr. Harlan?"
Chad's face shifted. Fear disappeared. Replaced by something practiced. Familiar.
He pointed at Nolan. "He tried to hit me. He broke the screen. Look at it. He destroyed it. He's crazy. Get him out of here. Make him pay for it."
The guard understood. His expression hardened. He grabbed his walkie-talkie.
"We need backup at the 666 Private Room. Now."
Within a minute, the room filled. Eight men in dark suits. Broad shoulders. Serious faces. They lined up behind the guard, blocking the door.
Nolan turned.
His face was calm. His fist was still clenched. Small cuts from the glass marked his knuckles, but no blood. No pain.
He looked past the guards. His voice was steady. Low. Clear.
"Call your manager."