Ethan Voss awoke to the sound of rain tapping against rusted metal. The sharp scent of mold and dust filled his lungs.
He sat up slowly, his body aching as if it remembered a pain he had yet to experience in this life. Around him was a room barely held together by rotting wood and stubborn nails. The single window, fogged with grime, let in little light. The floor was cracked, the ceiling leaking.
The world had changed. Or perhaps—he had.
His head throbbed. Not from injury, but confusion. One moment he had been aboard his private jet, sipping aged whiskey while reviewing a tech acquisition. The next—fire. Screams. A flash of betrayal in Marcus Lang's eyes.
And now, here.
He stumbled toward a half-broken mirror above a dusty sink. What looked back was not the polished titan of industry, but a pale, lanky youth. No older than nineteen. Sunken eyes. A faint scar across the cheek. Thin wrists. This wasn't Ethan Voss.
This was someone else.
His trembling hands rifled through drawers. A crumpled student ID lay in one of them:
Name: Ethan Grey
Age: 19
Major: Dropped Out
"Grey?" he murmured. "Why do I remember this name?"
As if in response, a wave of memories flooded his mind. Flashes of poverty. Fistfights behind school buildings. Nights spent skipping meals to keep the lights on. The shame of dropping out. The loneliness.
Ethan Grey. A nobody. A shadow.
Yet—something inside him felt awakened.
His breath caught as a faint voice whispered through his thoughts.
> You have been given a second chance. Not as a king, but as a pawn. Rise.
No lights. No stats. No powers. No systems appeared. Just that voice, and a mind suddenly too sharp to be ordinary.
---
The days passed slowly.
Ethan learned to move carefully in this world. He wasn't rich. Not special. He couldn't even afford three meals a day.
But he had experience.
He watched the people around him. The loud ones. The bullies. The flirtatious girls and snobby elites. In his old world, these were insects beneath his notice. Now, he observed them like a hunter tracking prey.
A notebook became his journal—filled with names, patterns, weaknesses. He memorized routines. He studied the power structure of the university like a hostile takeover.
No one noticed him. And that suited him perfectly.
---
His first act wasn't dramatic.
He fixed a vending machine.
It had eaten a student's money and refused to work. While others cursed and kicked it, Ethan crouched beside it and removed the panel. In five minutes, he rewired the circuit board, restored the coin function, and retrieved a stack of unclaimed change.
When the machine lit up, the crowd clapped. One student offered him a drink. Another asked, "Are you an engineer?"
"No," Ethan said with a faint smile. "Just curious."
---
He used his reward to buy books—secondhand, outdated, discarded by the library.
By night, he read until his eyes burned.
Neural design. Behavioral economics. Corporate espionage. Criminology. Political power dynamics.
Subjects he had once mastered as Ethan Voss.
Now, he learned them all over again—this time from the ground up.
There was no magic. No sudden gift. Just obsession. Discipline.
> [You have developed a new Trait: Focused Learning.]
The voice returned, quiet but distinct.
He didn't understand it yet. But he didn't reject it either.
---
Weeks passed.
The first real opportunity came when he heard whispers about a corrupt student council member. Vincent Zhao. A name that made others flinch. Backed by family wealth, Vincent ran the council like a private syndicate. Funding grants. Controlling clubs. Silencing dissent.
Ethan attended one of Vincent's open forums.
He raised his hand with a polite question.
"Why does the Student Technology Grant only go to clubs you personally manage?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd. Vincent's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"I admire curiosity," he said. "You are…?"
"Ethan Grey," he replied. "I fix things."
Vincent chuckled. "Fix what?"
"Systems," Ethan said calmly. "Flawed ones."
Silence.
Vincent motioned him to approach after the meeting.
---
The meeting was brief.
Vincent leaned back in his chair. "You've got nerve. But I don't care for ants pretending to be lions."
"I'm neither," Ethan replied. "I'm a virus."
Vincent raised a brow.
"You won't see me coming," Ethan continued, "but you'll feel me wreck your entire operating system if I want to."
A gamble. A bold one.
Vincent's smirk twisted.
And then—he laughed.
"You're insane."
"I'm focused."
Vincent poured two drinks. "Alright, virus. Prove your worth. There's a rival club interfering with my plans. Handle them discreetly. You succeed, and you'll have my ear."
---
Ethan accepted.
He infiltrated the rival club by posing as a volunteer. Within a week, he exposed embezzlement through a fake spreadsheet he'd created and a whisper to the right people.
The club collapsed. Vincent looked impressed.
"You've got potential," he admitted. "Stay close. Learn the ropes."
Ethan nodded.
And thus, the climb began.
---
His room became a war desk.
Corkboard. Threads of yarn. Photos. Data.
He learned to code again using scraps of old manuals and cheap tutorial printouts.
He built a prototype tool that predicted supply chain shortages on campus stores—then sold it for cash and influence to the business club.
He fixed a professor's laptop infected with ransomware—then secretly copied its contents.
Bit by bit, he carved a new empire from the shadows.
> [Trait Developed: Strategic Manipulation]
[Note: Your path is self-forged. No cheats granted. Keep grinding.]
The voice always returned when he made significant moves. No shiny system, no instant powers. Just recognition.
That was enough.
---
One night, he found a sealed envelope under his dorm door.
Inside: a card.
Black. Embossed.
One word on it:
"Protoc
ol."
His fingers trembled.
He turned it over.
> "You've been noticed. We are watching. Continue to rise. Or be consumed."
He stared at it for a long time.
Then, slowly, he smiled.