Chapter 3: Moral Dilemmas!

Chapter 3: Moral Dilemmas!

By the time I drifted awake, Mary’s side of the apartment was quiet. Her uniform was gone, and the deadbolts were thrown from the outside—standard operational procedure for her early tactical shifts. It was my first day heading back to high school after my eighteenth-birthday beatdown, and I had a lot of ground to cover.

My laptop sat open on the kitchen breakfast counter, balanced perfectly on the ledge where the barstools tucked away. The glowing screen was currently executing a passive wiretap, live-streaming the audio straight from Scott Tang’s smartphone. While the software listened, my hands moved with rapid, automated precision over the stove. My Medicine skill dictated the exact fuel my battered body required for cellular repair: a high-density, heavily loaded omelet brimming with lean proteins and complex carbohydrates.

Sizzle. Sizzle. Sizzle.

"So how do I balance the ledger with a bastard like Scott without crossing the line into a murder investigation?" I muttered, sliding the perfectly folded eggs onto a plate.

My newly hardwired combat and firearms skills gave me thousands of lethal methodologies—I knew exactly how to crush a windpipe with a palm strike or collapse a lung with an angled blade. But knowing how to kill wasn't the same as executing a man in cold blood. Besides, outright murdering Scott would bring the entire weight of the Tang corporate clan crushing down on Mary and me. They would never stop hunting us.

I sat down at the counter, pulling the plate close just as a sharp chime echoed from the laptop. Scott’s phone was receiving an incoming call. I tapped a key, routing the audio through the apartment’s small speakers.

[ Scott: Linda, good morning. This is welcome but unusual to get a call from you in the early morning, what's up? ]

[ Linda: I just found out that Lee was left in the Quick-Mart alley half-dead. He almost died in the hospital. This is the 21st attack you have done on that boy. ]

I stopped chewing, my fork hovering inches from my mouth. Linda. Linda Lang was the undisputed apex predator of the high school's academic ladder.

She was a literal ice block—beautiful, entirely devoid of visible emotion, and possessing a terrifyingly sharp intellect that kept her at the absolute top of the class. But why the hell was she digging into my medical emergencies?

Scott let out a loud, mocking laugh on the recording.

[ Scott: Little Dick Rick?! Ha ha, No I think you're blowing it out of proportion. My guys are professional and know how to hold back. Plus this is character building. I am trying to make him a better man by forcing him to stand up for himself. And 21 times?! No it cannot be right, maybe 12 tops, the others might be real bullies and that had nothing to do with me, Linda. ]

[ Linda: I am warning you Scott. I don't care if my family wants me to go out with you and get close, but if you keep this up, I will go against my family's wishes, that's all. Click... do do do... ]

I swiftly tapped another macro on the keyboard, forcing a remote override to keep his smartphone's microphone and front-facing webcam active even after the call disconnected. The camera angle only captured a tight view of the ceiling and his jawline, but the microphone acted like a pristine, high-fidelity wiretap. Across the audio feed, I could hear the distinct rustle of expensive silk sheets, followed by a woman softly shuffling around the room.

[ Scott: What the fuck Linda?! What is your obsession with that little dick? Fuck did Robert and Bob go overboard? I bet he pretended to be extra injured to get sympathy, that little bitch. ]

[ Maid: Young master, do you want me in the bed tonight as well? ]

[ Scott: Yeah, I am getting married in a month so I wont be able to fuck you for a little while, while I break in the twins bodies. So just plan on staying for the rest of the month. ]

[ Maid: Yes young master, anything else? ]

[ Scott: Give Jack and Bob an extra 10000 dollars each as a bonus for doing good work. They put him in the hospital without killing him, that's impressive. Oh and make sure to get an abortion, can't have any bastards till I knock up the twins first, or my dad will kill us. ]

[ Maid: It's fine master, I am still on the pill. ]

[ Scott: Make sure and stop taking it when I get married, I want a child with you more than those two opportunist Ning's. ]

I leaned back against the barstool, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face as the recording finalized and saved to an encrypted, off-site cloud server. Keep talking, Scott. Give me everything.

I printed out a few heavily redacted financial ledgers from the terminal, slid them into my backpack, and began mapping out my next move on the walk to high school.

As I navigated the cracked pavement of the lower districts, I pulled out my old, heavily scratched smartphone. My Computer Use skill allowed my thumbs to fly across the screen, systematically purging hidden system junk, optimization errors, and corporate bloatware. I had managed to salvage my old SIM card from the shattered remnants of the phone Scott's thugs broke last night; it would serve its purpose until I could upgrade my hardware.

Now, some might wonder why a master hacker wouldn't just immediately siphon millions of dollars directly out of Scott’s online accounts instead of merely inflating the Ning twins' unauthorized transfers. The answer was simple: network forensics. Scrubbing a multi-layered digital trail across multiple tier-one banking mainframes is an incredibly complex task, and the federal government monitors wire fraud with aggressive, automated tracking algorithms. What I did to the Ning twins wasn't a standard wire transfer—I had simply rewritten their localized transaction history by precisely shifting a decimal point to add a zero.

According to Scott's compromised device logs, the Ning twins had covertly duplicated Scott’s security PIN for his multi-million-dollar trust account.

They had been secretly siphoning small, incremental amounts of capital into the Ning family’s struggling logistics businesses right under his nose, utilizing his own device while he was passed out drunk. They were smart about it—restricting their thefts to once a month, never exceeding $100,000 in a single run. Scott’s trust was so massive and poorly managed that the arrogant bastard never even bothered to open his monthly statements.

But a sudden, massive jump to a cool $1,000,000 transfer? That was going to trip a compliance alarm eventually.

That was precisely why I had the paper records tucked securely into my backpack. I didn't have a definitive blueprint for how I was going to blackmail the beautiful, opportunistic Ning twins just yet, but possessing an absolute financial chokehold over their family asset pool was a spectacular opening gambit.

I might have avoided a massive wire-transfer trail, but I certainly didn't let Scott off scot-free. He had directly destroyed my property, and he owes an immense physical debt for twenty-one separate hospital bills. I compiled a highly specific shopping list, authenticated his stolen credit card tokens, and routed the deliveries to an empty, unleased apartment on the second floor of my building.

By the time I hit submit, Scott had inadvertently purchased me a top-tier, military-grade smartphone, a high-end workstation laptop, tailored streetwear, and thousands of dollars in digital gift cards for premium grocery stores and high-end restaurants. It was a minor, untraceable blip on his corporate line of credit—not quite a new sports car, though the temptation to buy a sleek motorcycle had been incredibly hard to resist.

The sky above the school loomed in heavy, suffocating shades of granite. The humidity was choking, signaling an impending downpour. Naturally, given my historical run of abysmal luck, a light, freezing rain began to pelt the concrete just as I approached the main courtyard. I didn't have an umbrella, so I was forced to hastily brush the damp, black strands of hair out of my bruised face as I reached the massive double doors of the entrance.

Three young women were standing right beneath the architectural awning, completely sheltered from the weather. Linda Lang, Nadia Ning, and Nichole Ning all paused mid-conversation, their heads turning in unison as my damp, battered figure stepped onto the tile.

The twins looked completely unbothered, their expressions neutral; to them, seeing the lower-class Rick Lee covered in fresh contusions was just another Tuesday. Linda, however, immediately narrowed her dark, piercing eyes, her brow furrowing into a tight, severe line.

As I attempted to brush past the trio without making eye contact, her cold, indifferent voice sliced through the humid air.

"What happened?"

I didn't even bother slowing my pace. I wasn't about to engage with the very girl whose sheer elite status had catalyzed my relentless hazing in the first place. Linda was undeniably gorgeous—her striking, smoky grey eyes had a hypnotic quality that could freeze a man in his tracks—but interacting with high-born noble girls was an administrative nightmare I didn't need.

Sure, the wiretap proved she technically opposed Scott’s violent games, but so what? We lived in entirely different stratospheres. We were never going to be allies, let alone friends, and pretending otherwise was an absolute waste of my limited energy.

I marched straight down the corridor toward my locker, intent on grabbing a backup towel to dry off.

Thud.

A long, lanky arm slammed against the locker door right next to mine. My sole friend in this entire high school, James Tong, leaned his six-foot-tall, beanstalk frame against the metal, letting out a sharp, low whistle as he examined the wreckage of my face. James possessed a wild mop of blonde hair and expressive brown eyes that were currently wide with shock.

"Damn, brother," James muttered, shaking his head. "We need to stop calling you Rick and just officially rename you Beat-Meat. Did you get the Scott Tang VIP special again? Did your Sis flip out again?"

I pulled my textbooks from the shelf, a genuine, relaxed smile breaking across my face as I looked at the only guy who hadn't abandoned me. "It was a birthday gift, James. And honestly? If you think I look bad, you should really see the condition of the other guys."

James blinked, processing the statement before a massive grin split his face. "So you messed up their knuckles on your thick skull?!"

I delivered a playful, measured punch straight to his shoulder. "Yup, plus I made him tired out, so I am improving, ha-ha, let's get in class asshole."

The moment I crossed the threshold into the high school classroom, the atmosphere shifted instantly. Dozens of students immediately hoisted their high-end smartphones, lenses glinting in the fluorescent lights as they prepared to film and photograph my predictable, pitiful return.

Standing directly in front of the teacher’s desk, blocking the narrow central aisle, was Scott Tang, entirely ready to trip me like he always does. Flanking him like pristine corporate guards were the Ning twins, their arms crossed as they waited for the morning entertainment to commence.

To reach my designated desk by the front window, I was forced to navigate right past this ass. Attempting to take the long route around the room would look even more shameful.

Fortunately, my innate Kung-Fu skill supplied the absolute perfect tool for this specific operational environment: Drunken Boxing.

Positioned directly between Scott’s blocking maneuver and where I had to walk was a heavy, old-fashioned study desk featuring a thick, reinforced hardwood top and a sharp, metallic iron edge. Instead of shying away, I subtly altered my trajectory, closing the distance while leaning closer to the desk to force him to come to me.

I placed a hand against my temple, feigning a sudden wave of dizziness, gently swaying toward my seat as I hugged the empty desk. Anticipating my path, Scott moved from the teacher’s desk to clip me.

The precise synthesis of Drunken-style fluid dynamics and my high-level Acrobatics executed flawlessly. To the watching crowd, it appeared as though I had tragically stumbled to my left from Scott, clumsily falling over the empty desk while accidentally tipping it in the direction of Scott's extended foot.

Thud, Slam, Crack!

Naturally, the thud was simply the sound of my own body hitting the floor, completely absorbing the minimal damage while perfectly faking my fall.

The sickening, resonant crack, however, echoed through the high school classroom, instantly silencing the murmurs of the crowd as the heavy iron edge caught Scott unbraced.

Before the students could even process the violent shift, I pushed myself up to one knee, letting my Acting skill paint a mask of absolute horror and panic across my face.

"Oh my god, Scott! I am so, so sorry!" I cried out, my voice cracking perfectly to mimic a terrified, concussed teenager. "I got so dizzy—the light from the windows just made everything spin! I didn't see your foot there! Are you okay? Someone call the school nurse!"

The high school classroom erupted into absolute chaos. The Ning twins rushed forward, their pristine composure shattering as they hovered over Scott’s groaning form. Meanwhile, I subtly gathered my backpack and shuffled toward the exit. The teacher was too busy shouting into the hallway for medical assistance to notice me quietly slipping through the back door with the restroom pass.

Minutes later, I navigated the empty, silent corridors of the academy's upper tier. The hallway was completely deserted due to classes being in full session, the distant echoes of lectures filtering through thick wooden doors. I drifted with absolute Stealth until I came to a specific locker. I knew exactly who it belonged to.

Leaning down next to the heavy, old-fashioned mechanical dial, I closed my eyes and let my Thief skill take complete control. My fingertips grew hyper-sensitive, feeling the micro-vibrations of the internal mechanics. I gently spun the dial, listening to the subtle, metallic click of the tumblers falling into alignment inside the core. It was child's play—well, assuming you aren't interrupted by a ninja.

"Student Lee, what are you doing?"

The sudden, razor-sharp voice cut through the silence right behind my left shoulder.

This woman should not have been able to sneak up on me like that, so she was clearly skilled in moving silently herself. On a dime, my Acting skill kicked into overdrive. I maintained my crouching posture, slowly turning my head to look up at the stunning redhead towering over me.

"Noble Lady Tina Feng!" I stammered, offering a sheepish, dimpled grin while gesturing clumsily to the dial. "I... uh... I completely forgot my combination, so I am just trying something I saw in a movie. I got beat up again, and forgot my combination, he-he, just ignore this simple me, good day Miss Feng."

Click.

Right on cue, the heavy locking bar popped open under my fingers, and the locker door swung open. A heavy, intoxicating wave of expensive cosmetics, designer perfumes, and floral body mist spilled into the hallway. A small vanity mirror was mounted on the inside panel, reflecting the comical, heavily bruised image of my panda-eyed face.

Before she could question me further, I reached into my jacket, pulled out the redacted financial documents I had printed this morning, and slid them deep into the back of the locker. I slammed the door shut, spinning the dial to lock it before standing up to face her.

Tina Feng hadn't moved an inch. She simply leaned against the neighboring locker, a deeply amused, wicked smile playing across her lips as she watched my frantic routine.

"So are you giving Nichole Ning a love letter?" she purred, her sharp gold eyes boring into mine. "I think she is marrying Scott Tang though?"

My Acting skill kicked in on a dime. My eyes widened in perfect, simulated surprise as I took a theatrical step backward.

"Crap! That was not my locker?" I gasped, looking around the hallway in utter confusion. "Um, Do you know where my locker is then?"

Tina Feng, deeply amused, played along with the theater. She pointed a manicured finger toward my actual locker a few paces down the hall. I immediately scurried over to the designated unit, pulling out my screwdriver and picking it too, just to commit to the act. I knew she knew, but a good actor is entirely dedicated to his part.

Tina straightened up, her gaze lingering on me with an intense, sharp scrutiny. "So, Mr. Lee, it seems there is more to you than just a punching bag. Hmm, I won't tell anyone I saw you doing illegal activities, so relax. I did enjoy the classroom show, though. Goodbye, Mr. Lee."

Click. Click. Click. Click.

The sharp, rhythmic snap of her high heels echoed down the empty concrete corridor as she turned the corner and vanished from sight.

I took a slow, heavy breath, watching the empty space where she had just been standing. Tina Feng was wearing a vibrant red miniskirt and a black tank top that barely contained her prominent E-cup bust. She always projected a wildly unpredictable, chaotic aura. It was honestly hard to believe she belonged to one of the four great ruling houses in Eurasia. She wasn't in the direct line of succession—merely the second daughter of the clan head—which meant the family politics would likely dictate she be married off as a political concubine or some similar aristocratic nonsense later on.

But my hardwired Grandmaster Kung-Fu skill gave me a far more dangerous piece of news.

The precise way she shifted her weight, the absolute silence of her footsteps, and her center of gravity all screamed one crucial thing: Tina Feng was a highly trained, lethal martial artist. I would comfortably evaluate her combat capability at the Advanced level for sure. For someone our age, that was an astronomical achievement. No youngster in my age range could hope to be a Master, let alone a Grandmaster like me.

Of course, there was a major catch. My current, battered physical body was a massive bottleneck. I possessed the absolute knowledge and muscle memory of a Grandmaster, but my unconditioned physique restricted my actual execution to the Advanced level until I properly trained this vessel.

With my work here done, I began making my way down toward the high school's metal-shop wing so I could craft some impromptu lockpicking tools.

The system had whispered something incredibly cryptic right before it abandoned me for greener pastures. What exactly was my sister hiding in her diary? It was an absolute breach of privacy, yes, but since the system had explicitly flagged it before crashing, it had to be a lingering clue left behind for me to solve.

Meanwhile, in a secluded alcove beneath the concrete stairwell of the high school's western wing, Tina Feng leaned against the wall. The amused, playful smile was entirely gone, replaced by a hardened, predatory grin. She pulled out a secure, encrypted smartphone and dialed a rapid sequence.

The line connected instantly.

[ Yes boss?! ]

"Put Rick Lee on the list," Tina commanded.

[ Yes boss! Um, what rating does he get from 1-10? ]

"For now, make him number seven," Tina said, tapping her fingers against the wall. "He has potential, but that's it. I have six others I think might be better after all."

A sharp beep cut the connection.

Tina slipped the phone away into her pocket. Before she could walk away, a high-priority notification banner flashed across her screen. A restricted video file, uploaded to the internal school network less than three minutes ago, was currently spreading like wildfire among the student body. She tapped the file, watching the footage from the classroom.

Her crimson eyebrows shot up in absolute, unadulterated astonishment as she watched the frame-by-frame breakdown of my clumsy stumble. To a regular student, it looked like a pathetic accident. To an Advanced martial artist, the fluid, inverted weight distribution and kinetic redirection of the heavy desk were a masterclass in Drunken Boxing.

She instantly hit redial on her keypad.

The gruff voice returned immediately on the line.

[ Yes boss?! ]

"I changed my mind," Tina said, her voice dropping to a low purr. "Put him at the third spot and bump the rest down. I saw an interesting video, and I will show you guys later."

The call clicked shut.

Tina slid the smartphone away once more, a dark, sinister grin splitting her beautiful features as she stared up at the concrete ceiling.

"Rick Lee, you're a hidden dragon," she whispered to the empty stairwell, her voice trailing off into a smooth hum. "But you can't hide from a phoenix, Ufufu!"

With a quiet, mocking chuckle, Tina Feng turned and glided effortlessly up the steps toward her next class.