Chapter 127: The Ghost in the Machine

Ray Carter stared at the handsome young man who had just casually insulted his frugality. The voice, the cadence, the easy confidence—it hit him like a jolt of electricity. He scanned Ethan’s face, focusing on the sharp wit and familiar challenge, trying to reconcile the image before him with the memory of the skinny kid.

"Ethan?" Ray whispered, his eyes widening in disbelief. He scanned Ethan’s face, his eyes lingering on the barely visible scar above his eyebrow, a mark he remembered treating after a botched repair job a few weeks ago. "Ethan Blake? Is that really you?"

Ethan dropped the playful facade, his smile softening into something genuine and warm. He knew his transformation was radical, but he hadn’t realized how shocking it would be to those who knew the "old" him.

"The one and only, Ray," Ethan confirmed, pushing off the counter and extending his hand. "It’s good to see you, old man. Business looks exactly the same, which means you’re still doing something right."

Ray ignored the handshake, stumbling back two steps and running his hands through his thinning hair. "What—what happened to you? You look... you look like a goddamn movie star! The last time I saw you, you were half-starved and wearing clothes from the trash heap!" He glanced involuntarily at the gleaming black BMW visible through the window. "And this car...?"

Ethan chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "Let’s just say I found a lucrative bug in the system, and I finally got paid what I was worth. I told you I wasn’t going to be poor for long." He gestured to the laptop Ray was holding. "Listen, I need that machine, and I need a massive monitor, a gaming chair, and a custom setup installed at my place today. I trust your work more than anyone else’s. Name your price, old friend."

Ray was overwhelmed. The skinny kid he used to mentor was gone, replaced by a confident alpha with money to burn. But before he could respond, the bell over the door chimed again.

Three men walked in. They weren’t students or typical customers. They were built like bricks, dressed in dark, ill-fitting clothes, and covered in crude tattoos. Their eyes immediately locked onto the expensive BMW parked outside, and then onto Ethan.

Ray’s breath caught in his throat. These weren’t customers; they were thugs.

"Hey, old man," the leader—a towering brute with a scarred neck—grunted, ignoring Ray and walking straight toward Ethan. "We’re looking for the asshole who thinks he can mess with a friend of ours at Boston U. You fit the description, pretty boy. Black car, expensive shoes. And you look like you need a lesson in humility."

The man cracked his knuckles, a sickening sound.

Ethan didn’t move. His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes, moments ago full of warmth for Ray, went cold—purely analytical.

[Heads up, Champion! Looks like your little Koala admirer had some baggage. Three disposable assets detected. Analysis: Your new mortal enemy, Ryan Mitchell, is certainly efficient. Give the kid an ’A’ for effort.]

Ethan sighed, a sound of deep disappointment. He hadn’t even finished his purchase with Ray, and the chaos was already demanding his attention.

"Ray," Ethan said, completely ignoring the thugs and speaking in a low, businesslike tone. "I need that laptop and the monitor delivered today to my room at MIT. The gaming chair too. Send the final cost and the card number to my usual cell. I’ll transfer the money to you later this afternoon."

Ray, pale and trembling, could only nod mutely, utterly bewildered by Ethan’s composure. The three thugs simply stared, their confusion turning quickly to mounting fury as this "rich boy" treated them like part of the scenery.

The leader of the thugs, his face tight with anger, stepped forward, the tire iron swinging slightly. "Hey! Did you hear me, asshole? We’re here to give you a lesson in humility. You should have stayed in class."

Ethan finally turned to them, a look of bored contempt sweeping across his face. "Yes, I heard you, peasant. You were sent to put some ’humility’ in the ’asshole.’ I get the message. It’s trite."

Ethan glanced over the thugs, dismissively noting their cheap clothes and desperate aggression. "Look, I don’t want to break things in Ray’s shop. It would be a pain for him to clean up. How about we take this little performance outside?"

The brute scoffed, taking the bait instantly. "Outside? You think you’re tough? Fine. Let’s go to the alley, pretty boy. We’ll play with you a bit there."

Ethan offered a predatory smile. "Play? I like that word. Let’s go."

As they reached the alley, Ethan stopped, allowing the three men to form a loose semi-circle around him.

"Before we begin the lesson," Ethan asked, his voice casual. "Tell me, which little college boy sent you? Was it my dear friend Ryan?"

The leader spat on the ground. "We don’t know any Ryan. Some guy just told us to make sure a rich punk from MIT doesn’t forget his place. They said you needed to be taught some respect."

The second thug, shorter and bulkier, snickered. "Yeah. They said you’re the kind of idiot who likes to show off his fancy car and his woman like she’s a trophy. You’re the one who needs the humility."

Ethan’s eyes hardened. So they wouldn’t admit it. Fine. It just meant he could dispense with the formalities.

"Humility," Ethan repeated, flexing the muscles in his hands. "You want to teach me humility? Let’s see how long that lesson lasts."

One of the thugs chuckled darkly, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. The other two gripped their steel pipes, smiling menacingly.

"Say goodbye to your little friend," the thug with the knife hissed, his eyes flicking down to Ethan’s groin. "You shouldn’t have messed with the wrong people."

Ethan’s bored expression vanished. The simple beating was one thing; the threat of emasculation was another entirely. His gaze turned instantly murderous, dangerous as a predator about to kill.