Meanwhile, Stan’s phone rang while he was still reviewing the Velaris branch files.

It was an unknown number. He almost let it go to voicemail before recognizing the prefix, the university’s administrative line. The Head Chancellor’s number was already saved in his contacts.

Sighing quietly, he answered.

"Mr. Harrison." The chancellor’s voice carried the unmistakable warmth of a man who had recently received something valuable and intended to show proper appreciation for it. "I wanted to call personally to express my gratitude. Your donation to the university, specifically the research endowment, was an extraordinarily generous gesture. The fact that you’re still a student here yourself makes it even more remarkable. It reflects a level of foresight I rarely see in someone your age."

Stan’s brow furrowed.

"Donation?" he repeated.

"Yes, the endowment. It was processed through the university’s development office five days ago. We are deeply grateful, Mr. Harrison. Truly. The Starfall Isle excursion would not have been possible without it."

Stan’s expression remained unreadable.

"Of course," he said evenly. "I’m glad it was received well."

He ended the call with the appropriate warmth, set the phone down, and stared at it for exactly four seconds.

Then he called Grayson Davies.

The chairman answered on the second ring, as he always did.

"Mr. Harrison. How can I—"

"The university donation," Stan interrupted.

A brief silence followed.

Then came a sound that wasn’t quite laughter, but existed dangerously close to it.

"Ah," Grayson said smoothly. "The chancellor called."

"He did."

"Good. That was the intended outcome."

Stan leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Explain."

"It’s fairly simple," Grayson replied, his tone carrying the calm confidence of a man completely at ease with his own decisions. "Your relationship with the chancellor was already valuable, especially after the expulsion incident and everything surrounding it. But relationships like that require maintenance. A named endowment from a student tycoon is the kind of gesture that transforms a useful acquaintance into a genuine ally."

He paused briefly before continuing.

"The chancellor will now go to considerable lengths to protect your interests at Peak University. Not because he’s obligated to, but because he’s personally invested."

"You donated money in my name without consulting me."

"It was a strategic investment on your behalf," Grayson corrected calmly. "Though if I overstepped, then I apologize."

Stan exhaled softly and waved it off despite the man being unable to see it.

"It’s fine, as long as it doesn’t create problems for me later."

"It won’t."

Stan was quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"But why?" he asked.

Not why did you donate, that part was obvious enough.

"Why are you doing any of this? The donations. The introductions. The warnings about the audit." His gaze drifted toward the city lights beyond the glass windows. "What exactly do you gain from protecting me?"

Grayson was quiet for a moment longer than usual.

"Honestly?" he said at last. "The same thing the chancellor gets. You are, Mr. Harrison, the most unusual young man I’ve encountered in forty years of business."

His voice remained calm, measured, almost thoughtful.

"The things you’ve accomplished in the past two weeks alone, the acquisitions, the influence, the way you operate under pressure, frankly, they shouldn’t be possible at your age. And in my experience, people who achieve impossible things early rarely stop there. They go on to become something extraordinary."

A brief silence followed.

"I’m not doing this out of charity," Grayson continued. "I’m doing it because being close to you when you eventually become what I believe you’ll become is worth far more than whatever these gestures cost me now."

Stan considered that quietly.

It was plausible. More than plausible, actually. By the standards of men like Grayson Davies, it was perfectly rational. Influence was an investment, and powerful people cultivated future assets long before the rest of the world recognized their value.

But even so, Stan could tell it wasn’t the complete truth.

There was something beneath the explanation, something Grayson either wasn’t saying or wasn’t yet prepared to say. Stan could feel it lingering in the gaps between the words, like furniture hidden in a dark room: unseen, but undeniably there.

He filed the thought away for later.

"Thank you," Stan said finally. "But for future reference, ask me before making donations in my name."

"Of course," Grayson replied smoothly, in the unmistakable tone of a man who would almost certainly not ask next time.

Stan ended the call. Sighing, he checked his calendar.

It has been four days since his last proper gym session.

Three of those had vanished into Starfall Isle, the filming, the logistics, the hot spring incident, the long bus ride back. Before that came the Neon Pulse situation and the chain reaction that followed it.

His body had stayed active through all of it, running on adrenaline, movement, and the constant pressure of momentum, but the structured training routine that had quietly become part of his internal architecture had been neglected for too long.

His strength had continued increasing regardless. The system saw to that with its quiet, persistent interference in his physical baseline.

But Stan had learned something important in the weeks since the system awakened.

The system provided potential.

Training determined what he could actually do with it.

So he changed clothes, drove to the gym, and spent the next ninety minutes moving through a workout that would have been impossible for him barely two weeks ago.

The weights kept increasing. His body kept adapting.

At some point midway through the session, Stan stopped mentally tracking the progression entirely and simply trained.

The repetition stripped away noise. The steady strain of muscle and controlled exhaustion forced everything else into the background, Vivian, Grayson, the internet, the speculation.

For a while, there was only movement and the thrill of the gym...

Nothing cleared his head quite like that.

He was halfway through his post-workout shower when his phone vibrated with a pending notification.

An automated financial summary. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

He opened it absently.

Then paused.

The Starfall Isle expenditure report had finally processed.

The production company had delayed charging the final balance intentionally, holding the payment in reserve in case any rented equipment returned damaged. Any repair costs would have been added to the total before the transaction finalized.