From Bullets To Billions Chapter 655: A Compulsory Event (Part 1)

Before heading to his scheduled lectures for the day, Max decided to make a detour toward the campus facilities where the Wushu club was slated to meet. Following his unsettling encounter with Dud, the wheels in Max’s mind began to turn at an unprecedented speed. He understood that a man as unpredictable and vindictive as Dud wouldn’t have materialized without a meticulously conceived plan.

In the nascent stages, the Billion Bloodline group operated with the advantage of remaining in obscurity. Their ability to achieve the impossible stemmed from their novelty; the element of surprise was their most potent weapon, catching established powers completely off guard. However, those days had long since passed. Now, their exploits were the subject of discussion throughout the Underworld, a group that had ascended to syndicate-level status with astonishing rapidity, dismantling formidable entities like the Black Hounds and the Gilt Rats. Max was acutely aware that notoriety inevitably attracted scrutiny, and scrutiny, in turn, attracted adversaries.

Regrettably, upon reaching the club room, Max realized he had committed a novice error. The doors were secured, and a posted schedule indicated that club activities did not commence until the late afternoon.

'Blast it. I truly haven't been dedicating sufficient attention to the ordinary aspects of student life,' Max mused, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. 'Naturally, the clubs convene only after the day's classes have concluded. I'm still operating under the mindset of someone who dictates their own schedule, not a freshman.'

Another reason for his excursion to this particular area of the campus was its location at the epicenter of the sports department. He had harbored a hope of observing Donto Stern in his native environment, perhaps within the training fields or the gymnasium. Yet, the area was notably deserted, save for a handful of students en route to early laboratory sessions.

Recognizing the futility of his current course, Max redirected himself toward the primary academic building. He found himself proceeding down the corridor towards his business lecture, running notably behind schedule. As he navigated a turn, he nearly came into a collision with a man clad in a vibrant red athletic shirt and a complete soccer uniform.

The individual possessed a robust physique, featuring powerful leg muscles honed through years on the pitch. Despite his hair being tightly secured in a ponytail, he exuded a rugged demeanor, appearing less like an academic and more akin to a hardened delinquent with a knack for sports.

"Hmm, looks like we have a late one," the man remarked, halting mid-hallway to obstruct Max’s passage. He appraised Max with a condescending smirk. "I figured all of you in the business department were meant to be impeccable role models. Always punctual, always suited up."

Max restrained himself, the ingrained impulse to retort with a sharp "Who the hell are you?" simmering beneath the surface. He quickly suppressed it. Given the man's attire, the probability of him being associated with Donto's soccer team was high. Engaging in a petty hallway confrontation at this juncture would only jeopardize his clandestine objective.

"Whatever, I'm not your professor," the man stated, making a dismissive gesture with his hand as he resumed walking. "Just have the others pass on the news, and I'll see you tonight."

Max observed his departure, a dubious glint in his eyes. 'That was peculiar. What business did someone from the sports department have in the business wing? Was he visiting a girlfriend, or perhaps delivering a message?'

He also contemplated the man's potential seniority. If he were a senior, he would almost certainly possess a direct link to Donto. For a fleeting instant, Max's ingrained habits resurfaced. 'Perhaps I should have subtly subdued him in a stairwell and extracted information. I could have managed it in a manner that ensured his silence thereafter.'

Upon finally entering the classroom, the lecture had already commenced in full earnest. With everyone engrossed in their work or note-taking, he moved discreetly to his seat and retrieved his academic materials. In reality, Max dedicated minimal attention to the professor's discourse. His thoughts were consumed by the intricate logistical challenges of restructuring a syndicate.

Initially, he had believed these academic courses might prove beneficial in the development of the Stern family enterprises, which he was now technically managing. However, the introductory curriculum proved distressingly elementary. The majority consisted of theoretical concepts he had already assimilated through practical, hard-won experience. Eschewing the lecture's content, he began to chart strategies for maximizing the profit margins within the recently assimilated Gilt Rat territories.

'A comprehensive evaluation of the organization is necessary soon,' Max considered, his pen agilely navigating the notebook's margins. 'We've incorporated numerous new members from the Black Hounds and the Gilt Rats following the conflict. Their compensation structures must be adjusted to foster a sense of belonging, yet we cannot simply distribute funds without purpose.'

A plan began to form in his mind: he would instruct Wolf to assess candidates collectively. Meeting the technical criteria for a B-rank fighter wasn't the sole focus. Instead, it was about their comparative performance within the Billion Bloodline collective. Establishing a fiercely competitive internal environment was paramount.

"Hey."

A gentle voice from his side interrupted his thoughts. Max swiveled his head, finding Talia and Yovan standing near his desk, a hint of hesitation in their demeanor.

"I wanted to express my gratitude for returning my ID earlier," Talia conveyed, her voice laced with sincerity. "I truly would have faced considerable trouble without it. And… my companion here…"

"I can handle my own words, Talia," Yovan interjected, though her aggressive stance from the hallway had significantly softened. She met Max's gaze, her posture ramrod straight. "I owe you an apology for mistaking you for a stalker. It was a simple misunderstanding. That settles it, then. We're now even."

Max offered a single nod, accepting the apology without much ado. "It's alright."

"Oh, one more thing," Yovan added, her tone growing more serious. "Some upperclassmen visited our dorms earlier. Apparently, a substantial event is being arranged between the senior and freshman classes – a large, mandatory gathering. They informed us that attendance is compulsory for everyone."

"Mandatory?" Max questioned, his brow arching. "University life typically doesn't involve mandatory events. We are all adults. If attendance isn't desired, no one should be compelled to go."

The two women exchanged a nervous glance. Max, noticing this, felt an immediate prickle of intuition. Could the soccer player he'd encountered in the hallway have been the messenger of this so-called "invitation"? Had he perhaps issued a threat?

At that precise moment, within the locker rooms of the sports department, the very man Max had passed in the corridor was entering a clandestine meeting of the campus's elite. Leaders from the senior year across various faculties were assembled, their expressions grave.

Dominating the center of the room was an individual who held everyone's rapt attention. He stood a head taller than most, exuding a polished, athletic grace that subtly concealed a chilling, calculating intensity.

"Alright, has the news about tonight's grand assembly been disseminated to everyone?" Donto Stern inquired, his voice resonating with a smooth, authoritative quality.

"Yes, sir!" the assembled students responded in near-perfect unison, their deference to him verging on reverence.

"Excellent," Donto affirmed, a slow, dark smile unfurling across his features. "We must ensure every single freshman is present. Not one individual should be unaccounted for. You all comprehend this, correct? This is an exceptionally significant occasion."