Rick stared at the glowing blue text floating in his vision.
[Occupation Confirmed: Chef]
Before he could even process what kind of chef he had become, a rapid barrage of new, golden notifications exploded across the system interface.
[Ding! Full Job class experience activated. A new class will be activated once you complete the current job class.]
[Completing the built-in mission in the system will allow you to receive the ultimate reward!]
[Experience class: Hotel Chef!]
[Please receive the Chef Registration Gift Pack:]
[$500,000!]
[50% controlling stake of Peninsula Hotel!]
[A pair of Shadow-Forged Cleavers!]
[Class completion: 0% (With every 10% completion, you will receive additional 5% controlling stakes in Peninsula hotel). If you reach 100%, you will receive a mysterious gift, and a new Occupation.]
Rick's jaw literally dropped.
"Fifty percent controlling stake? Of the Peninsula Hotel?" Rick muttered out loud, his voice full of absolute disbelief.
The Peninsula was a legendary five-star, ultra-luxury hotel in the heart of the city. It catered exclusively to celebrities, billionaires, high ranking officials and politicians. It was an absolute goldmine of wealth and influence.
And the God of Mischief had just handed him half of it on a silver platter?!
He immediately checked his digital Inventory, and his cash balance had spiked massively as well.
And right next to the neat stack of money sat a sleek, dark icon representing his new tools.
He withdrew the knives from the inventory and a heavy, black leather roll dropped directly into his hands out of thin air.
Rick unrolled it on his messy bed and two breathtakingly beautiful knives appeared in sight. They were pitch-black, Damascus steel blades that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room.
[Shadow-Forged Cleavers: Never dulls, never rusts. Enhances the user's cutting speed and precision by 200%.]
"Are they only good for chopping pigs?" Rick smirked, gripping the bone handles of the knife, and the felt like a natural extensions of his own arms.
Rick wanted to test out the knives and his new skills by making something for him, but he still needed to wash up and get rid of the smell of hospital sheets, the expensive whisky and sweet smell of the sweat and sex.
After that he had a hotel to lay his claim on.
He quickly stripped off his boxers and stepped into the cramped, rusty shower of his cheap apartment. It was maybe his last shower in this place.
After his shower hew dressed up in some casual clothes, and now it was time for him to take care of his grumbling stomach.
He walked into his tiny, pathetic kitchen, and opened the fridge and sighed. He only had three eggs, half a stick of butter, and two slices of stale bread.
But as soon as his fingers brushed the eggs, his new 'Culinary Mastery' skill kicked in.
His hands moved on pure, world-class instinct. He didn't even have to think, as within 5 minutes, he quickly whipped up a flawless French omelette with perfectly toasted, butter-basted bread.
And when he finally sat down at his small table and took a bite, the flavour absolutely exploded in his mouth.
It was rich, creamy, and entirely mind-blowing, and immediately after swallowing the first bite, he felt a slight wave of heat rushed straight to his stomach, elevating his mood instantly and making his body hum with energy.
"I can make a fortune selling this alone," Rick looked at his omelette which was his fortune making cookie.
By the time he finished eating and washing his plate, he checked the clock on the wall. It was already past noon.
"I should give Elena a call," Rick thought but as soon as he patted his pockets, his phone wasn't there.
His old, shattered mobile had been completely destroyed by the truck last night.
"I was going to change it anyway," He grabbed his apartment keys and walked to the front door.
But just as he unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, Emily was standing right there on his dirty welcome mat, her fist raised, just about to knock.
She looked slightly better than she did hours ago.
She had washed off the ruined makeup and changed out of the stained red dress into a simple sweater and tight jeans. But her eyes were still puffy, and she looked incredibly nervous.
"Rick," Emily started, her voice trembling slightly. She looked up at him with those big, manipulative puppy eyes, "I... I got an email from the college."
Rick leaned casually against the doorframe, looking at her with blank, dead eyes, "What is it?"
"They are organising a union party for our batch students today," Emily said, biting her lip, trying to gauge his reaction, "Everyone is going tonight. I... I thought we could go together. Like if you are okay with it.."
"I am not going," Rick stated bluntly without hesitation, and pushed right past her, stepping into the hallway.
"Wait, Rick! Why not?" Emily called out, spinning around in panic.
But Rick didn't look back, as he walked straight towards the stairs, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, completely ignoring her existence entirely.
"Why?!" Emily looked at Rick's disappearing figure and with teary eyes tried to understand what had happened to Rick? Her Rick?!
Half an hour later, Rick walked into a high-end tech boutique in the city's wealthy commercial district.
The store was sleek, bright, and filled with gadgets which would have been out of his reach normally.
He walked straight to the counter where a snobby sales assistant in a tight blue shirt looked at Rick's casual clothes with mild disdain.
"Can I help you?" the assistant asked in a bored tone.
Rick walked straight up to the premium glass display case. "Give me your best phone."
The assistant raised a condescending eyebrow. "That would be the AeroFold Pro X. It features dual-screen folding technology, military-grade encryption, and a solid titanium frame. But it retails for three thousand dollars."
"I don't think you can..."
"I will take it," Rick said flatly. He was in no mood for a face slapping
He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick, banded stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills straight from his digital Inventory.
He slapped thirty bills onto the glass counter with a heavy thud.
The assistant's eyes bulged out of his head. His snobby attitude vanished instantly, replaced by sheer panic and submissive respect. "Right away, sir!"
"Better!"
~~~~~
Meanwhile, several miles away, absolute chaos had erupted in the top-floor boardroom of the Peninsula Hotel.
The ten wealthy executives sitting around the massive oak table were sweating profusely.
The Chairman of the Board, an old man named Dolund Thrump, slammed a thick stack of legal documents onto the table.
"Can someone please explain this absolute bullshit to me?!" Dolund roared, his face turning dark red with fury, "How the hell does half of my hotel suddenly belong to a ghost?"
A nervous, balding corporate lawyer adjusted his glasses with shaking hands, "Sir, the transfers are entirely legitimate. They cleared the international holding accounts just an hour ago. Fifty percent of the Peninsula Hotel's controlling stakes now officially belong to an entity named Rick Smith."
"Who the fuck is Rick Smith?" Dolund demanded, slamming his fist hard on the polished wood. "Is it a shell corporation? A rival syndicate? Did the cartel do this?"
"We... we don't know, sir," the Chief Financial Officer stammered, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief, "He has no corporate footprint. No background. No linked bank accounts. He just acquired half a billion dollars in assets out of thin air."
The boardroom fell into a terrified, heavy silence.
These men and women were the most powerful business leaders in the city, but they had just been entirely outplayed by an invisible force.
"If this man controls fifty percent, he can veto any board decision," the lawyer whispered, looking around the table, "He essentially owns us. We are at his absolute mercy."
Dolund gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the table.
"Find him. I want a full background check by the end of the day. I want to know where he sleeps, who he associates with, and what he wants."
"And what do we do when he finally shows up here?" a female executive asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Dolund took a deep breath, fixing his expensive silk tie.
"We make sure he listens to us," Dolund said grimly, his eyes scanning the terrified faces of his board.
"Or we hire a gun to make him understand that we mean business."