"Cheers!"
The roar of nearly thirty voices erupted inside the common room, a cacophony of youthful excitement that rattled the windows of the dormitory. Plastic glasses clashed together in a messy symphony of sloshing liquid before the group took a synchronized, deep swig. Satisfied smiles and loud exhales followed as the students settled back into their seats.
The occupants of the room looked remarkably young, and that was because they were. Every person there was a freshman at the university, and they were throwing this impromptu party to celebrate their very first opening day. All across the city, similar scenes were playing out as thousands of students marked the beginning of their higher education.
Earlier that day, the campus had been a hive of activity as newcomers toured the sprawling grounds, eventually meeting their fellow classmates and department peers. For the extroverts in the business department, it had taken very little time to suggest a meet-up. Since nearly all of them were assigned to the same block of dorms, a night of drinking seemed like the natural way to break the ice. They needed to get to know one another; after all, there was a high probability they would be spending the next four years of their lives side-by-side.
"Whoa!" Steve, a young man with thick-rimmed glasses and a friendly face, looked at the person beside him in genuine amazement. "You really can drink, can’t you? You took that whole thing in one gulp. If that were me, I would have thrown up all over the place by now."
"I... I feel sick," Max replied, his voice strained as he clamped a hand over his mouth.
In his previous life, his real body, a light round of drinks like this would have been absolutely no trouble at all. Not only was the old Max a seasoned drinker, but he had developed a high tolerance out of professional necessity. In the corporate and underworld cultures he came from, countless business deals were finalized in KTV parlors, bars, and dimly lit clubs that required an immense amount of social drinking. It was an integral part of the culture. Many leaders believed they could only truly trust a business partner after seeing their "true face," and they firmly believed that face only emerged once the alcohol started flowing. Words spoken in a drunken haze could jeopardize a million-dollar deal, which was why those who could hold their liquor were the ones who survived.
However, he was now painfully aware that this young body of Max had hardly touched a drop of alcohol in its short life. The original Max had been far too busy struggling with the grinds of daily life and survival to ever enjoy a drink, despite technically being over eighteen and graduated from high school. His liver was currently screaming in protest at the sudden influx of cheap dorm-room spirits.
"Alright, listen up!" a man shouted, jumping up onto a central table. He was wearing a bright red jumper and a wide, confident grin. His name was Jono, and he had already established himself as the de facto leader of the floor; he was the one who had organized the gathering and was now acting as the master of ceremonies.
It was a fascinating social dynamic to watch. People generally liked it when someone else stepped up to take charge; it allowed them to switch off their brains, avoid making decisions, and just go along with the flow.
"Let’s have a great night tonight!" Jono yelled, raising his cup. "To the business department!"
"To the business department!" the others cheered in a ragged, drunken unison.
When Max finally managed to retreat from the communal toilets, he felt significantly better. Having purged his stomach, he navigated the crowded room back to where Steve was sitting.
"Hey, I’m going to go out and get some fresh air. I’ll be back in a bit," Max said, waving a hand.
Exiting the common room, the muffled thump of music and the roar of laughter continued behind him. Once outside, Max found himself in a sprawling courtyard surrounded by looming dormitory blocks. They were at June Stone University, a prestigious institution ranked among the top ten universities in the country. The architecture was impressive, with modern dorm buildings that housed multiple departments.
The central area, which the students had already nicknamed "the arena," featured an expansive open space where people could play games or outdoor table tennis. There was even a meticulously kept seating area nestled within a flower garden. Max walked down the stone stairs leading into the oval, circular destination where students usually lounged between classes.
"Hey. You’re actually here."
Max turned his head. A short-haired, muscular man with the build of an athlete was walking toward him. It was a face Max knew very well, though seeing him in this academic setting felt surreal.
"I can’t believe you’re really here, Bo, I mean, Max," Rick said, catching himself before using Max’s underworld title.
Rick had been one of the prominent leaders of the Clapton Alliance, but since being absorbed into the Billion Bloodline group, he had been working across various branches of the business. However, there was one more detail about Rick’s life that most didn’t know: he had applied for university this year. Upon learning this, Max had arranged to meet him here under the cover of night.
"I just didn’t think you would have any interest in university," Rick admitted, looking Max up and down. "I didn’t think you were the type who wanted to study. But look, if you have any issues here or if anyone tries bullying you, just let me know. I can beat them up for you." Rick pounded his fist into the palm of his hand, the sound echoing in the quiet garden.
Max shook his head slightly. Since he was currently undercover, it was vital that he didn’t get into any public altercations himself. He certainly didn’t want Rick getting expelled on his behalf for starting a brawl on campus.
"There are quite a few students here who are technically members of the Billion Bloodline group, so you’re safe," Rick added, trying to be reassuring. "Don’t worry about it too much."
"I’m safe here?" Max chuckled, the sound devoid of any real humor.
If he were truly safe, he wouldn’t have bothered coming to June Stone in the first place. He hadn’t enrolled for the degree or the social life. The sole reason he had chosen this specific university was because of a single individual currently enrolled in the sophomore class: Donto Stern, the son of Randy Stern.