It was a rough morning for Mark, considering he'd sold his bike yesterday. The distance from his apartment to Conbert High wasn't impossible on foot, but it was humbling. Forty minutes of walking in the cold morning air, watching cars pass him by, arriving at school sweaty and tired like Mark Lidorf used to.
The four kids who were becoming comrades stood near the main gate, watching. Waiting. They'd developed a routine now, gathering each morning to observe the enemy they were slowly uniting against.
"There's our guy," Henry said as Mark entered through the gate, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Where's his bike?" Merrick asked, though they all knew the answer. Had probably known since yesterday evening when word started spreading.
Alex stayed quiet as usual. He never volunteered his opinion first, always letting the others talk while he calculated angles they couldn't see.
"I told you yesterday, didn't I?" Merrick continued, unable to hide his satisfaction. "He sold the bike already. Knew it wouldn't last. Probably ran out of money."
"Told you he'd burn through that cash fast," Henry added quietly, and there was something in his voice. Not quite satisfaction, not quite sadness. Something complicated that came from watching your former best friend crash.
As they spoke, the Spencer brothers rolled in right behind Mark on their cheap motorcycles, engines sputtering and backfiring. They parked near the bike racks, laughing about something, completely oblivious to the drama unfolding around them.
Behind the four comrades, near the senior parking lot, Sherry Braithwaite stood with her friends. She was watching too, but for different reasons.
Mark was still putting on good clothes, still carrying himself with that new confidence, still looking nothing like the invisible nerd from two weeks ago. Without the bike, she figured maybe he'd just borrowed it. Maybe it wasn't his at all. Whatever. He'd changed in ways that mattered more than transportation.
And she loved it. Couldn't stop thinking about it, actually. About him.
It was a new day made for Mark Lidorf. A good Friday. After tonight, after the Viw Auction, he'd be a millionaire. Real money. Sustainable money. The kind of wealth that didn't disappear with one bad decision.
The system countdown glowed in his vision.
[VIW AUCTION - TIME REMAINING: 11:58:37]
But that wasn't the message Mark was focused on right now. His attention was on the text Becky had sent him at 6:47 this morning.
*Library. Before first period. We need to talk. Don't make me come find you.*
He didn't head toward his first period classroom. Didn't follow the normal flow of students toward the main building. Instead, he passed the main block entirely and walked straight to the library, where the morning sun was just starting to stream through the tall windows.
The library was nearly empty this early. A few dedicated students studying for tests, one kid asleep at a table in the corner, the librarian sorting returned books with mechanical efficiency.
And Becky, sitting at a table near the back. She looked up as he approached, and her expression was difficult to read. Not angry, not happy. Just... determined. Like she'd been preparing for this conversation all morning.
"Hey," Mark said, dropping his backpack and sitting across from her.
"Hey." Becky closed her laptop, giving him her full attention. "Today you responded so fast. Usually I have to text you three times."
"Yeah. Wasn't it necessary?" Mark leaned back slightly. Whatever she wanted to discuss with him was important enough to demand an in-person meeting before school even started.
"You know, you're the only person I really trust anymore," she started, her voice quiet but steady.
That was something Mark had cultivated, intentionally or not. He'd made her feel like she mattered, like someone actually saw her instead of just the Moonwell name and money. And now she trusted him completely.
"I've been thinking about..." Becky paused, choosing her words carefully. "About reaching out to my father. Maybe talking to him. Trying to repair things."
Mark felt his eyebrows rise slightly. This was significant. Becky had been legally emancipated, had cut all ties with her family. Going back, even just to talk, meant something.
"Whatever happens with Becky Moonwell and her father reconciling," the system voice chimed in suddenly, "it would be beneficial for your position. Richard Moonwell is a valuable connection, and having his daughter trust you creates leverage. This is optimal."
What about what's good for her? Mark thought back.
"It is for her benefit as well," the system confirmed, almost sounding surprised he'd asked. "Reconciliation with family typically increases emotional stability and resource access. Her father has considerable wealth and influence. She would benefit significantly."
Mark looked at Becky, who was watching him with those honest eyes that expected truth from him. "I feel like my mother really misses me," she continued, seeing that Mark was silent. "And honestly? I miss home too. Not the fighting, not the pressure, but... I miss them. My parents. My room. Having a family, you know?"
"It's okay, Becky," Mark replied, reaching across the table to hold her hands. They were smaller than his, warm. "There's no place like home. And if you're ready to try talking to them again, that's brave. That's growth."
She looked him in the eyes and was silent for a moment, searching his face for something. Maybe she'd already decided and just needed someone to tell her it was okay. That choosing to forgive, to try again, wasn't weakness.
"If you feel like it's the right time," Mark said gently, helping her stand. "Your parents will receive you. Your father especially. I can tell he's been waiting for this."
She stood, and suddenly they were close, closer than they'd been. Mark was taller than her and he could smell her perfume. Something floral and clean that somehow fit her perfectly.
He pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly for a moment. She pressed her face against his chest, and he felt her shoulders relax like she'd been holding tension for weeks.
"Becky has significant affection for you, Mr. Lidorf," the system observed clinically. "This emotional attachment is something I cannot control through normal system parameters. At some point, it may complicate your objectives."
Mark ignored the system and kissed Becky's forehead, a gesture that felt both natural and dangerous. She looked up at him, eyes slightly wider, something unspoken passing between them.
The librarian glanced over from his desk but said nothing. Probably used to seeing students having emotional moments in his domain.
Mark loosened his hold slightly but didn't let go completely. Then, on impulse, he kissed her cheek. Soft. Brief. But deliberate.
"I've got to go," he said quietly, finally releasing her. "But I'll be available any time you call. Any time you need to talk about anything."
"Thank you, Mark," Becky whispered. "For everything."
He grabbed his backpack and left before the moment could get more complicated than it already was. Before he could say something he'd regret or make promises he couldn't keep.
Mark moved through the library quickly, aware that he hadn't expected to build this kind of attachment to Becky Moonwell. Not when he'd first asked for her number as a task.
But the teenage body was demanding in ways Hugo's old body hadn't been. Hormones and heart rate and the way his chest felt tight when she looked at him like he mattered. He had to navigate it carefully, had to feed it without letting it control him.
He stepped into the corridor, and that's when he saw her. May Slevann.
She was at the far end of the hallway near the science wing, books clutched against her chest, talking to another girl Mark didn't recognize.
The morning light through the windows caught her blonde hair, making it almost glow. She wore the standard uniform, but somehow it looked different on her. The skirt showing just enough of her legs, her figure perfect in that effortless way some people had.
She was laughing at something her friend said, and the sound carried down the hallway even though Mark couldn't make out the words.
She turned slightly, adjusting her books, and for a brief moment her eyes swept across the hallway. They passed over Mark without stopping, without recognition, and she turned back to her friend.
She hadn't seen him. Didn't know he existed beyond maybe that one moment on the bus.
"Elevated heart rate detected," the system noted. "Cortisol spike. Dopamine increase. You're experiencing attraction response to May Slevann. This is... stupid."
Shut up.
"I'm simply noting biological data. This reaction is stronger than your response to Becky Moonwell or Sherry Braithwaite. Curious. May Slevann has no wealth, no strategic value, no obvious benefit to your advancement."
I said shut up.
May and her friend disappeared into the science wing, and Mark stood there in the empty corridor feeling like the old Mark Lidorf who'd crushed on girls from a distance and never had the courage to say anything.
"You could approach her." the system suggested."
No. Mark thought.
The bell rang for first period. Mark shook himself out of whatever trance he'd fallen into and headed toward class.
[COUNTDOWN: 11:49:14]
Less than twelve hours until the auction. Until two million dollars. Until he proved he could play at the level where real power lived.