Chapter 81: Reconnect

The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn, illuminating the priceless painting of LeVaron, a masterpiece worth 7 million dollars, hanging on the wall.

A moment passed before the young man's gaze fell upon it, his dark circles and short hair a testament to his restless night.

He glanced at the clock, its ticking a reminder that it was already 6 a.m. He began his morning routine, the sound of running water filling the air as he brushed his teeth and took a refreshing bath.

The water cascaded down his back, washing away the remnants of sleep. He stepped out of the bathroom, wrapping himself in a towel, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of disinterest and habit.

He dressed in a casual shirt and jeans, his movements economical and precise. He grabbed his bag and packed some books from the shelf, his fingers tracing the spines with a familiarity that spoke of countless hours spent reading.

In the kitchen, a note awaited him, a small amount of money and a message scrawled in a familiar hand: "Take this money and buy some food - Mom."

A pause, then his eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the note before he pocketed the money with a quiet sigh. His eyes seemed to darken, like the shadows cast by the morning light.

He walked out of the house, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The Mercedes car gleamed in the morning light, its engine purring to life as he started it.

A brief moment passed before he navigated the streets, the buildings and skyscrapers rising like giants around him. The sounds of the city awakening filled the air - car horns, chatter, and the wail of sirens in the distance.

As he turned a corner, he came upon an accident scene. People milled about, their faces a blur of indifference and curiosity.

But one figure caught his attention - a man lying on the ground, blood seeping from his wounds. The young man's eyes locked onto the injured person, his expression unreadable.

He stopped the car and got out, his movements swift and decisive. He knelt beside the injured man, his hands moving with a quiet confidence.

"It's okay, don't worry," the injured man whispered, his smile weak but genuine. Despite the pain, he coughed, his eyes clouding with a mix of gratitude and concern.

As he drove to the nearest hospital with the injured man, a glimmer of emotion flickered in his eyes. After ensuring the man received medical attention, he headed to school, his final year of high school. The school's imposing structure, with its unique and majestic old architecture, loomed before him. The massive gate, operated by hydraulic pressure, swung open, allowing him to enter.

Inside, he was surrounded by other cars, but none compared to his Mercedes. This school was exclusive, catering only to highly talented students. He wasn't one of them; his presence was solely due to his parents' wealth and influence. His mother, a politician, and his father, a successful businessman, had paid handsomely for his spot. Yet, they ignored him, only acknowledging him when he needed money.

As he stepped out of his car, he couldn't help but feel like an outcast. In this school, he was the weakest link, struggling in both academics and extracurricular activities. He felt like an imposter, only tolerated because of his family's wealth and status.

As he ventured deeper, he pondered the purpose of his life. Others coveted wealth, but what was his aim? He thought about it excessively, his mind consumed by the question. He wasn't worried about his future, but rather how to make a meaningful existence. It felt like having everything yet nothing, an empty life. His thoughts were like wisps of hair turning white.

He entered a room with a door slightly taller than him. A teacher stood before him, glanced at him briefly, then turned away, continuing with their work. He felt like no one cared who he was, and from that moment, he felt invisible.

As he entered the classroom, it reminded him of a university theater - vast and imposing. He took a seat beside a girl, who called out to him, "Hey, ****! ****!" The girl's voice broke his reverie, but he remained lost in thought.

He gazed at her, his eyes revealing a hint of emotion, and said, "Lisa, good morning." She looked at him, her laughter illuminating her face, and replied, "It's already afternoon." Her piercing blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in the light, and her blonde hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall. Her pale skin seemed almost ethereal, as if she were a delicate porcelain doll.

As he looked at her, memories flooded his mind. He recalled Elisa Gregor, the girl with the striking features, and how she had been nicknamed Lisa by those close to her. He remembered her from his childhood, a memory that stood out in particular.

He was 13, and Lisa, with her ethereal beauty, approached him. He looked up at her, and she said, "Lisa, why are you doing this?" She replied, "It's okay, come on." He looked down, and she held an injured bird in her hands. She said, "See, this, it's suffering. When I see this, I feel sad." She began to cry, but then, her actions took a dark turn.

Lisa's fingers dug into the bird's wound, her nails tearing through the skin like tiny scalpels. She pulled back the flesh, exposing the bird's quivering muscles, its tiny heart beating wildly as it struggled to free itself. Jack's eyes widened in horror as he watched her probe

the wound, her touch both delicate and brutal.