Strangely enough, after twelve noon, Otto was cured right on schedule.
Suddenly his stomach stopped hurting. Though he still felt weak, at least the diarrhea had temporarily ceased.
Outside the suburban villa, a brand-new Audi RS7 was parked before him.
Sherry, his close guard, held his sword and clasped his fists. "Young Master, all arrangements have been made."
Otto straightened up and glanced at the car. "This Young Lord is now maintaining a low profile. To effectively play the loser, I must lower my status and appear as an ordinary good-for-nothing. That way, the eventual reveal will be all the more striking. Change the car—the more low-key, the better."
Sherry froze. "Understood."
A few minutes later.
Otto stared at the vehicle before him, rubbing his chin in deep thought.
"Sherry."
"Young Master."
"Is this the car you found for me?"
"Yes."
Otto was so depressed he wanted to vomit blood.
The thing in front of him—could it even be called a car? It was a tractor!
And not just any tractor—a worn-out diesel one at that.
"This thing...?"
Sherry said, "Young Master, this is a Harvest-brand tractor. Diesel-powered, dynamic, low-key, simple, rustic, and utterly classless—perfect for your needs."
Otto glared at Sherry. "You truly have no sense at all. Get another one."
"There are no others."
"No others? Young Master, time is running short. You have a full schedule ahead—any further delay will ruin your plans."
Otto was half-dead with rage. "Fine! Whatever. It's just a means of transportation."
"Please, Young Master, start the engine yourself!"
"How... how does this thing start?"
"There's a crank handle here. Insert it into the starting hole and shake vigorously until the tractor sputters to life and nearly jumps."
Grimacing, Otto began cranking the hand-start tractor.
Having never operated such a contraption before, he relied purely on brute force, with Sherry shouting instructions beside him:
"Young Master, you must maintain continuous force—no stopping!"
"Young Master, hold on a little longer—it's about to catch!"
"Young Master, your arms need to swing vigorously! Now's the time to go all out—don't hold back!"
"Young Master is truly divine! ...Actually, perhaps I should do it instead."
By the time Otto finally sat on the tractor, he was so exhausted he felt his internal organs might spill from his mouth.
"Where the hell did you dig up this piece of junk?!"
The engine roared so loudly the two could only communicate by shouting.
Sherry yells, "Bought from a farmer for the low price of ninety thousand dollars!"
Otto shouts, "Ninety thousand for this piece of junk?"
Sherry shouts, "Young master, prepare yourself - it's about to rain!"
Otto shouts, "Where's the convertible top switch?"
Sherry yells, "Young master thinks too highly of it - this is a tractor! There's no top, hard or soft!"
Otto is furious, "Then what do we do when it rains?"
Sherry shouts, "Young master, I have an idea!"
"Out with it!"
"Hold up!"
Otto was livid: "Damn, lucky it's just a light drizzle. How far to the city? If it stays light, we'll manage."
No sooner had Otto spoken than thunder cracked overhead, and the rain came pouring down, instantly drenching them both.
Soaked to the bone and chilled by the cold rain, Otto gripped the violently shaking steering wheel as the tractor's vibrations threatened to rearrange his internal organs. His already upset stomach churned worse than ever.
Looking utterly miserable, Otto lamented:
"Shit! My luck's been going downhill since yesterday - I refuse to believe it can get any worse!"
Sherry pleaded, "Young master, don't say such things!"
"Like hell I won't! What could possibly be worse than this?"
"Young master, watch out - there's a cesspool ahead!"
"What?!"
"Young master, Sherry must take his leave first!"
"Shi— GODDAMMIT!"
CRASH!
Otto landed squarely in the cesspool, nauseated beyond belief.
From the safety of solid ground, Sherry called out, "Young master, please exit the pit at once!"
Otto roared, "Help! The damn tractor's pinning my leg down!"
"Young master, the tractor is worthless - abandon it! A man of your stature shouldn't linger in a shit pit! Please reconsider!"
"My leg is TRAPPED! Move it!"
"Young master, I respectfully urge you to leave the pit!"
"The TRACTOR! It's ON MY LEG! MOVE IT! NOW!"
Sherry said awkwardly, "Why didn't you say so?"
"MOVE IT!"
"You might have mentioned that earlier?"
"MOVE IT!"
"Earlier clarification would have been helpful..."
...
Meanwhile, Fyren had been sleeping peacefully.
Upon waking, he began contemplating life.
Surely one couldn't just eat and wait to die, right?
With no escape available now, he'd have to stay and figure out how to handle the coming plot developments.
To cope with such a complicated plot, one had to maintain a good mental outlook, abundant physical energy, and a positive, sunny mindset.
So, hey—enjoying some glory and prosperity was absolutely necessary!
Chloe followed him.
Two attendants pushed open the double doors of the massive walk-in closet.
Damn capitalists—this is the joy of the rich, unimaginable to ordinary folks!
The closet was astonishingly over ten meters deep.
From floor to ceiling on both sides stood exquisite cabinets.
An attendant opened the left section, revealing rows of high-end clothing organized by season, neatly hung and arranged.
The right side contained all manner of luxurious shoes—leather dress shoes, sneakers, casual loafers, beach sandals...
One cabinet displayed hundreds of premium watches, more lavish than a jewelry store's collection.
Another housed various accessories: cufflinks, designer belts, solid gold rings, premium sunglasses...
Fyren took one glance and told Chloe, "Donate all the clothes and shoes."
"All of them?"
"Every last piece."
Fyren continued, "Notify my stylist immediately—starting today, I'm changing my image. No more flashy looks."
"What style are you going for, Fyren?"
"A proper aristocratic aesthetic—the British business elite type. You know, like James Bond? Tailored suits, Italian leather shoes, designer watches, crisp white shirts—that vibe."
"Understood. I'll brief the design team."
"Also, arrange for some new cars."
"What kind of sports car would you like?"
"No sports cars. Just a sedan and an SUV. The business car should be sleek black—high-end but understated. Both vehicles should be low-profile and steady."
"Noted."
"One more thing—find me a villa closer to home. The decor should have artistic sensibility. I don't want to give the impression of being a tasteless spendthrift who flaunts wealth."
"Yes."
Fyren looked complacent: "Arrange it quickly, and implement it as soon as possible."
"Yes."
Zaring laughed from the side: "Young Master Fyren, what are you..."
"Zaring, call me just Fyren from now on. 'Young Master Fyren' is too family-oriented. I'm a businessman now - address me simply as Fyren."
"Yes, Fy...ren."
Zaring appears somewhat reckless, but he's actually sharp-witted and quick-thinking.
Of course, this depends on the situation. While he might not excel at many things, when it comes to flattering Fyren, he's absolutely top-tier.
His defining characteristic is being a loyal lapdog with a brainless style.
Naturally, if he were truly brainless, Fyren would have dismissed him long ago.
Do you think you can be a plutocrat's lapdog without some skills? Would that opportunity even come to you?
With arrangements nearly complete, Fyren said, "Let's return to the group. We're holding a meeting today."
Sitting in the car, champagne in hand, Fyren felt thoroughly refreshed.
The two-million-dollar executive car prioritized comfort, especially in its luxurious boss seat.
Legs crossed, sipping champagne, and admiring the pleasing sight of Chloe across from him - Fyren felt deeply satisfied.
Today's Chloe, following his instructions, wore an extremely short wrap skirt with flesh-toned stockings.
Chloe looked absolutely stunning!
The more you looked, the more captivating she became!
Despite her thick eyebrows and large eyes, she exuded an air of rebellious suffering.
This contrast made her even more temptingly criminal.
It was like... like some actress.
Obviously tall with long legs, sexy yet dignified and elegant. Yet she always resembled a wounded bird, as if actively inviting you to bully her, control her, manipulate her, violate her.
Eliza is demure and elegant, Xena is soulful and lovely, Cora is steady and graceful...
But only Chloe seemed capable of awakening men's primal desire for conquest. This woman made you want to dominate her at every moment, as if not doing so would leave some inner fire unquenched.
She wasn't just seductive - her temperament was uniquely special.
One in a million!
It was a woman's innate charm, a very primitive, purely physical level of soul-stealing attraction.
Fyren made his decision!
"No, I need to distance myself from this woman soon.
[This can't continue - ordinary people couldn't handle this. Besides, I'm not ordinary; I'm her boss. She's accustomed to obeying me - if I decided to bully her, I doubt she'd resist, not even for her mother's sake.
That's exactly what makes this so dangerous.
Many people avoid wrongdoing simply because they lack the ability, opportunity, or courage to commit bad deeds.
The current Fyren, possessing both ability and opportunity, genuinely feared he might one day grow overconfident and cross the line.
At that point, he wouldn't be far from being killed by the protagonist.
Chloe was terrified.
What? After all my hard work, is Fyren still trying to get rid of me?
If you can't handle it... then don't pretend to handle it!
Everyone already knows you're a good person who cares about me deep down. Anyway, I'm your secretary - what happens between boss and secretary... isn't that normal!
Oh god, what am I thinking? I wasn't like this before!
I used to be a proper, decent girl. If I'd wanted to take this step, I would have done it long ago.
What's wrong with me today? How dare I consider seducing my own boss!
Both were lost in their own thoughts.
Suddenly, the car braked sharply.
Fyren had been staring at Chloe when the abrupt stop caused his champagne to spill down her chest.
Shocked, Fyren instinctively reached to wipe it: "Sorry, sorry! How's this guy driving...?"
Chloe froze in fear: "Boss, it's nothing... I... I don't... Boss, don't... boss, you're hateful... no need to pinch, there's no water in my chest..."
Fyren then realized he shouldn't have reached out: "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to... neither the wine nor my hand."
To divert the embarrassment, Fyren shouted angrily: "Zaring, what the hell kind of driving is that?"
Zaring replied: "Fyren, a tractor blocked our way. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."
As Fyren and Chloe busied themselves straightening clothes and apologizing in the backseat,
Zaring stepped out of the car and - hey! - it was no stranger!
Otto!
Zaring marched up to Otto: "Shit! Look who it is! You blind or what? Can't you see our car? Do you have any idea what this car costs? I couldn't pay for the paint scratch even if I sold you!"
Otto looked at Zaring with a cold smile: "Oh, Fyren's lapdog?"
Zaring laughed: "Damn right! At least I know my place!"
Otto froze: "What kind of comeback is that? Have you no shame?"
Zaring was about to retort when - wait, something smelled off!
"Holy shit! What happened to you? Did you fall in a cesspool?"
Otto's mouth twitched: "You moonlight as a fortune teller or something?"
Fyren was in the car, wiping champagne off Chloe's chest... when she looked up and saw the man outside—Holy shit!
Otto! Otto's here!
Get out here!
Meanwhile, Zaring was being an asshole, relentlessly insulting Otto.
Fyren dropped the tissue and handed it to Chloe. "Clean yourself up."
"Fyren, please help me, I'm... huh?"
Fyren pushed the car door open and stepped out, shouting: "Stop! Have mercy on me!"