The Pyro''s Martial Artists Ranking glowed on my screen, a digital testament to power in our world. I scrolled through the names, recognizing many from newspapers and whispered rumors.


    Ignazio Bellweather satfortably at number three overall. No surprise there – the man was a legend, an immovable mountain in Veridia City''sndscape of power.


    Further down, younger talents like Dominic Ashworth and Dashiell ckthorne upied respectable positions. Their names brought a bitter taste to my mouth for entirely different reasons.


    Where would I fall if they knew what I was truly capable of? The thought whispered through my mind. Not at the top – not yet – but certainly not invisible anymore.


    "Liam Knight? Is that you?"


    The voice yanked me from my thoughts. I looked up to find a vaguely familiar face watching me with obvious surprise.


    "Cody Ross," the man said, extending his hand. "We were in college together."


    I hesitated before shaking his hand. Cody Ross – the name stirred unwee memories from a time I''d rather forget.


    "Right," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Cody."


    "Man, it''s been what – five years?" His smile seemed genuine enough, though his eyes darted nervously. "Some of our old ssmates are upstairs having dinner. You should join us!"


    Every instinct told me to decline. My college years had been a special kind of hell – a daily gauntlet of humiliation and istion.


    "I''m actually waiting for someone," I lied.


    "Come on, just for a few minutes," Cody insisted. "Everyone will be shocked to see you."


    I wasn''t sure if that was apliment. "Shocked" could mean many things.


    "Who exactly is up there?" I asked, cautioncing my words.


    "Oh, you know. Tristan Monroe, Jordan Lancaster..." Cody''s voice trailed off, and I understood why he seemed nervous now.


    Tristan Monroe. The mere name sent an electric current of old rage through my body. Chief among my tormentors, with Jordan Lancaster as his faithful second.


    "I don''t think that''s a good idea," I said tly.


    Cody leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Look, Tristan''s actually the one who spotted you. He insisted I invite you up. If I go back without you..." He left the implication hanging.


    Some things never change. Cody was still terrified of Tristan, still the eager messenger boy.


    I could walk away. I should walk away. Nothing good coulde from revisiting those rtionships.


    And yet...


    I wasn''t the same person they''d known. The weak, helpless schrship student they''d tormented was gone, reced by someone they couldn''t begin toprehend.


    Perhaps it was time they understood that.


    "Fine," I said, rising from my seat. "Lead the way."


    Cody''s relief was palpable as he guided me to the elevator. "They''ve got a private room on the third floor," he exined. "Company dinner or something."


    The elevator doors slid open, and I followed him down a corridor lined with expensive artwork. The restaurant was clearly high-end – all polished wood and soft lighting.


    Cody pushed open a door, revealing a spacious private dining room. Five men sat around a tableden with half-empty tes and wine sses. <mark ss="in-imprint-a">This chapter first appeared on *.</mark>


    "Look who I found downstairs!" Cody announced with forced enthusiasm.


    Conversation halted as all eyes turned toward me. Recognition dawned slowly, followed by expressions ranging from surprise to thinly veiled contempt.


    Tristan Monroe sat at the head of the table, naturally. Some things really never do change.


    "Well, well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Liam Knight. The ghost returns."


    I remained in the doorway, letting my gaze travel deliberately from face to face. None of them had changed much physically – perhaps a little heavier, a little more polished in their expensive suits.


    "Tristan," I acknowledged with a slight nod. "It''s been a while."


    "Sit down," hemanded, gesturing to an empty chair. "We were just discussing old times."


    I doubted that very much, but I took the offered seat. The others introduced themselves unnecessarily – I remembered each one all too well.


    "So," Tristan began, refilling his wine ss without offering me any, "what have you been up to since you disappeared? Last I heard, you''d married into some family in Havenwood."


    The question was loaded, designed to establish hierarchy immediately. My response would set the tone.


    "I''ve been keeping busy," I said mildly.


    "Doing what exactly?" Jordan Lancaster asked, his tone suggesting genuine curiosity mixed with condescension.


    I smiled slightly. "Consulting, mostly."


    "Consulting," Tristan repeated with a smirk. "Fancy word for unemployed, isn''t it?"


    Laughter rippled around the table. Old patterns reasserting themselves.


    "What about you all?" I asked, ignoring the jab. "I see you''re still traveling in a pack."


    Tristan''s eyes narrowed slightly. "We''re all in elite management now. Differentpanies, but same circle."


    "Elite management," I repeated. "Impressive."


    "It is, actually," Jordan said. "Tristan''s regional director at ckthorne Enterprises. I''m handling special projects for Lancaster Holdings."


    The others chimed in with simrly inted titles, each trying to outdo thest. I listened, noting the desperate edge in their voices – the need for validation so transparent it was almost painful to witness.


    "And what exactly does consulting entail in your case, Liam?" Tristan asked, steering the conversation back to me. "Giving advice nobody asked for?"


    Moreughter, more familiar patterns.


    I studied him thoughtfully. The same smug smile. The same calcted cruelty in his eyes. Yet somehow, he seemed smaller than I remembered.


    "You know what''s funny?" I said quietly. "I forgot you existed until today."


    The table fell silent.


    "Excuse me?" Tristan''s smile froze.


    "All of you," I continued, gesturing around the table. "You were such massive figures in my life once. Now? I can''t remember thest time I thought about any of you."


    Tristan''s jaw tightened. "And yet here you are, sitting at our table."


    "Curiosity," I admitted. "I wanted to see if you''d changed."


    "And have we?" Jordan asked, sounding genuinely interested.


    "No," I said simply. "You haven''t."


    Tristanughed, but it sounded forced. "Still the same self-righteous asshole, I see. Some things never change."


    "What exactly do you do in ''elite management''?" I asked, making air quotes with my fingers. "Because from what I''m hearing, it sounds like professional bootlicking."


    The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Tristan''s face darkened dangerously.


    "You know," he said slowly, "I almost forgot how much I disliked you, Knight. Thanks for the reminder."


    "The feeling''s mutual," I replied calmly.


    "You still haven''t told us what you actually do," Jordan pressed, clearly trying to defuse the tension.


    I leaned back, regarding them all with newfound rity. These men had loomed sorge in my nightmares once. Now they seemed almost pitiable – clinging to corporate titles and borrowed authority.


    "What do I do?" I repeated softly. "I''m your daddy."


    The words hung in the air like a thunderp. Cody choked on his drink. Jordan''s eyes widened toical proportions.


    Tristan''s face flushed red. "You think you''re so fucking clever now, don''t you?" His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You didn''t get enough of a beating back in college, huh?"