Rebirth Of The Tycoon: I Shall Dominate The World

The moment Edward mentioned the third test, I could feel the tension in the room shift. Gabriel and Victor, still nursing their bruised egos from my earlier victory, exchanged uneasy glances. Even Edward's usual smirk turned sharper, colder.

"This next test will be your greatest challenge yet," Edward said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of warning. "You'll face my best lieutenant, a man who's never been defeated. If you survive this, I'll consider you more than worthy of my alliance."

He stepped aside, and from the shadows of the training hall emerged a figure that exuded an aura of pure menace.

"William, meet Donovan," Edward announced.

Donovan was a towering man, at least six-foot-five, with a physique carved from years of brutal combat. His short-cropped hair and sharp features gave him the appearance of a seasoned soldier. But it was his eyes—cold, calculating, and almost predatory—that unnerved me the most.

"He's not just strong," Edward continued, a flicker of pride in his tone. "Donovan has an uncanny ability to predict his opponents' every move. He'll see through your strategies before you've even thought of them."

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Sounds like fun."

Edward chuckled. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't help you here."

The hall was cleared, leaving just Donovan and me in the center. He didn't waste time with introductions or taunts. Instead, he simply raised his fists and waited.

The man was calm, unnervingly so. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto me, as if he was already dissecting my every move.

"Whenever you're ready," Donovan said, his voice low and even.

I started with a feint, throwing a quick jab to test his reflexes. Without moving his feet, Donovan leaned just enough to let my punch graze past him.

"You'll have to do better than that," he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

I stepped back, recalibrating. He was fast, yes, but it wasn't just speed. It was the way he moved—minimal effort, maximum efficiency. Every motion was deliberate, calculated.

This wasn't going to be a fight of brute strength or flashy techniques. This was a chess match, and I had to think several moves ahead if I wanted to win.

Donovan struck first. A swift kick aimed at my ribs forced me to block, but the impact rattled my arms. Before I could recover, he was already pivoting, his elbow coming down toward my shoulder.

I rolled out of the way, barely avoiding the blow, but Donovan didn't let up. He pressed forward, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next. It was like trying to fend off a storm.

I dodged and parried as best as I could, but his attacks weren't random. He was testing me, analyzing my reactions, figuring out my patterns.

And I realized that was his weakness.

Donovan relied on his ability to predict his opponents, to stay one step ahead. But if I could disrupt his rhythm, force him into situations where he couldn't anticipate my moves, I might stand a chance.

I switched up my tactics, moving unpredictably. I faked a retreat, only to lunge forward with a low sweep. Donovan avoided it easily, but I noticed a flicker of hesitation in his movements.

Good.

I pressed the advantage, mixing quick jabs with sudden feints, never letting him settle into a rhythm. For every move he countered, I had another waiting.

But Donovan was relentless. Even as I disrupted his flow, he adapted, his strikes becoming sharper, more precise. A well-placed kick caught me in the side, sending me sprawling.

"You're clever," Donovan said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But cleverness won't save you."

I gritted my teeth, pushing myself up. "We'll see about that."

I needed to take this fight to a level he couldn't predict. Reaching into the lessons from my previous life, I remembered a tactic I'd used during a high-stakes corporate negotiation: bait and misdirection.

I deliberately left an opening, letting Donovan see an apparent weakness in my stance. As expected, he took the bait, aiming a punch at my exposed side.

But I was ready. At the last second, I twisted, using his momentum against him. My elbow connected with his jaw, a solid hit that forced him to stagger back.

Donovan's expression shifted, a flicker of surprise breaking through his calm exterior.

"Not bad," he admitted, wiping a small trickle of blood from his lip.

I didn't let up. Using the same strategy, I lured him into overcommitting, exploiting the openings he left in his counters. Each strike landed with precision, chipping away at his defenses.

Donovan was skilled, but even he had limits. His movements grew slightly slower, his attacks less precise.

I feinted another opening, this time drawing him into a full charge. As he closed in, I sidestepped, grabbing his arm and using his own momentum to throw him to the ground.

Before he could recover, I pressed my knee into his chest, pinning him down.

"Checkmate," I said, panting.

Donovan stared up at me, his cold eyes narrowing. Then, to my surprise, he smiled.

"Well played," he said.

I stood, offering Donovan a hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking it, pulling himself up.

Edward clapped from the balcony, his laughter echoing through the hall. "Impressive, William. You not only outthought him—you forced him to acknowledge it. That's no small feat."

I looked up at Edward, still catching my breath. "So, did I pass?"

Edward's grin widened. "You passed. Welcome to the family."

As I stood there, adrenaline still coursing through me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The Syndicate was still a looming threat, but with Edward and his resources on my side, I was one step closer to taking them down.

The tension in the air was suffocating as Edward and I stood face to face in the training hall. He unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside to reveal a body chiseled by decades of combat. Scars crisscrossed his chest and arms, each one telling a story of survival and conquest. His most prominent scar—a deep slash beneath his chin—seemed to add to his commanding presence.

"You've impressed me so far, boy," Edward said, his voice calm yet sharp like a blade. "But if you want my loyalty, you'll have to earn it. Beat me, and I'll consider us allies."

I took a deep breath, keeping my nerves in check. Removing my own shirt, I revealed a lean, defined physique—one honed from the discipline of my previous life. Yes I did some muscle-building training during the summer vacation.

Edward raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Not bad for a 15-year-old. Let's see if that body of yours can take a beating."

The system in my mind flared to life:

Hidden Mission Activated: "Overthrow the King"

Objective: Defeat Edward Olani in a one-on-one combat.

Reward: +20 Strength, +15 Agility, Edward's unwavering loyalty, and ???

I nodded, ready for what was to come. "Let's do this."

Edward wasted no time, launching at me with a speed that defied his age. His first punch came like a freight train. I managed to sidestep just in time, but he immediately followed up with a brutal hook that connected with my ribs.

The pain was instant and sharp, forcing me to stumble back. I gasped for air, but Edward didn't let up. He came at me again, his fists like battering rams.

"You're quick," Edward said, his tone almost amused. "But let's see how long you last."

I ducked under his next swing and countered with a sharp jab to his ribs. The blow landed cleanly, but Edward barely flinched. Instead, he grabbed my arm and twisted, throwing me to the ground like I weighed nothing.

I hit the floor hard, my vision blurring for a moment.

"You'll have to do better than that," Edward said, towering over me.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to my feet despite the throbbing pain in my side. "This isn't over," I said, my voice steady despite my labored breathing.

Edward chuckled, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Good. Show me what you're made of."

The next exchange was a blur of movement. I weaved in and out of his strikes, landing quick hits whenever I saw an opening. But Edward's endurance was monstrous—every blow I landed seemed to only fuel his aggression.

A powerful kick to his left side finally made him stagger, but just as I pressed my advantage, Edward spun around with a backfist that caught me across the jaw.

The impact sent me crashing to the floor again. My vision swam as I struggled to get my bearings.

"Stay down," Edward said, his voice firm. "You've proven enough."

I spat blood onto the floor, shaking my head. "Not a chance."

I rose to my feet, my body screaming in protest. This wasn't just a test of strength—it was a battle of wills.

I began studying Edward more closely, noting the way his movements shifted slightly before each strike. He favored his right hand for heavy punches, leaving his left side vulnerable.

Feinting a punch to his right, I quickly shifted and aimed a powerful kick at his exposed left side. The blow landed cleanly, making Edward grunt in pain.

"You're learning," he admitted, his tone almost approving.

I didn't reply, pressing my advantage with a flurry of strikes. Edward blocked most of them, but I could see the wear beginning to show.

Just as I thought I was gaining the upper hand, Edward suddenly surged forward with a powerful shoulder tackle. I couldn't react in time, and the force of the impact sent me sprawling across the floor.

My back hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of my lungs. Edward stood over me, his expression unreadable.

"You've got heart, boy," he said. "But heart alone won't win this fight."

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to rise once more. Every muscle in my body screamed in agony, but I refused to stay down.

"I don't need just heart," I said, meeting his gaze. "I've got brains too."

I shifted my strategy, baiting Edward into overcommitting. I left small openings that lured him into attacks, then countered with precise strikes to his weak points.

Finally, I saw my opportunity. As Edward lunged with a heavy punch, I sidestepped and grabbed his arm, using his momentum to flip him onto the ground.

Before he could recover, I pressed my knee into his chest and pinned him.

"Checkmate," I said, panting.

Edward lay still for a moment, then burst into laughter—a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the hall.

"Incredible," he said, pushing me off and sitting up. "You've got guts, brains, and skill. I haven't been pushed like that in years."

He stood, towering over me, but there was no malice in his gaze anymore. Instead, there was respect.

"You've earned my alliance," Edward declared, extending a hand. "From this moment on, my resources are at your disposal. Let's take down the Syndicate together."

I shook his hand, feeling a surge of relief and satisfaction.

"And one more thing," Edward added, smirking. "For a 15-year-old, you're terrifyingly ambitious. You remind me of myself at your age. Just don't let that ambition consume you."

I nodded, his words sinking in. The road ahead was still long and dangerous, but with Edward on my side, I finally had the means to fight back.