Twenty-five minutes later, Charles and Don stood in the student parking lot of Santos Hero University.
You'd think the lot belonged to a tech mogul convention — rows of pristine sports cars lined up like a mechanical fashion show. Lamborghinis, McLarens, a limited-run Koenigsegg.
A few armored SUVs that probably had more horsepower than common sense. It all tracked. Most Category A students had at least one sponsor sniffing around.
Some pushed cosmetic brands. Some played the social media circus. A few even hawked protein powder with their faces on the tubs.
If you were smart, it meant six figures before graduation.
If you were ambitious, it was just a stepping stone to the real money. League-level. Global contracts. The kind of money that made lawsuits a minor inconvenience.
Don didn't stare. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, flanked by polished chrome and overpriced paint jobs.
