Ryan Vale slowly opened his eyes, the ceiling of his bedroom swimming into focus. The dream had dissolved, replaced by the familiar emptiness of reality.
"And the struggle continues…"
he muttered, voice low, lazy and tinged with annoyance. The dream had ended too soon, leaving him with the same restless dissatisfaction.
He swung his legs off the bed and rose, his bare body catching the faint morning light that spilled through the curtains. Without hesitation, he walked toward the bathroom.
The hiss of the shower soon filled the silence, steam clouding the glass walls. Ryan stood beneath the stream of hot water, letting it wash over him, though it did little to cleanse the heaviness in his chest.
'Today is the press conference. This day is going to be a long one.'
When he finally returned, droplets still clinging to his black hair, he wore only a bathrobe loosely tied around his waist. The fabric parted slightly at his chest, revealing lean, defined muscles. It was not the body of a man who lived in the gym, but of someone gifted with effortless genetics. Ryan rarely exercised more than once or twice a week, yet his physique carried the sharpness of discipline — a natural balance of strength and elegance.
"Menvi, tell me about today's meetings and the rest of my schedule,"
Ryan said as he adjusted the bathrobe around his shoulders. His voice echoed faintly in the spacious house, though nobody stood nearby.
"Sir, today you must attend the press conference first," the flawless mechanical voice of his artificial assistant replied, calm and precise. "There are also two meetings scheduled afterward, both essential to closing pending deals. And lastly, you have a date invitation again from—"
"I know that," Ryan interrupted, his tone sharp but not raised. "Leave that request unanswered."
"Understood," Menvi said, falling silent.
Ryan smirked faintly at the thought. 'At least machines don't nag. Humans never know when to stop.'
He stepped into his walk-in wardrobe, a gallery of custom-tailored suits and polished shoes lined in order. Today called for more than formality; it demanded presence. After a moment's thought, he pulled a crisp white suit and layered it over a sleek black shirt. The contrast was sharp, deliberate, and intimidating. A luxury belt cinched his trousers, and the finishing touch — his wristwatch, worth more than most people's yearly salaries — gleamed on his wrist.
Ryan studied his reflection in the mirror. The black and white ensemble radiated calm authority, a man untouchable in both wealth and confidence.
By the time he stepped outside, the engine of his luxury car purred to life. The city rolled past in streaks of glass towers and restless traffic as he drove toward the conference venue.
Halfway there, his phone rang. Without taking his eyes off the road, he pressed the receiver.
"Mr. Frank," Ryan greeted smoothly, a hint of humor coloring his voice, "how are you?"
"How are you always so relaxed, Mr. Vale?" The man on the other end sounded tense, almost desperate. "And on top of that, you're joking? This press conference is critical for my business."
Ryan chuckled softly, the sound calm and controlled. "I'm not your enemy, Mr. Frank, am I? Everything will be fine. After all, I'm handling it. And let's not forget—you've already paid an advance on my fees."
There was silence for a moment, then a long exhale. Mr. Frank's voice returned, steadier this time. "Okay. I believe you. If the best accountant is on the job, then there's no need to worry."
The line disconnected, leaving only the quiet hum of the car. Ryan's lips curved faintly. He didn't need reassurance. He was the reassurance.
On the other side of the city, the press conference was already in motion. Rows of cameras flashed against the polished stage lights, their glare reflecting off the table where Mr. Frank and his business partners sat stiffly. A dozen microphones lined the desk in front of them, wires tangled like restless serpents.
Mr. Frank's hand clenched beneath the table, hidden from sight. His chest felt tight, his throat dry. 'Oh God, be with me today, at least for today…' He had poured millions into this gamble, investing not only in new ventures but also into the man who was supposed to change his company's fate. If Ryan Vale failed, Frank's company would sink — and his reputation along with it.
The crowd buzzed. Reporters whispered among themselves, voices barely contained behind excited murmurs.
"Do you know, they really hired Ryan Vale!" one journalist said, eyes wide with respect.
"Hiring the God of Digits must've cost them far beyond their budget," another replied, disbelief etched in his tone.
All around the hall, the same phrase passed from mouth to mouth: The God of Digits.
What made this conference special wasn't Frank, nor his company's shaky future. It was one man.
Suddenly, the hum of conversation shifted. Heads turned as the unmistakable sound of an engine roared outside. A sleek, black luxury car glided to a stop at the entrance. Cameras swung immediately toward it, their lenses trained like predators awaiting their prey.
The car door opened, and Ryan Vale stepped out.
He wore the white suit and black shirt with effortless elegance, the morning sunlight striking his frame as though the day itself bent to spotlight him. A small unit of security officers immediately surrounded him, forming a wall against the tide of reporters that surged forward.
"Mr. Vale, what are you planning to announce today?" one shouted.
"Sir, how do you remain calm every time?" another demanded, her voice half drowned by the clamor.
The storm of questions battered him from every side, but Ryan only smiled faintly, a calm expression that never faltered. His tone was smooth, even, the kind of voice that could cut through chaos without raising its volume.
"I will try my best to give as many answers as possible," he said, walking steadily toward the stage. "Thank you."
The crowd erupted again, but his composure remained untouched. He climbed the steps, each movement deliberate, unhurried. Finally, Ryan took the empty seat beside Mr. Frank, whose relief was visible in the way his shoulders dropped ever so slightly.
The room hushed In anticipation. Everyone knew the conference had only just begun.
Because of Ryan's peaceful dream, his mood was unusually light that morning. After he took his seat beside Mr. Frank, the restless reporters slowly quieted down. The hall settled, expectant.
"Let's see what today's questions are," Ryan said, leaning back comfortably, playfulness glinting in his tone.
The first reporter stood, voice sharp and direct.
"Mr. Vale, how are you going to save Mr. Frank's business?"
Ryan smiled, his confidence disarming. "I will not answer that question—because you'll see the answer in practice."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. That wasn't arrogance—it was certainty.
Another reporter rose, a woman with an eager, probing gaze.
"Mr. Vale, people say you never fail. How did you earn this reputation, and how do you maintain your calm nature?"
Ryan tilted his head slightly, as though considering whether the question amused him. "Well, I believe reputation is earned by one's actions. My actions speak for me." He paused, then added with a faint grin, "As for being calm… let's just say it's my special secret. But it doesn't mean I'll never reveal it."
A light chuckle spread across the hall. Even when teasing, Ryan's words carried weight.
The conference rolled on, each question met with effortless replies. His answers ranged from witty to sharp, sometimes humorous, always composed. To the crowd, it seemed as though every sentence was crafted in advance—yet his delivery was natural, like he had all the time in the world.
Finally, a young reporter in the second row rose, her tone slightly bolder than the rest.
"Mr. Vale, you're a well-known personality. At your age, most popular figures are already dating someone. Are you… planning something?"
The room stirred, eyes turning sharply toward him. The question was daring, personal.
Ryan's smile widened playfully, and the crowd leaned in.
"That's a question many have asked me. How about you date me?" he said, his tone light, teasing.
The hall erupted in laughter, cameras clicking rapidly. Ryan raised a hand, pretending to calm the crowd, and added with a knowing grin,
"Okay, enough joking. But yes… I do have someone in mind. Maybe you'll know soon."
A murmur spread among the reporters, curiosity sharpening like a blade. Was he serious? Or just playing with them?
Ryan then leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting from playful to focused. His voice, calm yet commanding, filled the room.
"Now… time for the most important thing."