ULTIMATE CHOICE SYSTEM: I BECAME THE RICHEST!

The teenage server smiled at their interaction. “What can I get for you two?”

“Vanilla and chocolate!” Emily pressed her face against the display glass, then spun to look at Noah. “In a cone!”

“Same for me,” Noah said, watching his sister’s eyes light up.

“You got the same as me!” Emily bounced excitedly. “We match!”

The server started scooping their ice cream, and Emily tugged at Noah’s sleeve. “Is it because dragon riders have to match?”

“Exactly.” Noah’s phone buzzed – more chaos in the pharmaceutical world. He ignored it.

“Two vanilla and chocolate cones,” the server announced, handing them over.

They grabbed a table by the window, Emily immediately diving into her ice cream with the enthusiasm only an eight-year-old could muster.

“Noah! Look!” She pointed at their identical cones. “We’re like twins!”

“Except one of us is way shorter.”

“I’m growing!” Emily protested, ice cream already around her mouth. “Mom said I grew two whole inches this year!”

Noah’s phone buzzed again. Stock markets crashing. Headlines spreading.

But right now, watching Emily try to eat her ice cream before it melted, none of that mattered.

“When I get my dragon,” she declared between bites, “can we get ice cream together? All three of us?”

“Sure.”

…

Noah pulled up to his parents’ home. Emily bounded out of the car, her dragon artwork clutched carefully in one hand.

“Mom! Dad! Look what I made!”

His parents were in the living room, his dad had already picked up his mom from An’s Gourmet after closing the teahouse.

“Another masterpiece?” His dad grinned, examining the dragon.

“Noah’s going to help me make a blue one tomorrow!” Emily announced.

His mom caught his eye. “Staying for dinner?”

Noah shook his head. “Got open week, at Cambridge tomorrow. Heading to the house tonight. It’s closer there.”

“Nooo!” Emily latched onto his leg. “Stay!”

He ruffled her hair. “Can’t, Em. But I’ll be back for dragon-making duty soon.”

After quick goodbyes and his mom’s usual “Drive safe,” Noah was back in his G-Wagon, heading toward his mansion near Cambridge. The city lights blurred past as his mind shifted gears.

University tomorrow. Another piece of his carefully constructed life falling into place. By day, he’d be just another 19-year-old freshman. By night, he’d continue orchestrating the downfall of pharmaceutical giants from his home office.

His phone lit up. More updates about the chaos he’d created. The mansion’s gates opened automatically as he approached.

Noah stepped into the gleaming foyer, the motion sensors automatically bringing the lights up to a soft glow. Alfred’s touch was everywhere – from the perfectly arranged shoes to the fresh flowers in the crystal vase.

His phone buzzed.

“Welcome home, sir,” his AI assistant’s voice came through his earpiece. “The pharmaceutical stocks have dropped 47% since market close. Shall I prepare the trading algorithms for tomorrow’s opening bell?”

“Do it.” Noah loosened his tie, heading straight for his home office. The massive screens on the wall lit up at his approach, displaying real-time data from global markets.

…

The sun’s rays crept through the smart-tinted windows, hitting Noah’s face at exactly 5:00 AM.

One fluid motion and he was up, splashing cold water on his face.

His next stop was the gym.

An hour of weights flew by, the wall-length mirrors reflected a physique that didn’t match his business empire, too young and too fit.

6:00 AM.

What followed the strength training was thirty minutes of cardio.

6:30 AM.

After he was done, Noah headed to the shower. Stay connected via My Virtual Library Empire

At 6:45 AM, Noah was getting ready to head out.

His outfit was a cream-colored cashmere sweater from Brunello Cucinelli, dark tailored jeans, and white Alexander McQueen sneakers.

A Patek Philippe watch completed the look.

Noah strode into the breakfast room, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Good morning, Mr. Noah,” Selena beamed, setting down a steaming plate of eggs benedict with smoked salmon, the hollandaise sauce perfectly drizzled.

A bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with fresh berries and honey sat beside it, along with freshly squeezed orange juice and a cappuccino made from his imported Italian beans.

His phone lit up. Markets open in an hour. The pharmaceutical stocks were already in pre-market freefall.

“The G-Wagon is ready, sir,” Alfred appeared at the doorway. “I have already heated the seats, and made sure that the interior was clean.”

Noah cut into the eggs, the yolk running golden across the plate.

7:15 AM.

Time to head out.

The G-Wagon hummed to life as he slid into the driver’s seat. His phone buzzed – chaos spreading, headlines multiplying, corporations crumbling.

Noah’s phone lit up, his AI assistant’s voice crisp.

“Operation successful, sir. Market manipulation executed flawlessly. Total profits currently at $10,347,892 and rising.”

The numbers flashed across his car’s heads-up display.

“Break it down,” Noah commanded, smoothly navigating the Bentley through traffic.

“Phase One complete: Leaked data caused immediate 47% drop in target companies’ stock values. Our short positions generated $4.2 million in the first hour.”

The display updated in real-time. $10,456,721.

“Phase Two exceeded expectations: Mass media coverage triggered panic selling. Secondary markets affected. Our algorithm caught every dip. Current profit from market swing trades: $6.1 million.”

$10,589,344.

“Additional revenue streams activating now. Our dummy corporations are buying distressed assets at 31% of market value.”

$10,742,893.

“Sir, would you like me to initiate Phase Three? Our analysis shows potential for another 20% market drop if we release the second wave of data.”

Noah’s lips curved into a slight smile. “Hold Phase Three. Let’s see how orientation goes first.”

$11,023,567 and climbing.

His phone displayed one final update: $11,256,789.

Noah stepped out of the G-wagon. Other students milled around, some trying not to stare at his car, others openly gawking.

His AI assistant sent another notification to his phone’s screen. “$11,478,923.”

A group of students walked past, chattering excitedly about the open day.

“Over there!” A student ambassador waved, directing freshmen toward the grand hall. “Orientation this way!”

Noah’s phone buzzed again. “$11,567,890.”

He silenced the updates with a subtle tap on his phone.

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