Chapter Text
The Sertian skyline lay sprawled out before him; everything visible from the transparent windows that made up the walls of his favourite place - his throne room. It was the place he felt the most at home; where he had matured into the man he now was, having achieved all he had achieved and still being months shy of his twenty-fifth birthday. That was one of the things his rivals hated the most about him, about them.
“...How can they be that successful at such a young age?...”
“...They completely lack the experience that is imperative to be worthy of such a position...”
“...Letting them run a company at their age is preposterous...”
“There’s no way they’ve gotten as far as they have without doing some hard graft behind closed doors AND between the sheets.”
“It’s only a matter of time before they run into serious trouble...”
“I suspect they must have ties with underground dealings, one simply cannot make that much money in that amount of time and be completely clean.”
He sneered.
He had heard a lot in his struggle to the top and he would continue to hear more of the same. But it meant nothing to him. Why should he care for the judgement of the vultures waiting to see him fail; to see him fall, only so that they could pick at his bloodied remains? What help had they ever given him? No. Their empty accusations couldn’t phase him, they had no right to. He had as much right to be where he was as any of them and no amount of ill-wishing or malicious talk could change that. Because, that was all it was: baseless talk that most were too scared to even speak around him, let alone to his face.
He downed the rest of his Scotch, the warmth of the whiskey relaxing him nearly instantaneously. He huffed with amusement. Still, it was kind of funny to imagine that someone would actually have the balls to challenge any one of them directly. Some had tried...and gotten crushed immediately. But even if they weren’t ever going to be successful there was no harm in trying, right? Due to the wide-spread fame of their little group, the number of decent competitors they had got whittled down to nil in under half a decade. It irritated him. Whilst he loved where he was now, he loathed admitting it but it wasn’t enough. He needed the thrill that could only be gotten from a challenge offered by a worthy opponent. He craved it like it was necessary for his survival. His friends often said that he could have avoided a lot of trouble if he could just curb his competitive nature but that was like telling a fish to cut its swimming down to two hours a day. Not going to happen. It was one of his most persistent traits and he couldn’t ever remember a time when the thought of going head-to-head against someone worthwhile didn’t make his blood pump just that little bit faster. But it had been a very, very long time since that had happened. The adrenalin rush always gave way to the disappointment; the frustration of coming out on top again and again and...
No point musing, it didn’t earn money. He set the crystal glass down on his mahogany work desk and rolled his shoulders. His neck popped satisfyingly and he grinned. He had work to do.