From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 648

Chapter 648: A New Fighting Style

Waking up in the university dorm room, Max felt a heavy, persistent grogginess clinging to his mind. It wasn’t the lingering aftereffects of the alcohol; most of what he had consumed during the previous night’s festivities had been unceremoniously purged from his system anyway.

The real culprit was the environment. The bed was narrow and unforgivably uncomfortable, a far cry from the high-end orthopedic mattresses he had grown accustomed to. Throughout the night, the thin walls had offered no sanctuary; he had been subjected to the muffled sounds of heated arguments in the hallway and the relentless thumping of bass from parties that refused to end.

’Damn it, I thought I could hack this, but have I really gotten that used to sleeping in luxury?’ Max thought to himself, rubbing his sore neck.

His lifestyle had shifted so drastically since the takeover of the Fortis building. That facility was vastly expensive, and the private quarters he had designed for himself were among the best money could buy. He had to remind himself that the "real" Max hadn’t grown up in a palace; he had lived in a cramped, single-bed apartment for the longest time before the Vow changed everything.

’I guess if I got used to the good stuff that quickly, I can get used to this again. It’s just a matter of perspective,’ Max thought, splashing cold water on his face and staring out the small, smudged window at the campus below.

"Each time I look out there, I’m half expecting to see Aron standing by a black sedan," Max mumbled to himself. "But I think even he would have a hard time blending into a place like this. He sticks out way too much with that professional soldier vibe."

While staring out at the courtyard, he could see swarms of students excitedly getting ready to head toward the main campus buildings. A rare thought crossed his mind: maybe he should actually try to make the most of this time at the university. In his previous life, he had been a creature of survival and corporate warfare; he had never been allowed to enjoy the simple, carefree pleasures of being a student.

The first week of university was famously known as "Freshers Week." It was a week characterized by nonstop partying on the outskirts of the campus, where every pub and club in the city offered student discounts and cheap drinks. At the university itself, there weren’t many official classes yet, just introductory sessions designed to help students get to know the professors who would be handling their various subjects.

Walking through the large, open plaza that connected the various faculty buildings, Max noticed several colorful stalls that had been set up on the grass. The stalls were advertising a dizzying array of clubs and societies. It was quite interesting to see that many of these clubs were actually extensions of major subjects. There were cooking classes, advanced sports clinics, and specialized hobby groups. Apparently, it was a way for the older, upperclassmen to gain experience teaching others for academic credit as part of their senior studies.

"There’s a lot of sports clubs here," Max noted as he walked past a row of athletic recruiters.

A lot of them were for sports and activities he was intimately familiar with. A part of him wondered how he would be perceived if he joined a rugby or boxing club with his Vow-activated physical stats. He would likely be considered a generational talent, a prodigy among mortals. But he quickly dismissed the idea; it was a useless waste of his time and would only draw the kind of attention he was trying to avoid while hunting Donto.

That was when he saw a sign for a martial arts club that didn’t usually appear in the standard curriculum.

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