CHAPTER 320: THE RICH LIFE

Graduation wasn’t just a ceremony; it was a turnstile everyone had to pass through, one by one, into a world that didn’t hand out timetables anymore. After the caps were tossed and the photos were taken, life split into a dozen different roads that didn’t always have clear signs.

Some classmates jumped straight into apprenticeships, trading textbooks for tool belts and learning from people who’d done the job for twenty years. Others booked hostels and one-way tickets, swearing they’d "find themselves" on a gap year that might stretch into two. A handful marched right into college lecture halls, some because their goals needed higher qualifications, some because their parents said it was the "smart move," and some because it sounded safer than admitting they had no idea what came next.

And then there were the ones who sprinted into the workforce. No safety net. No more excuses. Just a paycheck, a schedule, and the quiet pride of making money that was actually theirs.

It was exciting. It was terrifying. It was the start of the biggest changes any of them had faced.

It was the same for Joe.

He loved being around his friends, loud voices, louder laughter, the easy way they leaned on each other. At the barbecue, smoke curled into the evening air, grease hissed on the grill, and plates made a constant circuit between hands. Someone always asked the same question that hung over all their conversations like a banner: "So... what are you doing now?"

The Bloodline Group had made the decision easier for a lot of them. The offer was clear: join up and get a base salary that beat minimum wage. The requirements weren’t brutal either. Most would work as guards, train several times a week, and occasionally get asked to deliver something or move to a different area. It wasn’t glamorous, but compared to drifting, it felt steady. It felt like a plan.

And there were perks, real ones.

First, loyalty pay. Stick around and every year your salary went up by a guaranteed percentage, higher than what most companies promised on glossy recruitment posters. Second, the evaluation system. Once a month, anyone in the group could test their fighting skills and earn a rank, F through A. Rumors whispered about ranks above A, but no one had ever cracked them. The pay packets shifted with the ranks, too. The stronger you were, the more you earned.

It created a loop that made sense: train, improve, get paid more. Even the ones who started off at the bottom didn’t mind. Loyalty stacked with rank, so time and effort both counted. If you weren’t strong yet, you could still grow into it. And if you were already talented, the system rewarded you right away and then some.

Because of all that, almost everyone who’d been a delinquent and found their way into the Bloodline stayed. The high-ranking leaders from other schools stayed too. It was strange and simple at the same time, this new life was safer when they faced it together.

Naturally, the question swung around to Joe.

"Haha, of course I’ll stay!" Joe said, laughing with his whole chest as he swiped a slab of meat off the platter before anyone else could. "There’s something you guys don’t know. We Rangers? We get paid the most out of all of you."

Everyone had heard the word by now, Rangers. They were the ones who started the Bloodline Group, the first circle, the only ones with the jackets. The rumor had spread as the crew grew, but the kids from Max’s and Joe’s school knew the truth behind it, who Joe had been when this all began, who he had become since.

And facts were facts: Joe’s starting wage was ten thousand a month. One hundred and twenty thousand a year, if nothing else happened. The way things usually went, there were bonuses too. When the group walked into something dangerous, Max had a way of making sure his people felt it in their wallets as well as their pride. Joe knew there was every chance his earnings could climb higher. He figured the same applied to the other Rangers, whether they bragged about it or not.

Later that night, when Joe headed home, his decision felt simple in his chest. The argument with his parents had been the last push over a ledge he’d been staring at for years.

They’d shouted that he would never amount to anything. They wanted him in college despite his grades, as if a campus could fix a life by itself. When he asked what he should study, they didn’t have an answer, just more volume, more disappointment, more pressure that had never quite fit.

So he left.

He’d saved enough for a deposit. Enough to step over the line into something that was his. A new start, no apologies.

The door of the apartment swung open on clean hinges, and Joe stood there a second, just breathing. The space smelled like fresh paint and new carpet. The place was big for one person, an open studio with tall windows and a skyline wedge of blue evening beyond the glass. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt tidy, sharp, like a blank page asking for the first sentence.

He wandered through it slowly, fingertips skimming the counter, the windowsill, the back of a chair he hadn’t sat in yet. Then he bounced once and threw himself onto the sofa like a kid who’d just won a game, arms spread, grin wide enough to hurt.

"This is what I always dreamed about," he said to the ceiling. "No one can nag me."

He let the quiet settle around him, the kind of quiet that belonged to a person who’d finally earned it.

"All of this is thanks to Max," he added after a beat, softer now. Gratitude sat heavy and warm in his chest.

Silence stretched, and in it, a thought he’d been trying not to have slid back in.

"I wonder how he’s doing," Joe murmured, gaze drifting toward the dark window. "And what that important meeting was about. I haven’t heard from him since."