Chapter 442: A contestant!!!
Thirty-two years ago.
SYND Private Hospital.
Citadel City.
The old patriarch looked at Timothy for a long time.
His breathing remained weak.
Every few words seemed to cost him more strength than the last.
Still, the moment Timothy sat beside him, something in the old man’s face softened.
"How unfortunate I am..."
Timothy looked toward him.
His father gave a faint smile.
"I couldn’t even spend enough time with my own son."
"Father..."
"You’ve grown so much."
His tired eyes moved across Timothy’s face.
For a moment, he looked as though he were trying to find the little boy he remembered somewhere inside the man sitting beside him.
Then the smile disappeared.
"I’m sorry."
Timothy became quiet.
His father continued,
"I couldn’t do anything to save your wife."
Timothy’s eyes lowered.
The room seemed colder at those words.
"I wasn’t there when you needed a family."
The old man’s voice trembled.
"And when you needed your father..."
He swallowed painfully.
"...I wasn’t there either."
Timothy looked toward him.
His father slowly shook his head.
"I spent my entire life protecting the Sterling name."
"Protecting traditions."
"Making decisions I thought were necessary."
"Yet..."
His eyes became wet.
"I could never become a good father."
Timothy immediately leaned closer.
"Don’t say that."
His father gave a weak laugh.
"Why shouldn’t I?"
He looked toward the ceiling.
"Perhaps God is punishing me now."
"For every sin."
"For every choice."
"For every person I hurt while telling myself it was for the family."
Timothy placed his hand gently over his father’s.
"Father."
The old man looked toward him.
"Whatever the world says..."
Timothy smiled softly.
"You are still my father."
The old man’s expression changed.
"You raised me."
"You taught me how to stand on my own feet."
"You taught me responsibility."
"You taught me what the Sterling name meant."
Timothy squeezed his hand.
"Maybe we didn’t agree on everything."
"Maybe some decisions hurt."
"But because of you..."
"I learned to survive without leaning on anyone."
His father stared at him.
Then whispered,
"Why?"
Timothy frowned.
"Why what?"
"Why don’t you hate me?"
The question came almost like a confession.
"After everything I did."
"After everything I took from you."
His voice weakened.
"Don’t you feel anger..."
"...hearing me apologize only when I’m lying here waiting to die?"
Timothy remained silent for a moment.
Then he smiled.
Not bitterly.
Not painfully.
Gently.
"I don’t hold a grudge against you."
His father’s eyes moved.
Timothy continued,
"I understood why you made those decisions."
"I knew what position you were in."
"You had an entire family watching you."
"Generations of expectations."
"Traditions older than both of us."
He looked down at their joined hands.
"I didn’t agree with everything."
"But I understood."
Timothy looked at him again.
"I never hated you, Father."
"So don’t carry that regret now."
"Let it go."
His father’s lips trembled.
Timothy smiled.
"I’m happy."
The old man listened.
"My son is happy too."
Timothy’s smile warmed.
"We make a good family."
"Just the two of us."
His father looked at him for several seconds.
Then asked quietly,
"Then come back."
Timothy’s expression softened.
His father continued,
"Return to the family."
"Return home."
Timothy lowered his eyes for a moment.
Then smiled.
"Things have changed."
The old man remained silent.
"I have my own world in Star Harbor now."
Timothy looked toward the dark window.
"My work."
"My people."
"My memories."
He paused.
"And you can’t simply take back the decisions you made."
His father looked toward him.
"If I suddenly return..."
Timothy continued,
"People will talk."
"Some will say you were weak."
"Some will say you changed the rules because you were dying."
"Others will question everything that happened."
He shook his head.
"I don’t want the family speaking badly about you."
The old man closed his eyes.
Timothy continued softly,
"And Gordon has grown."
"He’s responsible."
"He understands the family."
"He can carry things forward."
A faint smile appeared.
"I think me staying away..."
"...is better for everyone."
His father said nothing.
Timothy looked toward him.
"And Star Harbor..."
He smiled faintly.
"That city holds too much for me now."
"My wife’s memories."
"My son’s childhood."
"My home."
The old patriarch slowly opened his eyes.
Then said,
"Promise me something."
Timothy leaned closer.
"What?"
"Don’t become a father like me."
Timothy froze.
His father looked at him.
"Don’t abandon your son."
"Don’t let pride..."
"...take him away from you."
Timothy’s expression became serious.
"I won’t."
His father continued staring.
Timothy tightened his grip on the old man’s hand.
"I will never abandon him."
His voice became firmer.
"And I will protect him."
"At any cost."
The old man finally relaxed.
"Good."
A faint breath escaped him.
"It’s good that you came tonight."
Timothy nodded.
His father looked toward the ceiling again.
"There is something else."
"What?"
"As the eldest heir..."
He paused for breath.
"...there are responsibilities that will become yours after I die."
Timothy listened carefully.
"You remember what I told you about our heritage?"
"The Sylven Forest?"
Timothy nodded.
"Yes."
"Our roots."
The old man continued,
His eyes returned to Timothy.
"After me..."
"You will be responsible for their wellbeing."
Timothy remained still.
"They will call you Prince."
The word hung strangely between them.
Timothy didn’t react much.
He only nodded.
"I understand."
His father seemed satisfied.
"There is also the legacy."
Timothy’s expression changed slightly.
The old man continued,
"The wealth that does not appear in any family balance sheet."
"The inheritance kept separate from the modern businesses."
"The things passed only from one inheritor to another."
Timothy quietly listened.
"The Sterling family will survive for generations."
"I believe that."
His father took another breath.
"But if the old treasure remains untouched forever..."
His voice became more serious.
"...one day it will create conflict."
"Brothers."
"Children."
"Grandchildren."
"Everyone will believe they deserve a part."
Timothy looked toward him.
"As the current inheritor..."
The old man continued,
"I have the right to decide how it should be handled."
He looked at his son.
"And after me..."
"That right becomes yours."
Timothy nodded.
His father gave a weak smile.
"I know money cannot fill the emptiness I created in you."
"It cannot bring your wife back."
"It cannot repair the years we lost."
"But..."
His eyes softened.
"...it was always my wish that the legacy remain with you."
Timothy smiled gently.
"Don’t worry."
His father looked toward him.
"The legacy will remain."
Timothy’s voice was calm.
"Forever."
The old man finally seemed relieved.
But only for a moment.
Something changed in his expression.
Fear.
Not of death.
Something else.
Timothy noticed immediately.
"Father?"
His father slowly looked toward him.
"There is another thing."
Timothy waited.
"I need your help."
His voice became weaker.
"But..."
He stopped.
Timothy leaned closer.
"What is it?"
The old man’s eyes moved toward the closed hospital-room door.
Then back to Timothy.
"I couldn’t tell anyone."
"Why?"
"Because if the family knew..."
He swallowed.
"...they would see me as a failure."
Timothy’s expression became serious.
His father continued,
"It was a mistake."
"One mistake."
"But it may stain the Sterling family for decades."
Timothy stared at him.
"What happened, Father?"
The old man closed his eyes.
For a few seconds...
He said nothing.
...
Present Day.
Sterling Estate, Citadel City.
Timothy’s eyes opened.
Darkness.
For a few moments, he didn’t know where he was.
Then the familiar ceiling slowly came into focus.
The old Sterling Estate.
His childhood home.
He turned his head toward the clock.
Middle of the night.
Timothy slowly sat up.
The dream had felt too real.
His father’s voice.
The hospital room.
That final conversation.
And especially...
The last request.
The mistake.
The stain.
Timothy reached toward the bedside table.
He poured himself a glass of water.
His hand remained steady.
He took a slow sip.
Then rested the glass between both hands.
Thirty-two years.
And he still remembered every word.
Timothy stared into the darkness.
"Father..."
His voice was quiet.
His expression hardened.
"Until I’m alive..."
He looked toward the old walls surrounding him.
"...no one will stain the Sterling name."
He placed the glass down.
And remained awake.
...
Next Morning.
Central Park, Star Harbor.
Morning traffic had already begun around the city.
Joggers moved along the pathways.
Older people walked in small groups.
Cyclists passed the park entrance.
Parents accompanied young children.
Everything looked ordinary.
On one of the quieter paths...
A man wearing a hoodie walked toward a bench.
He sat.
Behind him stood another bench.
Facing the opposite direction.
Another man was already sitting there.
Neither turned.
Neither looked toward the other.
For several seconds...
They appeared to be complete strangers.
Then the seated agent spoke.
"NULL, I suppose."
The hooded man smiled faintly.
"You aren’t Ghost."
The agent looked straight ahead.
"No."
NULL leaned back.
"I’m from Graveyard."
The agent continued,
"You seriously thought Ghost would personally come to Star Harbor for a meeting like this?"
NULL chuckled.
"How do I know you’re actually with him?"
The agent answered immediately.
"Park Thirty-Two Bank Heist."
NULL’s smile disappeared.
Silence.
Then he laughed quietly.
"Alright."
"Alright."
He raised both hands slightly.
"That’s enough."
The agent smiled.
NULL continued,
"So..."
"What does Ghost want from me?"
The answer came calmly.
"Here is a deal... One million dollars."
NULL raised an eyebrow.
"For?"
"One photograph."
Now NULL finally looked slightly over his shoulder.
"Of who?"
The agent answered,
"Miles Sterling."
NULL’s expression changed.
For a second...
He genuinely looked confused.
"A photo of Miles Sterling?"
"Correct."
NULL leaned forward.
"What does Graveyard want with Miles Sterling?"
The agent’s response came instantly.
"None of your concern."
NULL smiled.
"Fair."
The agent continued,
"Deal or no deal?"
NULL rubbed his chin.
"There is one problem."
"What?"
"There is no picture of Miles Sterling."
The agent remained silent.
NULL continued,
"Not in any public database."
"Not anything useful."
"I checked before."
The agent smiled faintly.
"Why do you think Ghost wants the best hacker he knows?"
NULL laughed.
"So he remembers me."
"He remembers useful people."
NULL looked toward the trees ahead.
The agent continued,
"Ghost already knows there is no face available publicly."
"That’s why you’re being hired."
NULL became more interested.
The agent continued,
"Miles Sterling will appear during Sterling Launchpad."
"At least once."
NULL nodded slowly.
"I know about the event."
"Good."
"Find a way to get Ghost inside."
NULL frowned.
"Inside?"
"The Convention Center."
"Why can’t Ghost just walk in?"
The agent gave a faint laugh.
"Security."
NULL waited.
"The internal network will restrict outside communication during sensitive sessions."
"Camera equipment entering or leaving will be checked."
"Private security will monitor every access route."
"And..."
The agent paused.
"The President’s son is staying in Star Harbor."
NULL’s expression shifted.
"Nicholas Abbott."
"Yes."
The agent continued,
"He’ll be inside Launchpad."
NULL slowly understood.
"Secret Service."
"Exactly."
NULL leaned back again.
"That complicates things."
"More than you think."
The agent continued,
"No blind spots."
"Layered camera coverage."
"Sterling Security."
"Secret Service."
"And probably things neither of us knows."
NULL smiled.
"So Ghost doesn’t want to break inside."
"He wants to be invited inside."
"Exactly."
NULL remained quiet for several seconds.
Then said,
"Two million."
The agent didn’t react.
NULL continued,
"If you want me to put Ghost inside a secured event..."
"With Secret Service present..."
"And get a usable image of Miles Sterling out of that building..."
He smiled.
"Two million dollars."
The agent thought for a moment.
Then answered,
"If you capture the photograph..."
"And successfully send it outside the event..."
"You get two million."
NULL grinned.
"Deal."
The agent nodded.
"But?"
NULL smiled.
"I need something."
"What?"
"Internal server access."
The agent’s expression didn’t change.
NULL continued,
"The Convention Center’s internal server."
"If you want me to move freely without physically touching half the systems there..."
"I need access."
The agent slowly reached inside his jacket.
NULL watched.
An envelope appeared.
The agent extended it backward between the benches without turning.
NULL took it.
He opened the envelope.
His expression immediately changed.
A printed credential sheet.
Access information.
Temporary authentication details.
NULL looked over his shoulder.
"No way."
The agent remained facing forward.
NULL looked at the papers again.
"Where did you get this?"
No answer.
NULL laughed quietly.
"Seriously."
"These credentials can get directly into the Convention Center’s server environment."
The agent finally spoke.
"Ghost said something."
NULL waited.
The agent smiled.
"’Why hit the keyboard all day when you can tap one man in Town Hall and get the result?’"
NULL stared at him.
Then laughed.
"That really does sound like Ghost."
The agent nodded.
NULL placed the credentials safely inside his hoodie.
"Consider the job done."
The agent asked,
"How are you getting inside?"
NULL smiled.
"I already have a pass."
For the first time, the agent slightly turned his head.
"Mentor?"
NULL laughed.
"No."
The agent frowned.
NULL stood.
Then looked back with a grin.
"I’m a contestant."