The finality of the moment hung heavy in the air of the sterile Property Transaction Office. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet room.

  The farmer stood beside a sturdy wooden table, a pen clutched tightly in his work-worn hand. His face was a mixture of deep sorrow and profound relief. This land, his family's legacy, the only home he had ever truly known, was about to belong to someone else. But this painful act was also a necessary one, a sacrifice for his wife, for their future, however uncertain it might be.

  With a deep, shaky breath, the farmer bent over the official documents spread out on the table. The pen scratched across the paper, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room. He signed his name, the familiar loops and swirls feeling foreign, final.

  Then, as required, he pressed his thumb onto an ink pad and left a firm, dark print beside his signature. With that simple stamp of his hand, the transfer was set in motion. The land that had defined his family for generations was now legally designated to pass to this young man, Adam.

  A wave of conflicting emotions washed over the farmer. Letting go felt like cutting off a limb, yet the promise of the money, the relief from the crushing weight of his debts, was undeniable. He straightened up slowly, his shoulders still slumped, but perhaps a little less burdened than before.

  Now it was Adam’s turn. As per their agreement, the initial payment was due immediately. Adam reached into his simple canvas bag, accessing his hidden inventory. He mentally counted out the required amount from the large sum he’d received from Thomas the jeweler. $100,000.

  He materialized the thick stacks of cash into his hand – crisp bills, bundled neatly. He placed the substantial pile of money onto the table in front of the farmer. It landed with a soft thud, a tangible representation of the deal's first stage.

  Out of the $105,100 he possessed, this initial payment left him with just over $5,000 in immediate cash, plus the copied $100 and $10000 bill still technically in his inventory.

  The remaining $600,000 for the land was agreed upon – it would be paid once the government completed its verification process and officially recorded the change of ownership in their records, a process expected to take about five days. Both Adam and the farmer understood this schedule clearly.

  The farmer’s eyes fixed on the pile of cash. His breath hitched. It was real. This wasn't a dream. Enough money to cover the most urgent medical bills, to ease the immediate pressure.

  He reached out slowly, his hand trembling slightly, and began to gather the stacks. As he did, the government official overseeing the transaction pushed a neat, professionally printed certificate across the table towards Adam.

  This certificate wasn't the final deed, but it was official confirmation that the initial agreement and payment had been made, that the transfer process was underway, and that the land would legally become Adam’s in five days, pending the final payment and registration. Adam picked it up.

  The paper felt thick and important in his hand. It was more than just paper; it was a symbol of his progress, a tangible piece of his rapidly forming future, proof that Phase Two was truly happening.

  With the money clutched tightly in one hand, the farmer looked at Adam. The earlier suspicion and anger were completely gone, replaced by a complex mix of relief, lingering sadness, and a surprising amount of genuine respect for the young man who had made this happen. He extended his free hand across the table.

  "It was… a pleasure doing business with you, young man," the farmer said softly, his voice thick with emotion. The words carried the weight of his history, the generations who had worked that soil, and the profound sacrifice this transaction represented.

  Adam met his gaze and returned the handshake firmly, offering a slight, polite smile. "The pleasure was mine," he replied, his voice calm and business-like. "Remember, five days from now. We meet back here, at this office, to finalize everything. Don't be late." His reminder was gentle but firm.

  The farmer nodded slowly, clutching the money that represented his family's immediate hope. His eyes still held a shadow of anxiety about what lay ahead, but the relief was undeniable. "Yes, yes. Five days. I understand. Don't worry," he assured Adam, his voice steadier now. "I'll keep my word. I'll be here."

  With a final nod, the farmer turned, holding his precious bundle of cash close, and walked out of the transaction office. He stepped out into the bustling city street and quickly disappeared into the anonymous flow of the crowd, leaving Adam alone in the quiet office.

  Adam stood there for a moment, the certificate held firmly in his hand. He looked down at the document, reading the official language, tracing the lines that described the property boundaries. Ten hectares. His land. The realization washed over him, feeling both thrilling and slightly surreal. Just days ago, he had nothing. Now, he was a landowner.

  A slow grin spread across his face, wide and genuine this time.

  "So," he murmured under his breath, a note of wonder in his voice, "this is mine now…" It wasn't just soil, trees, and grass.

  It was a foundation. A starting point. A place to build something, away from the prying eyes of the city, away from the immediate reach of his enemies.

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  A surge of pure excitement, potent and exhilarating, ran through him. This wasn't just any land; it was the first piece of his empire. His ambition, which had been simmering beneath the surface, ignited fully. Thoughts of what he could build there, what he could achieve, filled his mind, swirling like a whirlwind of possibilities. Warehouses? Training grounds? A hidden base? A legitimate business front? The potential seemed limitless, especially with his unique ability.

  "Now…" he thought, his eyes gleaming with newfound purpose, "Now I can really start building my business empire. My power base."

  With careful deliberation, making sure no one was watching, he mentally accessed his inventory and placed the precious certificate inside, storing it safely alongside the remaining cash, the water bottle, and the copied $100 bill. It was secure, accessible only to him.

  His heart pounded with anticipation for the future, for the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead. He felt energized, focused, ready. Turning away from the transaction table, he walked out of the quiet office, his steps light and purposeful, his mind already racing, formulating plans, dreaming big.

  Every step he took down the road felt like a deliberate move onto a larger chessboard, a step towards a future he would forge himself, a future free from the shadows of his past.

  Adam walked along the busy sidewalk, lost in his exciting thoughts. He pictured blueprints, imagined construction, envisioned success. The noise of the city – the traffic, the chatter, the distant sirens – faded into a dull background hum as his mind soared with plans for his new property.

  It would be the cornerstone, the secure foundation from which he could launch his counterattack, build his resources, and eventually, take his revenge. He was so engrossed in these thrilling prospects, so focused on the bright future taking shape in his imagination, that he barely noticed the world around him.

  That's why he didn't immediately register the sleek, expensive-looking convertible car that suddenly, smoothly, pulled up right beside the curb, matching his walking pace. It was a high-end model, low-slung, metallic silver paint gleaming in the afternoon sun, the top down, exposing the interior. It screamed money and privilege, instantly drawing glances from other pedestrians.

  Inside the car sat several young men. The driver, casually steering with one hand, was a young man with striking blonde hair, wearing stylish, expensive-looking casual clothes – a designer shirt, sunglasses perched on his head – that looked far too luxurious for someone who couldn't be much older than Adam himself.

  Beside him, in the passenger seat, sat another young man with dark hair and cold, calculating eyes that fixed immediately onto Adam with an unnerving intensity, sending an involuntary shiver down Adam's spine even before he consciously registered the threat.

  In the backseat, three more young men lounged, looking relaxed but alert. Their eyes, sharp and observant, scanned Adam up and down, taking in his simple clothes, his focused expression.

  After a moment, mischievous, predatory grins spread across their faces simultaneously – the kind of shared look that meant trouble was brewing, fun was about to be had, likely at someone else's expense. They didn't say anything immediately, just watched Adam walk, their gazes locked onto him like wolves spotting prey.

  But Adam, lost in his grand visions of empire building, remained oblivious for a few crucial seconds. He was mentally sketching layouts, calculating costs, savoring the feeling of progress, the taste of future power.

  His pleasant daydreaming was violently shattered by a loud, deliberately mocking voice cutting through the street noise.

  "Yo, loser!"

  The voice was sharp, contemptuous, and instantly, chillingly familiar. It snapped Adam back to harsh reality like a physical slap. His heart leaped into his throat, pounding violently.

  A cold wave of dread washed over him, extinguishing the warmth of his ambitious thoughts in an instant. He knew that voice. Oh, how he knew that voice.

  Slowly, almost mechanically, feeling a horrible sense of inevitability, Adam turned his head towards the sound, towards the gleaming convertible idling beside him. His eyes landed on the driver.

  And his blood ran cold.

  Sitting behind the wheel, radiating an aura of arrogant power and undisguised malice, was John Walker. His greatest enemy. The architect of so much of his past misery.

  Son of the corrupt mayor who had destroyed his family. The person he believed was destined to kill him in the original timeline. John’s blonde hair seemed almost unnaturally bright in the sunlight. His expensive clothes screamed entitlement.

  And his eyes… they burned with a pure, unadulterated hatred as they locked onto Adam’s, his expression twisting into a cruel sneer.

  Before Adam could even process the shock, before he could think to run or fight, John acted. With a lithe, predatory movement, he pushed open the driver's side door and hopped out onto the pavement. Almost simultaneously, the other four young men – John's friends, his enforcers – piled out of the car, moving quickly, purposefully.

  In seconds, they had formed a tight circle around Adam, blocking any potential escape route, their expressions ranging from malicious amusement to cold indifference. Adam felt trapped, his mind frantically racing, searching for an option, any option, but finding none. The bustling sidewalk suddenly felt very small, very isolated.

  John strolled casually around the circle until he was standing directly behind Adam. Adam could feel the menacing presence, could almost smell the expensive cologne mixed with raw hostility. Then, a heavy hand clamped down firmly on Adam’s shoulder, fingers digging in painfully.

  John leaned in close, his voice a low, mocking whisper directly into Adam's ear, dripping with contempt and threat. "Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. I thought I told you to stay out of my sight, didn't I? Crawl back to whatever hole you came from. Looks like you just can't take a hint, loser."

  Adam tensed, bracing himself, his mind desperately trying to formulate a response, a defense, anything. But before a single word could form, before he could even try to shrug off the heavy hand, John's other hand shot forward with lightning speed.

  A rough palm clamped tightly over Adam's mouth, pressing hard against his lips, stifling any sound he might have made, cutting off his breath momentarily.

  Panic, raw and overwhelming, surged through Adam. At the same instant, two of John's friends grabbed his arms from behind, their grips like iron vises, pinning his arms to his sides.

  He struggled instinctively, twisting, trying to break free, but they were strong, practiced, easily overpowering his resistance. His feet scraped uselessly against the rough pavement as they began to drag him backwards, towards the waiting convertible.

  Another of John's friends yanked open the rear passenger door with a violent tug, the intent clear. Adam kicked out desperately, trying to land a blow, trying to gain leverage, anything to stop them, but his struggles were clumsy, ineffective against their coordinated assault. They shoved him hard, bundling him unceremoniously into the backseat of the convertible. He landed awkwardly, pinned against the leather upholstery by rough, unyielding hands.

  Just as John finally released the painful grip on his mouth, allowing Adam to gasp for breath, another hand – belonging to one of the thugs now crammed into the backseat with him – quickly clamped down over his mouth again, just as hard, ensuring no cry for help, no scream, could escape.

  John, meanwhile, watched the swift, brutal efficiency of his friends with a satisfied smirk. He casually hopped back into the driver's seat. The others piled in quickly, slamming the doors shut with solid thuds, trapping Adam securely in their midst.

  Within seconds, the powerful engine roared to life. Tires squealed slightly as John slammed the accelerator, and the convertible shot away from the curb, merging rapidly into the flow of traffic, leaving the scene of the abduction behind.

  Adam, pinned helplessly in the backseat, the rough hand still clamped over his mouth, felt his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. His mind reeled, trying to comprehend the speed and brutality of the attack. He glanced wildly out the window as the city streets blurred past.

  He saw faces on the sidewalk – people who had clearly witnessed the entire event, the struggle, him being forced into the car. He saw them stop, stare for a moment, then quickly turn away, avert their eyes, hurry on their way as if nothing had happened. No one had intervened. No one had called for help.

  No one wanted to get involved. In the uncaring bustle of the city, he was utterly alone, completely at the mercy of his worst enemy.

  Trapped, silenced, and speeding towards an unknown destination, Adam’s mind raced with frantic, terrifying questions. How had John found him so quickly? Was it just bad luck? Or did John somehow know? Did he know about the land deal? Did he know about the money? Did John already know what he was planning? The uncertainty was almost as terrifying as the physical capture itself. The car lurched forward, carrying him deeper into the unknown, deeper into the danger he thought he was finally starting to escape.