Ultimate Cash System-Chapter 170: Classes.

The sun had shifted in the sky by the time John Terry made his second call that day. It was late afternoon, and the warmth of the sunlight was beginning to mellow, casting golden streaks across the Philadelphia skyline.

Lukas, still lounging in his hotel suite, had been absentmindedly flipping through channels when his phone buzzed again. Seeing John’s name, he answered.

"John? Everything alright?"

"Yes, Mr. Lukas," John said, his tone far more relaxed than earlier. "Just wanted to give you a follow-up. Our back office has completed the verification process. All funds from your deposit have been cleared."

Lukas leaned forward, suddenly alert. "Everything went through?"

"Yes, sir. After final tallies, your current balance now sits at $101,660,000. The earlier credit has been fully resolved. You are officially out of debt."

Lukas chuckled, his shoulders easing with visible relief. "That’s good to hear. Thanks for being thorough, John."

"Always, sir. And, uh... I should mention—I’m in Princeton for the next few days. If you’d like to meet in person, perhaps review some private investment options?"

"Noted. I’ll reach out if I stay in town longer," Lukas said. "Appreciate the call."

"Anytime, Mr. Lukas. Enjoy your evening."

The call ended, and Lukas placed his phone down on the bedside table. A deep sigh escaped him.

The financial tightrope he’d walked since the morning now felt like a distant memory. The number echoed in his mind like a lullaby—over one hundred million dollars.

He lay back on the bed, the tension in his spine slowly unwinding, his eyes fluttering shut before he even realized it.

Sleep took him quickly, and for the first time in weeks, it was a deep, dreamless rest.

The next morning arrived gently.

Sunlight crept past the thick hotel curtains, and Lukas awoke to the soft hum of city life outside. He glanced at the clock—it was just past 7:30 AM.

He stretched, yawned, and pulled himself out of bed. After a quick shower and a light breakfast—some granola with berries and a glass of orange juice—he changed into his usual class attire: fitted jeans, a plain navy sweater, and crisp white sneakers.

Today was a class day. He couldn’t afford to miss another lecture.

Despite the money, the fame, and the chaos—Lukas knew the foundation of everything he was building still lay in that quiet Princeton lecture hall.

He arrived on campus just in time, slipping into the lecture room seconds before the professor closed the door. The room was half full, with scattered voices, some quiet tapping of laptops, and the rustle of papers.

Lukas found his usual seat, third row from the front. He opened his notebook, ignoring the subtle glances from a few students. The class was business strategy, and he wanted to focus. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"Nice of you to show up, Luke," came a voice beside him.

Lukas turned and smiled.

It was Lana.

Pink hair, sharp eyes, and a smirk that could cut through fog. She wore a gray hoodie over a pleated skirt, her laptop already open and a pen twirling between her fingers. She was headstrong, always had something witty to say, and never gave anyone an inch. But there was a charm to her stubbornness—and a curious blush whenever Lukas spoke just a little too kindly.

"Got held up at the church yesterday," Lukas replied.

"You mean in heaven?" she teased. "Because rumor says you dropped ten million on a chapel."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. "People talk too much."

"Maybe. But it’s still kind of cool," she said, her voice softer now. "Just don’t go becoming some billionaire monk some day."

He chuckled. "No plans for that for now."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Are you ever going to tell me what it’s like? You know, living that high-rise, high-stakes, megastar lifestyle?"

Lukas turned his gaze back to the board as the professor began writing. "Maybe someday."

Lana didn’t know about Annie. Or Bella. Or any of it.

And right now, that simplicity was... nice.

Lukas went ahead because he needed to pick something up from a professor.

The Princeton campus was already alive with motion as Lukas made his way to class. He passed by students sipping coffee on benches, others hurrying with backpacks slung over one shoulder, and professors who looked like they’d been up reading philosophy since dawn. The university breathed brilliance in every corner.

He arrived ten minutes early—on purpose. His seat was already chosen, third row from the front, by the aisle. Close enough to engage, far enough to observe.

The lecture hall buzzed. Students trickled in, notebooks open, tablets glowing. And then, she walked in—Lana.

Lana was impossible not to notice. Her shoulder-length pink hair looked freshly dyed and somehow matched perfectly with her minimalist white blouse and sharp gray slacks. Her expression was always focused, almost stern, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of something when they caught Lukas’s direction. He didn’t notice it. Or at least, he pretended not to.

Lana, despite her punk-inspired hair, was one of the top students in their macroeconomics class. Headstrong and incredibly articulate, she had already challenged two visiting professors on economic policy—and she had been right both times.

She took a seat beside Lukas without a word. He gave a small nod.

"Morning again," she muttered, opening her laptop. Her wallpaper was an animated spreadsheet with motivational quotes layered across it. Efficient.

Lukas tried to say something, but before he could, the classroom dimmed slightly as the projector turned on.

Professor Earnest Halbrook stepped in. A legend on campus. His tie was crooked, his glasses thick, and his mind even sharper.

"Good morning, students," he said, his voice calm and deliberate. "Today we talk about the Phillips Curve—its myths, misuses, and why most politicians interpret it wrong."

The first twenty minutes were already on a level Lukas hadn’t expected. Halbrook didn’t just reference modern research—he quoted papers that hadn’t been published yet, referencing conference proceedings and anonymous drafts.