Urban LitRPG System-Chapter 89: Acceptance.

" So, how is your university life? "

Linn asked with an easy smile, leaning back slightly in his chair, the question casual on the surface but genuine underneath, the kind adults asked when they wanted reassurance more than details, but when Max didn’t answer immediately, Linn’s expression shifted, his eyes scanning his face as if checking whether he misread something.

" I... sigh. It’s good. "

Max replied after a pause that lasted a little too long, the answer technically correct but carrying weight, his gaze dropping for a second before returning, like he was deciding whether to stop there or say more, the hesitation visible, controlled, unusual for him.

" What happened? "

Linn asked, the smile fading into concern, posture leaning forward now, attention fully on Max.

" Forget it, Mr. Linn. It’s not worth it. "

Max said it quietly, the dismissal sounding more like restraint than indifference, his fingers resting loosely together as if holding back a thought he didn’t want to place on the table yet.

" Tell me, come on. "

Linn’s tone turned softer but firmer, not pushing for curiosity, pushing because he sensed this mattered, the concern genuine, the kind that came from watching someone who normally carried everything alone.

" Do you know Bronte? "

Max finally looked up when he asked, and the expression on his face was rare, controlled but strained at the edges, a trace of frustration, a trace of calculation, something unresolved rather than emotional.

" Y... yes, I know him. He lives on the same street as me. He’s not a nice person... so before I involve myself, let me ask you something — are you involved in drugs? Do you sell? "

Linn answered carefully, the pause intentional, because gratitude did not replace caution, and he was not Finn, not naive about how money, pressure, and people like Bronte operated, especially with his wife serving the city, meaning any involvement carried consequences beyond personal loyalty.

" No. I don’t do drugs or sell drugs. I understand why you asked. "

Max shook his head, the answer immediate, no defensiveness, only clarity, and he understood the logic behind the question without needing explanation, because from Linn’s perspective a teenager buying a nearly two-hundred-thousand-euro bike, and now mentioning Bronte naturally raised suspicion, and acknowledging that logic made the conversation move from doubt toward trust rather than argument.

" So explain to me, Max — what exactly did Bronte do to you? "

Linn asked gently, his tone shifting from casual conversation to deliberate listening, and once Max made it clear he had no connection to drugs, Linn leaned back slightly, giving him space to speak without interruption, the posture of someone ready to evaluate rather than react.

" So, it’s like this... "

Max explained everything without exaggeration, laying out the sequence clearly — how Jennifer became involved, how the situation escalated, how he stepped in, and how the current position was not negotiation but resolution.

Because he intended to repay the full amount, not partially, not strategically delayed, but properly closed, the only concern being legitimacy, because handing nearly a million euros to someone like Bronte without a credible witness created future risk, not safety.

" That’s... that’s a problem. I will speak with my wife and have a discussion about it. "

Linn answered after a moment, relief appearing first because Max was not involved in anything illegal, then the practical weight of the situation settling in, his mind shifting toward legal exposure, reputation risk, and the type of presence required when dealing with someone like Bronte, especially given his wife’s public role, meaning any involvement had to be structured, not emotional.

" How about Dallmayr tonight? You and your wife can come. We can have dinner together and maybe move toward a solution. Even if she prefers not to be directly involved, she can at least advise. Consider it a personal invitation. "

Max smiled slightly as he offered it, the invitation framed as discussion rather than request, timing intentional, environment controlled, because problems like this were easier addressed in neutral space with witnesses who understood implication.

When Linn heard Dallmayr he raised an eyebrow, not because of the dinner itself but because reservations there were not spontaneous, especially private ones, which meant Max had already anticipated needing a structured conversation before this moment.

" Hehe, you’re a cheeky one. Finn will come too, right? "

Linn laughed, the realization settling quickly, because the invitation was not sudden, it was positioned, and he nodded as he spoke, already accepting the direction of the conversation.

He could not easily refuse, not only because Max was an important client, but because Max had quietly become a stabilizing presence in his son’s life, something Linn valued far beyond business, which meant rearranging tonight’s plans to sit down and discuss the situation felt reasonable rather than inconvenient.

" Of course. I will bring my girls over as well, it’s a private dinner after all. "

Max answered with a small smile, keeping the tone light while the intent remained structured, making the dinner sound social while ensuring the right people were present, because solutions in situations like this depended on witnesses, credibility, and shared understanding more than confrontation.

Seeing Linn willing to step into the conversation gave him confirmation that this path remained open, something he appreciated without showing relief openly, because if Linn had refused, nothing would have broken between him and Finn, the friendship stood independently, but it would have quietly removed one of the strongest options Max had for creating a legitimate, witnessed closure to the problem.

" Go back home. I’ll have the bike delivered to you. My wife and I need to cancel our plans for tonight... you’re lucky she’s in town. "

Linn said it with an easy smile, but the decision behind it was deliberate, the kind that meant he had already committed mentally, shifting priorities without making it feel like a favor, then he gestured toward the door with a small motion, not dismissing Max but closing the discussion in a practical way, because next steps now belonged outside conversation.

Max smiled back, understanding the meaning beneath the gesture, this was not Linn asserting authority, it was acceptance, the shift from client to someone he was willing to stand beside, and that difference mattered more than the offer itself. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

Max stood up and left the glass chamber without prolonging the moment, moving through the showroom floor until he spotted Finn, who was test riding a bike near the demo area, clearly focused on not dropping it rather than actually riding it.

" Yo, Finn. Give me a lift back home, would you? "

Max called out casually, leaning slightly against a pillar as he watched the awkward attempt unfold.

" Sure, just wait a moment. This is a Panigale V4... let’s see if I can ride it like you. "

Finn replied with misplaced confidence, adjusting his grip like technique alone would fix the gap, while Max stayed where he was with an amused expression, watching Finn try to handle a bike that demanded more precision than enthusiasm.

Finn was a decent driver when it came to cars, predictable, but on a bike the difference showed immediately, balance, throttle sensitivity, body position — things that couldn’t be improvised, and Max didn’t interrupt, letting him learn the limit on his own.

*BRRRMM*

*CRASH*

The sound came almost instantly after the throttle spike, the engine screaming for a fraction of a second before control vanished, the bike jerking sideways and dropping hard, the impact sharp against the showroom floor, drawing attention from every direction.

Linn stepped out of the glass chamber immediately, the shift from composed businessman to irritated father happening in one movement, his eyes scanning the scene — the damaged bike first, then Finn on the ground, lightly bruised but intact — and his jaw tightened.

" You son of a... how many times have I told you not to touch special edition bikes? "

The anger wasn’t about the fall itself but the predictability of it, the repeated warning ignored again, Finn already reading the tone before the sentence finished, biting his lip and pushing himself up quickly, the expression halfway between guilt and escape instinct, then he moved not arguing or explaining — just running, because this was a familiar reaction pattern.

Max watched it unfold with a faint smile, not amused by the crash but by the dynamic, the outcome expected the moment Finn grabbed that bike, and he gave Linn a small nod before stepping away toward the parking lot, leaving father and son to their routine without inserting himself into it.

" Let me drive. "

By the time Max reached the parking area, Finn was already there, smiling like someone who survived rather than learned, breathing heavily with his hands on his knees, adrenaline still running through him, and Max’s words came as a simple conclusion, not criticism, the decision made without discussion.

Finn didn’t even bother asking anything, he just tossed the keys of his latest Audi RS3 toward Max without slowing his pace, the metal spinning once in the air before Max caught it cleanly, the movement natural, and he walked straight to the driver’s side.

Opening the door and sliding into the seat, the interior immediately wrapping around him — tight sport bucket seats, Alcantara grip on the wheel, the subtle smell of new leather and electronics — this was the first time he was going to activate his god-tier driving skill inside a car rather than on a bike.

He waited for Finn to get in, watching the digital cockpit come alive in standby, the curved display lighting softly across the dash, ambient lighting tracing the cabin lines, and once Finn dropped into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut.

Max pressed the start button, the 2.5-liter five-cylinder engine firing up with that distinctive uneven growl unique to the RS3, the vibration controlled but alive, the tach needle rising briefly before settling, the drivetrain tightening as if the car itself was ready to move the moment he touched the accelator.