Chapter 158 - 157: Living Among Monsters
"You’ll see it more and more as you climb higher. The real world doesn’t run on fairness or truth—it runs on leverage. Power. Influence. The ones who smile for the cameras and make speeches about justice? They’re often the same ones trading favors in the shadows."
Rex didn’t reply immediately.
He simply stared at his uncle, his fingers loosely clasped in front of him, brows furrowed just slightly—not in resistance, but in contemplation. The words weren’t new. He’d heard them before, in different ways, from different mouths, even , lived them, in ways most people couldn’t imagine. After all, this wasn’t his first life.
Even so, in the end, in that past life, he had remained nothing more than a speck at the bottom of the rung. Just another expendable cog in the machine. The kind of person who could only glimpse truth from scattered fragments—office gossip, half-verified rumors, vague articles no one else cared to question.
But Uncle John?
John Johnson wasn’t just another corporate drone or middle manager. As Vice Chancellor of UCLA, one of the top universities in the world, he was a man standing close to the top of the social chain—someone who dealt with politicians, industry giants, powerful donors, and world-class academics like it was just another Monday. His knowledge wasn’t hearsay. It was insight—refined, filtered, and obtained in decades of direct experience.
So even if Rex had lived a lifetime before, what he had learned then could only scratch the surface.
"...Living among monsters, huh," he murmured, almost to himself. He leaned back slightly, eyes drifting to the side as if searching for something beyond the mahogany bookshelves and carefully curated certificates. "Can’t argue with that."
He didn’t say he already knew. Didn’t mention how his past life had forced him to taste betrayal, injustice, and corporate cruelty in more forms than one. How he’d been chewed up by a system that smiled on the surface but tore at your throat the moment you blinked.
But for some reason, hearing Uncle Johnson say it out loud—like a quiet warning laced with weary care—still left a mark.
"...You’re not wrong," he said finally, a small, dry smile forming at the corner of his lips. "Better to carry a sword and not need it, than to need one and have nothing but bare hands."