Chapter 205: Chapter 205: Rats Clad in Silk

Julian Sterling’s voice, cool and as sharp as a finely honed blade, sliced through the stagnant air of the lecture hall, effectively bringing the serpentine progression of the crowd to a jarring halt. More specifically, his words acted as an invisible tether, snagging the attention of the man who resembled a flamboyant chameleon more than a human. Vince Sutton spun around with a violent, jerky motion, his face contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated malice.

“What did you just say?” He spat, the words dripping with a venomous undertone that vibrated through the silent room.

Julian adjusted his stance with a languid, unhurried grace, his gaze remaining as calm as a frozen lake, yet simmering with a profound, palpable contempt as he looked directly into the eyes of Vince Sutton. He repeated himself, each syllable enunciated with the clinical precision of a surgeon: “I said that even the foulest gutter water harbors delusions of dancing alongside the vast, majestic waves of the ocean. There are some creatures, filthy, stinking vermin, who believe that by draping themselves in the finest silks and dousing their hides in the world’s most exorbitant perfumes, they can mask their true nature. In reality, they remain nothing more than a heap of rotting refuse that assaults the eyes and pollutes the very air we breathe. No amount of outward finery can ever hope to scrub away the stench of such inherent baseness.”

Julian spoke with a rhythmic, steady cadence, as though he were merely reciting a self-evident truth about the laws of nature. It was precisely this lack of overt mockery, this chilling, detached observation, that acted like a resounding slap across the face of Vince Sutton. It was an insult far more stinging than any shouted profanity could ever be. Julian’s composure was a stark, frigid contrast to the inferno of rage that was currently erupting in the eyes of Vince Sutton.

Unable to restrain his fury any longer, Vince Sutton ground his teeth together with a sound like crushing stone. He began taking heavy, aggressive strides toward Julian Sterling, attempting to use his physical bulk to intimidate and overwhelm the younger man.

In the countless web novels Julian Sterling had skimmed through during his rare moments of leisure, this was the exact moment where the stereotypical antagonist would leverage a towering, muscular frame to bully and suppress the protagonist. However, reality proved to be a disappointing stage for the theatrics of Vince Sutton. No matter how much Vince Sutton puffed out his chest or bristled with rage, he could not magically sprout the inches required to overlook Julian Sterling. Furthermore, because the lecture hall in Saint Lawrence was designed with a steep, tiered layout, Julian Sterling stood firmly on a higher step, effectively barricading the path. This forced Vince Sutton to stand on a lower level, creating a visual dynamic that stripped him of his perceived authority. He was literally and figuratively looking up at Julian Sterling, appearing diminished and weak in comparison to the commanding presence of Julian Sterling.

“What is the matter?” Julian Sterling asked, his voice a low, dangerous purr that seemed to echo off the walls: “Did I name you specifically? Why has your countenance shifted so drastically, becoming so savage and unseemly? I had always harbored the assumption that anyone capable of setting foot within the hallowed halls of the prestigious Saint Lawrence University would possess, at the very least, a modicum of education and basic self-respect. Looking at this aggressive, street-thug demeanor, it truly seems as though Vince Sutton was never taught how to behave in polite society.”

“Hey! Who do you think you are talking to? Do you have any idea whose presence you are in?”

Before Vince Sutton could even formulate a coherent rebuttal, the entourage of sycophants standing behind Vince Sutton erupted into a chaotic cacophony. They were a motley crew of followers, some pointing fingers with trembling indignation, others widening their eyes in a performance of feigned outrage to please their benefactor. They scrambled to defend their master, their desperate need for the favor of Vince Sutton manifesting as a pathetic display of loyalty. To Julian Sterling, the scene was disturbingly reminiscent of a pack of subservient curs, yapping and snarling at the heels of an alpha who was, in this case, nothing more than a glorified show-dog.

Julian Sterling could not help but find the situation absurdly theatrical, mirroring the tropes of those brain-dead stories where a slight change in dialogue would reveal the most tired of clichés. He could almost hear the scripted lines: a poor, hardworking student accidentally bumps into a wealthy heir, only for the surrounding guards to shriek about how dare a commoner touch their noble young master or how much the body of the heir was worth. In those tales, the poor student would usually dissolve into a puddle of terrified tears, begging for forgiveness while the antagonist heaped humiliation upon them to highlight their villainy.

It was a pity for them that, while Julian Sterling might have actually transmigrated into a book, he was not destined to play the role of the impoverished victim. More importantly, Vince Sutton lacked the pedigree and the stature to even dream of using phrases like wealth beyond measure when standing in front of Julian Sterling. The Sutton family and their Msson Enterprises were mere specks of dust compared to the shadow cast by the Sterling Group or the burgeoning power of Imperial Caine Analytics.

“As I mentioned, people without breeding often find it difficult to keep their mouths shut.” Julian Sterling remarked coolly, his eyes scanning the crowd with boredom: “It is truly a shame when the master is speaking and a few stray dogs or cats from some gods-forsaken corner feel the need to chime in just to prove they exist.”

As he spoke, Julian Sterling moved with a deliberate, slow grace, bending down to retrieve his tablet which lay abandoned on the cold floor. As he suspected, the glass screen of the expensive device was pulverized, a dense web of cracks radiating across its surface like a shattered mirror. This was no accidental drop, the damage was the result of the group’s deliberate and repeated attempts to grind it under their heels as they walked past. Each crack was a testament to the petty malice of Vince Sutton and his followers.

However, Julian Sterling did not show a hint of distress. He did not care for the monetary value of the broken technology. The entire group, including the arrogant Vince Sutton, seemed to hold their breath in anticipation. They were waiting for the payoff, the sight of the eyes of Julian Sterling welling with tears, or the sound of a choked sob as he realized his property was ruined. They wanted to see him broken, perhaps hoping Julian Sterling would crumble when they threw money at his feet as if he were a common beggar. But they were met with a chilling disappointment. Julian Sterling did not offer them the satisfaction of a single tear or a momentary lapse in composure. Instead, his attitude remained ironclad, his defiance morphing into a sharp, blatant provocation that left the crowd reeling in the wake of his calm. He stood tall, the shattered tablet in his hand looking more like a trophy of their failure than a sign of his defeat.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep