After another upheaval, Holly Larson was sprawled across Jason Carter, clinging to him like an octopus, her breath heavy and uneven. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, but she still toyed lazily with his chest as if unwilling to let go.
Jason ignored the teasing and pulled up his system panel.
System Mission:
Raise the favorability of 8 women by +80.
Raise the favorability of 3 women by +90.
Raise the favorability of 1 woman by +100.
Progress flickered on the screen:
Emma: Favorability +80 (completed).
Holly Larson: Favorability +90 (completed).
But after completing the fourth task, the system refused to count three of the +80 and one of the +90.
Jason scowled. "This damn system… it never counts past work. Always resets before the next mission. Still, Holly reaching +90 wasn't easy. Maybe I should just try to push her to +100. Solve the hard part first."
He shifted slightly, then asked softly, "Holly, you mentioned before that your relatives are well-off, but you weren't really welcome at home?"
Holly didn't open her eyes. Her hand continued to trace small circles across his chest as she answered with a lazy drawl, "Yeah. I've never been popular in my family. My relatives are all polished, smart, well-connected. They only saw me as acceptable because I was attractive enough and carried the Larson name. My dad's side? Poor background. My mom's family looked down on him from the start."
She sighed. "At first, Grandpa tolerated him, thinking Dad's degree might bring some prestige. But Dad's just… average. He can do a little of everything, but he's not the type to rise high. Soon enough, Grandpa showed his disgust openly. At home, my dad has no status—and by extension, neither do I."
Jason listened in silence as she went on.
"So yeah, I hated being at home. That's why I always ran off to play after school. Luckily, they're still middle-class enough to afford toys—cars, bikes, even a jet ski once. But warmth? Forget it. I was never really wanted."
Jason asked casually, "Your grandfather's business—something with rare earths, right?"
Holly gave a little laugh. "Not that high-end. Nothing like mining rights or mega-corporations. That's impossible for people like us. Grandpa just runs a small processing plant—magnets, alloys, materials for bigger factories. It pays, but it's not glamorous."
Jason pressed, "So, your parents? Who treats you better?"
"My dad," she murmured softly. "He doesn't have much money, but he cares. My mom… she's strict, controlling. I love to dance, but she forced finance classes on me. If it weren't for Dad's support, I'd be stuck in something I hate. That only made him more of an outcast at home. Sometimes I think… if I could just become someone, maybe Dad wouldn't have to bow his head so much."
She gave a bitter little chuckle. "But me? I'm not that type. Too playful. I can't stick with anything for long."
To her, it was just small talk. But Jason noticed she had opened her heart completely, her defenses gone. He quietly picked up his phone and typed into the private chat of the Motors Alliance and the Business Club:
"Anyone got contacts in Montana or Colorado dealing in magnet processing or alloys? A friend of mine's family is in the field. Help me out, give them some support."
The reaction was immediate. The chat exploded.
Last time Jason had called for help, more than a dozen people showed up on short notice—because everyone knew sticking close to him meant opportunity. Some still regretted not backing him earlier, when just one of his casual ventures had pulled in nearly $20 million. Even if there was a pending lawsuit, everyone could see the negotiations leaning in his favor.
One favor, one connection with Jason Carter, could mean tens of millions.
This time, the crowd was already restless, tripping over themselves to respond.
By now, Jason Carter's reputation in both the Motors Alliance and the Business Club had reached its peak. Every time he said something, there was an immediate response.
But in the Motors Alliance, the members were frustrated. Their industries were based mostly in New York and Los Angeles, far from Montana or Colorado, where Holly's family's small factory was located. They wanted desperately to help Jason, but had no foothold in the region.
"Damn it, I really want to step up for Jason, but I've got nothing in the Rockies."
"Same here. I've got zero connections out west. This is killing me."
"If only I had one business contact in Montana… one! The opportunity's right in front of me, and I can't grab it."
A wave of regret rippled through the group. Guys like Lewis and a few others had cashed in huge benefits the last time they backed Jason. But those who'd hesitated before were practically gnashing their teeth now.
Especially Mike and Josh, who had sunk money into shaky real estate ventures that were threatening to collapse. Both men were desperate. The first time, they'd backed the wrong person—Emma instead of Jason. The second time, they didn't even notice the group message. Now, finally, the golden chance was right here, and they had no way to touch it.
The entire Motors Alliance fell silent. None of them could help.
Then the Business Club lit up.
"Jason, I've got a friend who runs a salvage company," one member said. "On the surface, it doesn't sound related, but think about it—junked electric cars, old appliances, even scrap electronics, they're full of magnets. He could supply Holly's family with loads of material."
Another chimed in, "I run a dismantling yard. We don't use the magnets ourselves—only the metals—but we pull tons of them out every week. I could pass those along cheap."
"Montana, right?" someone else said. "I've got a guy out there who's linked with a mana-ore refinery. They use enchanted alloys, which still rely on magnet cores. I'll pull him into the chat."
That was the difference between the two clubs. The Motors Alliance was wealthier, flashier, but narrow. The Business Club was full of gritty, all-trade types—people with hands in every corner of the economy. They weren't shy about using their contacts, either. For Jason, they would pull strings without hesitation.
Meanwhile, in a small town outside Helena, Montana, a man named Grant Larson—Holly's uncle—was running his modest magnet workshop. Business had been rough. The best way to keep costs down was to reclaim magnets from scrap, refine them, and resell them to enchanted-alloy manufacturers. But Grant was too straightforward, too unwilling to use shady tricks, and his profits suffered.
That day, his phone rang.
"Mr. Larson? I run a salvage plant. We've been stockpiling magnets from junk cars and appliances. Tons of ferrite cores, some neodymium as well. Dirt cheap. Interested?"
Grant blinked. "That cheap? You're serious?"
Ferrite magnets were low-value, sure, but the price quoted was ridiculously low. Even the neodymium—sold at the absolute floor price—was suspiciously generous.
Still, he took the deal. And when the first shipment arrived, it was exactly as promised—no scams, no tricks.
Then another call came, this time from a dismantling factory. "We throw out magnets every day. If you want, we'll ship them directly to you. Long-term arrangement."
Grant nearly dropped the phone. It was like fortune falling from the sky. For years, he had been just the unwanted son-in-law in the Larson household, the quiet man nobody respected. But now, with this steady supply line, his little workshop would thrive—and for the first time in decades, he could walk into family gatherings with his head held high.
He had no idea it all began with a single message Jason Carter dropped in a group chat.
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