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Chapter 54 - The lovestruck 'Chicken Brain'

"Buy your car with convenience—satisfaction guaranteed. We also accept…"

The television flickered in the corner of a lavish office, its screen casting soft light across polished mahogany and gold-trimmed furniture. A middle-aged man sat with effortless poise in a leather chair, his short black hair neatly combed, brown eyes sharp and unreadable. His flat nose and plush lips gave him a calm, almost indifferent expression, but the muscle-toned frame beneath his tailored shirt hinted at a man who didn't tolerate nonsense.

In one hand, he held a glass of aged whisky. In the other, a phone—his thumb swiping across the screen as he played Temple Run, eyes locked in casual focus.

Then the broadcast changed.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a breaking news bulletin. Earlier this evening, the small town of Rosa in Costa Rica descended into chaos as fire brigades and police sirens flooded the streets. The sky was lit ablaze by the inferno consuming the estate of the late Mr. Andrew Blane. The fire raged beyond control, leaving the property in ruins—nothing but ash and debris. Nobody knows the cause of the fire yet but the police and the WFAB are investigating. Meanwhile everyone is anticipating the upcoming Horse Derby Racing season which is going to take place in Costa Rica. People are now wondering ...'with these events happening, will the country be fit to host the races'..."

The man turned down the volume and exhaled slowly.

"I guess they couldn't wait to burn down their tracks," he muttered. "What a shame… and a waste."

He set the phone aside and took a slow sip of whisky, letting the rich flavor settle on his tongue. His eyes closed briefly, as if the drink were a balm for something deeper—an ache, a memory, or simply the weight of the day.

Knock. Knock.

The sound pierced the quiet.

The door creaked open, and a young man in his early twenties peeked through. He had short brown hair, sharp features, and wore a black tracksuit that clashed with the room's opulence.

"I didn't say enter, you nitwit! Ever heard of privacy?" barked the man in the chair.

"Sorry, Uncle Jethro," the younger man replied, stepping inside. "I thought you could use some company, considering the chaos that took place."

Jethro sighed and rubbed his forehead, irritation simmering beneath his composed exterior. His nephew wasn't the cause of the mayhem, but his timing was impeccable—in the worst way. Some days, Jethro wished he could lock the boy in a soundproof cage just to preserve his peace.

Jethro didn't even look up. His voice was low, tired, and laced with disdain.

"What do you want, Travis. You're obviously not here to keep me company or anything. Before you even ask I am not granting you any favours. I have already given you enough. And you destroyed it all."

"I know, Uncle," Travis replied, sliding into the chair opposite him, hands buried in his pockets. "That's why I'm not asking for a favor. Just… a request."

Jethro turned his head lazily, raised an eyebrow, and took a sip of whisky. "What now?"

Travis cleared his throat. "Well… Uncle, after thinking about it long and hard… I've decided I want to go to college."

Pfffttt—

Jethro spat his drink, coughing from the shock due to his nephew's declaration.

"You? College?" he barked. "Where'd you buy the smart brain from—Yahoo.com? What kind of institution would be dumb enough to accept a chicken-brain, a disaster like you? You still don't know the inside-out of a tracksuit—let alone your own underwear!"

And true to his word, Travis was indeed wearing his tracksuit inside-out.

Flushing red, he looked down and mumbled, "Oh come on, Uncle! You don't have to be like that! I was in a hurry to comfort you that...I forgot to wear my tracksuit properly. It really came as a blow to me after seeing the news, that your dear friend Blane was gone and his mega 500 million dollar mansion was burned to ash. What's even more sad is that it burned down without leaving a clue about how to get your hands on his hidden loot..."

Hissss!

Jethro hissed sharply, eyes flashing.

Travis snapped his mouth shut.

"You blubber-mouthed idiot," Jethro growled. "No wonder you've got a chicken brain. Keep talking like that and you'll end up in someone's stew pot."

He took another sip of whisky, slower this time, trying to calm the storm rising in his chest.

After a long pause, Jethro sighed and asked, "Who's the girl?"

Travis blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? How did you know it was a girl?"

Jethro didn't even look at him. "Because whenever a boy decides to do something stupid—or in your case, brazenly brave for a chicken brain—there's always a girl involved. Though I can't imagine what she'd see in you."

He muttered the last part under his breath, watching his nephew's dumbstruck expression with a mix of pity and amusement.

"So," Jethro continued, "where did you meet her?"

Travis's mind drifted back to earlier that day…

He had snuck out with one of Jethro's prized sports cars, speeding through the streets like he owned them. The engine roared, the wind whipped through the open windows, and Travis felt invincible.

Until he nearly ran over a student at a zebra crossing.

The girl stumbled, dropping her books as she hit the pavement. Her black hair spilled across her face, freckles dusted her cheeks, and her glasses lay several feet away, cracked and crooked.

Travis stepped out of the car, annoyed.

"Urrgh… just my lucky day," he muttered, approaching her.

She was on her knees, blindly feeling for her glasses.

Travis scoffed. "What a loser…"

He stood over her, arms crossed, voice dripping with mockery.

"Hey, ugly duckling! You almost made me wreck my uncle's favorite car with your pathetic eyesight. Can't you see where you're going? Oh wait—you can't, can you? Your cheeks are so fat they swallowed your eyes. Poor you. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

The girl whimpered, still searching. "My glasses… my glasses…"

Travis spotted them nearby, picked them up, and knelt beside her.

"Oh, poor thing. Looking for these?" he said sweetly.

As she reached out, he let them fall to the ground. "Oops."

She reached again.

He stood and crushed them under his shoe. "Ooh… double woopsy!"

The girl froze, staring at the shattered remains. Silent tears began to fall.

Travis leaned in, voice mocking. "Aww… is little ugly duckling crying now? Because a mean boy broke her glasses?"

He laughed, cruel and loud.

"This is what you get for being a loser. Now get your filthy body out of my way before I run you over. Go cry to your mama and papa, loser!"

He turned to walk back to the car—

WACK!

A slap cracked across his face, loud and unforgiving.

"What the fuck! Who do you think you are—"

Wack! Wack!

Two more slaps landed before Travis could finish his sentence. He stumbled backward, dazed, stars dancing in his vision.

A gentle voice floated through the chaos.

"Are you okay?"

Travis blinked, trying to focus. The voice belonged to someone standing beside the girl he'd just bullied, but his vision was still spinning.

"Come on. Let me help you," the newcomer said, gathering the girl's scattered books and gently taking her hand to guide her across the road.

Travis squinted. The figure wore an overcoat with a hooded hat, obscuring their face.

"Hey!" he roared. "Where do you think you're going after hitting me, you scumbag? You want a piece of me? Do you even know who I am? Come back here and let's settle this—right here, right now!"

The pair ignored him, crossing the road calmly toward the college gates.

Travis, fuming, stomped after them.

"Come back here!" he shouted.

The newcomer turned to the girl. "It's safe. Keep walking."

Travis lunged, trying to dodge the newcomer and grab the girl—but before he could reach her—

WHAM!

A roundhouse kick slammed into his chest, sending him crashing to the pavement.

"Oww… my back! Son of a bitch!" he groaned, clutching his ribs.

He then lifted his head to face his attacker. The person he saw in front of him left him breathless for a moment that he couldn't feel his pain.

Standing over him was a girl who looked like she'd stepped out of a dream and into a battlefield. Long golden wavy brown hair framed her light brown skin. Her cherry-pink lips, sharp nose, and black eyes with long lashes gave her a fierce, captivating beauty. Her overcoat had fallen open, revealing a white t-shirt tucked into light brown baggy trousers, paired with matching sneakers.

Travis's jaw dropped.

"Damn… now that's a girl from my fantasies. I don't care if she kicks me again—as long as it's her, she can do whatever she wants. Haba! Haba!"

The girl saw the look on his face written with obvious attraction and felt her stomach turn.

"Ugh… I think I'm going to barf."

She sighed, then leaned down slightly.

"Next time you walk out of your house with your brain stuffed in your ass, think twice. Or you'll end up as dog food."

With that, she turned and walked toward the college gates.

Travis sat up slowly, watching her help the girl he'd bullied brush off her clothes and usher her through the gate.

"Alisha! Tasha! Girls, wait!"

Another girl ran up to them—light brown curly hair, pink jeans, white sweater, white sneakers.

"Hey, Melissa!"

"Hi, girl!"

"What happened, Tasha? Are you okay?"

The chatter continued as they ventured deeper inside the campus.

Travis stood, watching them disappear inside the campus. He looked up at the sign above the gate:

Lancaster University

A school for the bright and open-minded.

He scoffed. "Sounds boring… but I like it."

Then his eyes narrowed, a grin creeping across his face.

"Just wait, my beautiful Alisha. Your prince charming is about to enter your castle. Just you wait… I'm going to make you mine."

Pfffttt—

Travis was yanked back to reality as Jethro spat his whisky across the room in disbelief, again.

"Lancaster University?! Are you insane?" Jethro barked. "That school is for the bold—not chicken brains like you! Only the brightest go there. And you—just because you saw a golden goose doesn't mean you should march into the giant's den to steal its eggs. What happens when you end up on his dinner plate, huh? How's your chicken brain going to save you then?"

He shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Sheesh… and here I thought I was the dumb one. Lucia, my dear sister, you gave birth to a brainless airhead who thinks a smouldering grin in fancy pants is enough to get into one of the world's most prestigious universities. Unbelievable."

Travis groaned. "Oh, come on, Uncle! I'm not a chicken brain. Have you forgotten I graduated top of my class at Portly High? I had great grades!"

Jethro snorted. "Oh, I remember. You were top… of the bottom. The only reason you graduated top was because you killed the principal's dog and fed it to his pigs! Then you threatened him to swap your exam papers with that boy—George—unless he wanted to lose a leg and join the pigs too!"

Travis shrugged. "And I'd do it again. I'm a Morales, Uncle. You can't blame me for being a little cruel. Our family tree is full of villains and villainesses. We weren't called the Jackals for nothing."

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "So… are you going to help me or not? If not, I'll go to Uncle Xander. He always comes through for me."

Jethro groaned and rubbed his forehead like he was trying to massage away a migraine. "Fine. But this is the first and last request I'm granting you. After this, you're on your own."

Travis lit up. "Thank you, Uncle! I promise I won't let you down! Thank you so much! Now..I can finally fix that broken side mirror I cracked last night on your blue Porsche—with a joyful heart!"

Jethro froze mid-sip.

"You. Did. What!!"

Realizing his slip, Travis bolted from the chair and sprinted toward the door.

CRASH!

A whisky glass flew past his head and shattered against the wall.

"Travis Adrè Morales, get back here this instant!" Jethro roared, storming after his nephew.

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