Urban System in America
Chapter 158 - 157: Living Among Monsters

Chapter 158: Chapter 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."

Johnson raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then let out a satisfied breath, like a teacher pleased with a student who finally answered the question without being prompted.

"That’s what I like to hear," he said. "Just don’t let it make you paranoid. Awareness is good. Cynicism, not so much. Balance is key."

Rex nodded. "Got it."

He didn’t say more. He didn’t need to.

Even if his goal wasn’t something like world domination or shit like that, even if all he ever wanted was a quiet, leisurely life. One where he didn’t have to deal with other people’s mess, one where no one could just walk in and ruin everything he’d built. Totally free from the chaos, the schemes, the suffocating pressure of climbing ladders that never seemed to end.... A life on his own terms—simple, slow, peaceful.

But he wasn’t naïve.

Even he knew... comfort wasn’t something handed freely in this world.

This world didn’t allow people to stay idle for long, especially not when you were just a kid sitting on top of a mountain of gold. Sooner or later, someone would come knocking, either to use him, control him, or crush him.

So he’d have to rise—step by step, higher and higher. Not because he craved power, but because peace couldn’t exist without it.

So if power was the currency of peace...

Then he’d gather enough to never owe anyone again.

He would rise—not to rule over others, but to ensure no one could ever rule over him.

And if monsters were the ones who ruled this world...

Then he would learn to walk among them, not as prey....not as one of their own, but as something worse.

Something they would never dare bare their fangs at.

That was just how the world worked.

Law wasn’t really about right or wrong—it never was. It was about who had the power to bend the rules, about who you knew and how much you had. Justice? That was just a pretty word used in courtrooms and campaign slogans. In the real world, wealth and connections often meant the difference between a slap on the wrist and spending half your life behind bars.

He’d seen it happen, again and again, in his last life. Patterns repeating like a bad joke, only no one was laughing.

He remembered reading a case—one of many. About a woman, thrown in jail for years just because she stole groceries. Bread, rice, milk. That’s it. She just wanted to feed her kids. And for that, the system came down on her like she’d committed treason.

And then you look at the other side—people who’ve started wars, Real ones. Who signed off on bombings, invasions, toppled governments, left whole countries in ruin... killed hundreds of thousands...all for politics, profit, or ego. And walked away clean. No handcuffs. No trials. Just photo ops, best-seller books, and grinning faces on magazine covers, giving speeches about leadership and peace.

What a joke.

Honestly, he didn’t hate the world for being unfair. That would’ve been pointless. He just accepted it for what it was—a rigged game. A game where the dice were always loaded, and the house always won.

But that didn’t mean he’d play it blindly again.

That’s why he had taken the extreme route when dealing with Clement. Sure, he could’ve just handed over the evidence anonymously and walked away. But he knew how that would’ve ended. The evidence would’ve mysteriously disappeared before it ever saw daylight, buried quietly, and Clement would’ve gone on living without a care in the world—protected by the same system built to shield people like him.

Only by pushing things to the edge had he ensured the man would face consequences.

But at least the result had been satisfying.

Sensing that the atmosphere had grown too heavy, too dark with talks of corruption, injustice, and monsters in human skin, Uncle Johnson leaned back in his chair, the old leather creaking slightly under his weight. He let out a breath, slow and deliberate, as if releasing some of the bitterness that had settled in the room.

"Anyway," he said, waving a hand as though brushing away the shadows that had crept between them. "Enough of that for now. Let’s talk about you."

Rex blinked, caught slightly off-guard by the sudden shift. Johnson’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the sharp gaze of someone who’d been in a position of power too long not to notice when someone was trying to hide something.

"I heard you were missing for two days?"

Rex let out a small, awkward chuckle, instinctively scratching the back of his neck. "So... it reached you, huh?"

Johnson gave him a look that was somewhere between a tired parent and a suspicious investigator—familiar, mildly amused, but not without weight. It was the kind of expression that said, I won’t push, but don’t think I won’t notice.

"Well," Rex began, shifting in his seat, "I had something important to do. Just... something I needed to take care of. Personal stuff."

His tone was casual, even lighthearted—but inside, his thoughts were anything but.

’Yeah... just disappeared into a mysterious realm for a few decades to master painting and stuff. Nothing too serious.’

He offered a sheepish grin, trying to downplay it, but Uncle Johnson’s gaze lingered a second longer, raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but choosing, for the moment, not to press.

(End of Chapter)