Hannah laughed at the screen's bullet-chat; someone called Oscar Wells a skilled two-timer, advising other philanderers to emulate his ability to juggle affairs and studies. She found the comments hilariously embarrassing before refocusing on the interview.

After introductions, the pointed questions began. The first interviewer asked, “Mr. Wells, you claim disinterest in business, choosing instead to study the social legal system. Was this due to an inability to compete with your elder brothers, a self-imposed surrender, or a calculated move to cultivate connections within aristocratic families?”

Oscar answered calmly, surprising everyone. “The Wells family harbors few intrigues, but let me share a brief anecdote. Wells Group’s near-monopoly on the software market stemmed from XM900, a low-investment, high-profit project. No competitor surpassed us for years—a decision I made alone. In my first month, I purchased the project despite the leadership's objections. I was right.”

Charles paled. He’d also considered XM900, a popular college system. He’d offered only one or two million, far below the developers' asking price of ten million, deriding them as unrealistic. After Wells Group not only acquired the patent for ten million but also signed the team for another ten million, he considered them foolishly extravagant. XM900 seemed a trivial college fad unlikely to have a major impact. He never anticipated it becoming a national standard and monopolizing the market.

He regretted his misjudgment, feeling guilty for failing to foresee the system's potential. He reasoned, however, that his oversight was understandable. Wells Group, as Northfield's leading power, had the resources to take such risks; Sawyer Group, lagging far behind, didn't. He shouldn’t be too upset.

But Oscar’s claim of sole responsibility for the decision struck him as impossible for a corporation. Charles possessed considerable market acumen; yet, Oscar's foresight surpassed his. He’d lost, not to Wells Group, but to Oscar himself. He desperately wanted to believe Oscar was lying, knowing the consequences of such deception within the aristocratic circles—permanent blacklisting and potential legal repercussions.

The next interviewer pressed, “Given your business acumen and advantageous position, why not choose the easier path initially? I understand, Mr. Wells, that you've had a somewhat… frivolous past.”

“I was lost for a time,” Oscar admitted. “At the Outstanding Youth Competition, I attributed my transformation to a significant woman, someone I aspired to improve myself for.”

The bullet-chat erupted. “Is he professing his love?” one commenter asked. Another added, “I thought that competition reason was contrived. Now I see it’s true.” One even stated, “Hannah and Charles were engaged then…”

Oscar continued, speaking steadily, “I planned to build my life – marry first, then establish a career. I needed to succeed—as a man, as a husband.”

His words were impeccable, but the interviewers abruptly shifted topics. “Assuming your acceptance as an officer, what are your career aspirations?”

“Thank you,” Oscar replied. “I would dedicate myself to continued learning and national service. My ultimate goal is to become a vice-minister.”

The vice-ministerial post was second in rank to the Head of the aristocratic families. The Headship was hereditary, unattainable by an outsider; vice-minister was attainable through merit.

“Ambitious,” remarked an interviewer, himself a vice-minister.

“As the saying goes, a soldier who doesn’t aspire to be a general is no good soldier.” The vice-minister nodded. “I hope you live up to your words.”

“I will do my best.”

Oscar received top marks. Charles, interviewing immediately after, felt the immense pressure, recalling his poor performance at the same competition years earlier. His nervousness, exacerbated by Oscar’s flawless presentation, resulted in a disappointing third-place ranking.

From youth, Charles had been intolerant of second place; third was unbearable.