Ethan woke up, the morning light filtering dimly through the heavy curtains. He stretched, the long, powerful muscles of his back and chest coiling easily. He got up and splashed cold water on his face.

[Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Ready to conquer the world, or at least the breakfast line? I suggest you eat something that can handle the sheer caloric output of your awesomeness.]

He put on a simple short-sleeved shirt, which effortlessly revealed the sculpted, powerful shape of his arms and toned, V-cut chest. He looked like a statue carved from granite.

He stepped out, saw a few early risers, and took in his surroundings. He considered running through the parking lot for his warm-up, but then remembered he was at MIT and smiled. Ethan thought: "No need to be such a caveman. I'll use the facilities."

He headed straight for the campus track.

There, he began his intense routine: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 abs, and 100 burpees. He then spent some time shadowboxing, adjusting his movements and footwork, refining his fighting style based on his rapidly increasing physical knowledge.

From a distance, Tyrone, the Olympic hopeful Ethan had easily defeated in a casual fight days earlier, watched him with wide-eyed frustration.

Tyrone wasn't alone. As Ethan finished his shadowboxing, three figures approached: Tyrone, the stern-looking Head of the Athletics Team, and the jovial Basketball Coach.

All three men wanted to recruit him. Tyrone saw an extraordinary talent wasted on a mere student. The two coaches saw gold medals and championship trophies.

"Ethan, man, you're a freak of nature!" Tyrone exclaimed, running up. "It's a criminal waste for you not to compete for the university! We could dominate the championships with you!"

"We offer full scholarships, guaranteed glory, and national recognition," the Athletics Head promised, his voice eager.

Ethan listened, smiling politely. They all promised the same things: scholarships, glory, and fame. But Ethan already had far too much on his plate—money, power, and secrets. He gave only vague replies.

"Thank you, I appreciate the offers, gentlemen. I'll certainly think about it, but I can't promise anything right now." He nodded, dismissing them easily.

As the coaches walked away, disappointed but not defeated, Ethan saw the Dean in the distance. She smiled and gave him a subtle hand signal—the kind of signal that said, 'Come here, I need to check the damage.'

He approached her, his smile widening. "Good morning. Are you enjoying your stay?"

"I am, dean" he replied, leaning in conspiratorially. "But I must admit, I'm surprised someone enrolled me in the dormitories, knowing i have a mansion five minutes away of here."

"I thought it would be fun," she admitted with a mischievous laugh. "I thought you should have some special MIT memories."

Ethan chuckled softly. "I appreciate that. You're right, it is extremely fun being here. I'm having a blast."

Her expression then shifted to a warning. "I've received some persistent rumors. Since you arrived, you've allegedly knocked out over seven people. You need to be careful not to cause problems, Mr. Blake. We wouldn't want to have to expel you."

"I'll be fine, Dean. I have you," Ethan replied smoothly, closing the distance between them. He reached out and firmly gripped her buttocks, pulling her close in public, shielded only by the early hour.

The Dean gasped softly but bit her lip, suppressing the reaction. "Not so hard in public! You know, you are a beast, Ethan. I still can't sit properly from the other day. It's the first time anyone has left my cunt so utterly devastated."

Ethan smiled, the predatory confidence back in his eyes. "It's an honor to have torn up your cunt. Call me when you want a repeat."

"Trust me, I will. Let me heal first," she whispered back, adjusting her blazer. "And Laura is just as eager. She complained all day yesterday about the burning and how she couldn't track you down for a second round."

Ethan laughed heartily, gave her another firm slap on her rear, and continued his walk back toward the dormitory.

He looked around as he walked. It was only 6:00 AM, but the campus was already bustling. People were moving with purpose, already deeply engrossed in study or exercise, impressing him with the level of true high-performance dedication at the university.

Ethan arrived back at his dorm room. He stopped short, surprised by the scene inside.

Max, despite his crippling hangover from the night before, was already sitting at his desk, head bowed over a thick textbook. Ming was sitting nearby, looking stressed, tapping a pencil against a workbook. Both were deep in concentration.

Ethan was genuinely impressed. Even at this early hour, fresh from a chaotic night, they were entirely devoted to their studies. Ethan thought: "They're not just rich kids playing at college; they're genuinely driven."

He approached the desk where they were working.

"Morning, geniuses," Ethan greeted them.

Max groaned, holding his head. "Morning, slave driver. I'm trying to focus, but this differential calculus problem is trying to kill me, just like the tequila."

"We're completely stuck, Ethan," Ming admitted, pointing to a complicated equation. "We've been at this for twenty minutes. We keep getting stuck at the chain rule application."

Ethan glanced at the problem. His System-enhanced mind instantly processed the variables, the necessary substitution, and the quick simplification steps that had eluded them. The answer, and the elegant method to reach it, was immediately obvious.

Ethan leaned over, his powerful arm muscles flexing slightly as he pointed to a term on the page. "You're overcomplicating the variable substitution here. Look, if you treat the entire parenthesis as a single variable 'u' for the first derivative, the solution simplifies immediately because the second term becomes zero."

He quickly scribbled a concise line of algebra and the final numerical answer.

"The solution is y' = 5x^2 + sin(x^2)" Ethan stated, handing the workbook back. "Try working backwards from that, focusing on that initial substitution."

Max and Ming stared at the workbook, then at each other, then back at Ethan, dumbfounded.

"You just... solved that in three seconds. That's a week's worth of work," Ming whispered in awe.

"Just a different approach," Ethan shrugged off the genius display. He turned toward the bathroom to grab a shower.

"And by the way," Ethan called over his shoulder before closing the door. "You two should do some exercise. A run, a few push-ups. It clears the mind, boys. Trust me on that."

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