A gray drizzle slicked the city streets as Sorin stepped out of the office, tension coiling in his chest. The day had been a blur of half-hearted calls and uneasy interactions. He couldn’t shake the memory of Lena’s distressed face, how he’d inadvertently driven her to a breakdown by nudging her priorities in his favor. His moral balance felt shakier than ever.

Ravenor was waiting near a broken lamppost across the road, collar turned up against the light rain. He gave Sorin a curt nod, then motioned for him to follow. Sorin fell into step silently, letting the city’s hum fill the space they didn’t occupy with words.

They turned a corner into a narrower side street where neon lights flickered above shuttered stores. Ravenor finally spoke. “How’s the guilt?”

Sorin’s stomach knotted. “You already know. I hate seeing the damage I’ve caused.”

Ravenor didn’t break stride. “But you keep doing it, no? Tier 1’s netting you wins—money, job stability, no more being cornered.”

A bitter laugh caught in Sorin’s throat. “At what cost?”

Ravenor didn’t answer. Instead, he stopped beside a shuttered pawn shop, glancing around to ensure they were alone. Then he turned to Sorin, eyes gleaming with intent. “I’ve arranged a little scenario for you.”

Sorin stiffened. “Scenario?” The word sent a shiver down his spine. He recalled Ravenor’s cryptic hints about pushing Tier 1 to its limits. “Why do I get the feeling I won’t like this?”

Ravenor gave a thin smile. “Because it involves using those ‘harmless’ nudges in a far less harmless way.” He pulled out his phone, tapping it once. “A contact of mine has a small grudge against a local merchant—the type who thrives on shady deals. We can… rattle him, using only the manipulations you already know.”

Sorin’s pulse drummed in his ears. “Rattle him how?”

Ravenor’s gaze was unreadable. “He owes my contact a favor, refuses to pay up. So the plan is to corner him into signing a detrimental agreement. You’ll be the one to do it—subtle Mirroring, a heavy dose of Social Proof or Scarcity, maybe some Anchoring about how time is running out. Force him into a humiliating concession.”

A cold weight settled in Sorin’s gut. “That’s… borderline blackmail.”

Ravenor shrugged. “Blackmail? Or just a strong persuasion session. You’re not brandishing a weapon. You’re applying Tier 1 with more intensity. Perfect test of your skill—and your resolve.”

Sorin’s mouth went dry. This was exactly the moral line he dreaded. No genuine negotiation or fairness, just pressing someone until they break. “Why me?” he managed.

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“Because you’re the student. I want to see if you can push these tactics beyond polite coaxing. This is your threshold moment, Sorin—either you commit fully, or we part ways.” Ravenor’s tone was disturbingly calm.

Sorin forced a breath. “What if I say no?”

Ravenor’s eyes flickered. “Then you walk away. Keep playing nice at the office, keep worrying about petty guilt. Maybe the loan sharks resurface, maybe the landlord calls off your extension. Your choice.”

A swirl of fear and anger rippled through Sorin. So it’s do this or risk losing Ravenor’s guidance—and all the advantages that come with it. “You’re giving me an ultimatum.”

“Call it a final lesson.” Ravenor pocketed his phone, gaze drilling into Sorin. “Use only the Tier 1 methods you’ve mastered. No fancy, unnamed advanced tricks. But drive him to sign a humiliating agreement he can’t back out of. Think you can handle that?”

Sorin clenched his fists, heart thudding. He flashed on Lena’s pain, Calvin’s humiliation… and the ruthless efficiency with which Tier 1 manipulations had worked every time. Mirroring the merchant’s posture, Anchoring a sense of urgency, Social Proof that everyone would see him as a fool if he refused. Possibly a fake scarcity angle to make him panic. Enough pressure, and he’d capitulate. It’s horrifying how unstoppable it sounds.

Ravenor tilted his head. “Decide quickly. My contact’s expecting us in half an hour. If you won’t do it, say so, and we’ll leave it at that. I’ll know you’re not cut out for bigger things.”

Sorin’s pulse hammered. He’s not mincing words. This was far beyond coaxing a friend or outmaneuvering a workplace rival. This was actively cornering a vulnerable man for someone else’s gain.

His throat felt tight. “I… need a moment.”

“Take it.” Ravenor stepped aside, letting Sorin pace a few feet away under the drizzle. The city’s neon glow reflected off rain-slick pavement, painting the street in lurid colors.

Sorin remembered how easily he’d “won” each time he used Tier 1. The landlord, Calvin, that job interview… all successes. But each left him with pangs of guilt. Now this. If he agreed, he’d be applying those same manipulations in a deliberately cruel scenario. The man might lose his livelihood or endure public shame. Sorin stared at his trembling hands. Would he cross that line?

“You have five minutes,” Ravenor called, voice echoing off the empty street. “Then we either go meet my contact or we walk.”

Sorin’s mind spun. If I walk away, I lose Ravenor’s mentorship—maybe that’s for the best? But then, no further guidance means no deeper manipulative advantage in dealing with looming threats. The job alone might not save me from every debt or future thug. This is the pivot point…

He closed his eyes. The memory of Lena crying was fresh. Yet Ravenor’s offer dangled real power—and a sense of unstoppable security. If I can do this… do I become a monster or just someone who refuses to be a victim?

He opened his eyes, the rain trickling down his collar. One path led back to moral qualms and uncertain survival. The other path led to a dark mastery of human levers.

“Sorin?” Ravenor’s voice was soft but insistent now. “Time’s almost up.”

Sorin inhaled, fists unclenching. He glanced at Ravenor, seeing only calm expectation in that gaze. His heart pounded with a final surge of indecision.

Decision time.

He took one step closer to Ravenor.