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Ethan looked around at it all and smiled.
"Every board member wants to use this floor as the meeting room the first moment they see it," Sharon said.
"Even I want that," she added.
"There's no need to listen to them," Storm said simply. "Ethan-sama created this floor for himself. He's already generous enough to let them enjoy it once a year."
Sharon nodded.
"Yeah, that's true."
Ethan had recreated the idea from the game, but he hadn't used it the same way. At first, he had planned to. In the end, he left it alone and kept it as his private floor.
It was quiet here. Peaceful and beautiful.
When he wasn't working, this was where he came to relax.
Ethan stepped forward into the open hall.
The moment he did, the atmosphere changed.
Conversations slowed. Then stopped.
One by one, people turned to look at him. Board members, executives, investors—every pair of eyes followed his movement. Some smiled politely. Some looked nervous. Others looked openly curious.
But none of them stepped closer.
They all knew better.
Ethan felt it and sighed inwardly.
"…As expected," he muttered.
Sharon walked half a step behind him and sent the prepared speech to his FOCUS. The text appeared in his vision, clean and organized.
Ethan skimmed it once.
That was enough.
He stopped at the center of the hall. The lights adjusted slightly, focusing on him. The low background music faded.
Ethan lifted his gaze and spoke calmly.
"Thank you all for coming."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried.
"This year has been… productive."
The screens behind him activated, showing graphs and numbers.
"Our net growth increased by three hundred and eighty percent compared to last year."
A quiet wave of shock passed through the crowd.
Ethan continued without pause.
"Expansion projects were completed ahead of schedule. Security incidents dropped to zero. Research output exceeded projections in every division."
More data appeared—clean, undeniable.
"Arasaka is no longer just keeping up," Ethan said. "We're setting the pace."
The room remained silent for a moment. Eyes stayed fixed on him, some shifting nervously, others studying every gesture he made.
Ethan glanced at Sharon briefly. She gave a small nod. Everything was running smoothly.
He continued, "Our new branches are fully operational, and partnerships in emerging markets have already started showing returns. The projections for next quarter are strong, and our growth trajectory is solid."
Heads nodded, some taking notes, others whispering to their neighbors, but all still wary of stepping forward.
Ethan let the data speak for itself. The numbers were clear, and no one could deny the results.
He paused, letting the weight of the achievements sink in. Then he added, "I expect all of you to maintain this standard. Arasaka doesn't just survive—it leads. Complacency is not an option."
Murmurs ran through the crowd, but there was respect behind them. Fear, too, for those who had underestimated him.
Ethan raised his glass slightly, the gesture calm but commanding.
"Cheers," he said, his voice carrying clearly across the hall, "to another bright future."
One by one, the board members, executives, and investors lifted their own glasses, mirroring his motion. Some smiled, some nodded, but all acknowledged the weight behind his words.
The clink of glasses echoed lightly, and for a moment, the room felt unified—respect, agreement, and a shared sense of purpose filling the space.
Ethan set his glass down, his eyes sweeping across the crowd.
"As always," he added, "let's keep pushing forward. There's more to achieve, and I expect nothing less than excellence."
Again, heads nodded. Conversations slowly resumed, but the energy had shifted. Confidence in leadership—and in Ethan himself—was clear.
Sharon gave him a subtle smile. Aria simply observed, quiet but attentive.
The room gradually relaxed, though a subtle tension still lingered. People began moving closer, taking the opportunity to speak with Ethan now that the formal speech was over.
Thanks to FOCUS, Ethan already knew who everyone was—even those he had never met before. Names, positions, affiliations, and key details floated quietly in his vision, allowing him to engage naturally.
He nodded at one executive and greeted them by name. "Good to see you, Mr. Kuroda. Your department's quarterly report was impressive."
"Thank you, Ethan-sama," the man replied, slightly surprised that Ethan remembered such details.
Ethan's smile remained calm and measured, giving off confidence without arrogance. He moved from group to group, exchanging a few words with each person—some formal, some light-hearted, always polite. A few tried small talk, others offered congratulations on the results, and Ethan responded naturally, occasionally nodding or giving a small laugh.
Sharon followed closely, providing subtle prompts when necessary, while Aria stayed slightly back, observing patterns and noting any potential concerns.
By the time the mingling had begun in earnest, Ethan had greeted almost everyone personally. His presence was magnetic but controlled—people were drawn to him, yet none overstepped boundaries.
He continued to move smoothly through the room, shaking hands, acknowledging compliments, and leaving a calm but undeniable impression of authority wherever he went.
It was exactly the balance he wanted: approachable yet untouchable, commanding respect while remaining in complete control.
As the mingling continued, Ethan noticed small details—the subtle changes in posture, the quick glances between certain board members, the slight hesitation before someone spoke. FOCUS highlighted them quietly in his vision, giving him insight without needing to ask.
He paused briefly near a small group discussing a new project. "I saw your proposal," he said calmly. "Good work. Make sure the implementation matches these numbers," he added, as they smiled and continued asking questions while Ethan answered.
Finally, after some time, he found a moment of peace. He left the group and sat at the bar, ordering a drink. He felt his throat dry—his long hours of talking had left it parched.
"Mr. Cliff, that was one hell of a speech," came an annoying voice. Ethan glanced to the side and saw Justin Hammer—the same Hammer from Iron Man 2.
Ethan wondered what this clown wanted. A man who just copied others' weapons, often changing something that made the entire system unstable—but somehow still sold them. Now, with the U.S. having lost the Stark contracts and Arasaka refusing to sell any weapons, Hammer had become the sole supplier for the U.S. military.
"Thanks," Ethan replied with a small nod, keeping his tone neutral.