04,

He slowly scanned Toby from the top of her head down to her heels.

The wax-slicked buzz cut. The deep-cut tank top revealing a pair of scrawny collarbones and... a perfectly flawless, flat plane. The shredded cargo pants. The shrill, squawking voice echoing through the room.

He pushed his glasses up.

"My apologies," Alexander said. His voice remained monotone, yet it carried a subtle, newfound undertone of exasperation.

"I concede that my biological assessment was flawed. My mistake. However, your gender does not alter the fact that you are in egregious violation of this household's living standards."

"Standards you made up!"

Toby shrieked, her neck tendons straining.

"I didn't sign any contract that mentioned '40 decibels of silence' or 'keeping the table 45 centimeters from the chair.' I live by the laws of the US, and the law don't say shit about not putting a PC in the living room!"

"Donate $50 - Holy crap, the drama is peaking! Glassy-guy’s voice is so addictive! Toby, you’re losing the argument, just move the rig to your room lol \=))" Once again, the tactless voice of Google interrupted.

Alexander’s face darkened significantly. "And please, for the love of God, deactivate that mindless robotic voice immediately."

"Not happening." Toby intentionally reached out and cranked the volume knob on her speakers a notch higher.

"That’s the sound of money hitting my pocket. You’re a math teacher, you know the numbers, right? Fifty bucks buys five orders of Asian seafood stir-fry. You’re banning me from making money, which means you’re taking the food right out of my mouth. A girl's gotta eat. You want me to stop? Why don't you come over here and stream for me then!"

Alexander let out a sharp exhale. He picked up his leather briefcase and placed it squarely on the table that perfectly parallel to the edge. Then, with agonizing deliberation, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa, careful not to create a single crease.

Done with that, he rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms with faint, protruding veins.

Toby took a half-step back, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing? Thinking about getting violent? I’ll call the cops! I got a camera right here, and ten thousand viewers witnessing this!"

Alexander didn't even spare her a glance. He stepped behind the PC tower and leaned down.

"Hey! Stop!" Toby yelled, lunging forward.

Too late. Alexander’s long, slender fingers gripped the main power cord of the rig.

Without blinking, he decisively yanked it from the wall socket.

The monitors went pitch black. The RGB strips died instantly. The whirring of the cooling fans fell into a sudden, deathly silence. The entire room plunged into a void.

Toby’s rank-up series. A ten-thousand-person audience. Everything vanished in less than a second!

Toby stood frozen like a statue. Her eyes were wide, staring blankly at the dark screen reflecting her own bewildered face. Her straightforward brain stalled for five full seconds just to reboot.

One plus one... no longer equaled two. Her money-making machine had just been forcibly lobotomized. Her Master-tier promotional series. The game she was carrying. AFK. She’d be reported. Her account would be banned!

Toby slowly turned her head to look at Alexander. Rage surged to the top of her skull, turning her ears a vibrant red.

"ARE. YOU. INSANE???"

Toby roared, her volume obliterating the 40-decibel limit; likely bordering on eardrum destruction.

"Do you have any idea I was in my promos?! Do you know I just went AFK mid-match, you bastard?! They’re gonna report me! My audience was watching!!"

Alexander stood up unruffled. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, meticulously wiping the dust from the fingers that had touched the plug, then responded in a voice so calm it was maddening.

"I have no interest in your 'promos' or 'AFK' or whatever extraterrestrial language you are speaking. I only care about a simple equation. Unplugging equals zero noise. Zero noise equals tranquility. Problem solved."

Toby’s teeth gritted with a sharp, audible creak. Her hands balled into tight fists. If it weren't for the blatant weight-class disparity, she would have lunged and buried a fist in that composed face.

"You... you’re a dictator! A fascist! What right do you have to just shut off someone’s computer?" Toby rushed forward, grabbing the power cord from his hand, trying to plug it back in.

Alexander reached out, gently but firmly blocking her. His grip was immense, holding her wrist like a steel vice:

"I am the individual who has paid the electricity bills in this house for the past two years. Mrs. Martha handles the rent; I manage the utilities. As the one settling the electrical account, I reserve the right to decide whether power is supplied to noise-polluting equipment."

"Let go of me!" Toby struggled, pulling her arm back and rubbing the red marks on her wrist.

"Electricity? We’ll split it! Starting this month, I’m paying half! Don't use that as an excuse to steamroll me! I bet you're single, aren't you? With this wack-job, obsessive personality, not even a dog would want to marry you! You’re just a grumpy, eccentric 28-year-old geezer with no friends who comes home just to bully an 18-year-old girl who just got kicked out of her house!"

The words poured out of her like a machine gun. No filter. No thought. Whatever was in her head hit the air, regardless of how much it might sting. To Toby, if she was bullied, she barked back. Simple as that.

Alexander raised an eyebrow slightly. Toby’s words were childish, crude, and deeply personal, yet... they hit the mark with unsettling accuracy.

But, he wasn't angry. The stillness within him was too profound to be disturbed by pebbles thrown into a pond.

"You possess rather decent observational skills,"

Alexander remarked calmly, ignoring the insult entirely.

"Correct, I am single. Correct, I prefer the solitude of my home. And correct, I have protocols. But you are mistaken on one point. I am not bullying you. I am establishing order."

He stepped back, glancing at the dark PC tower.

"Now, you have two choices. Either you dismantle this heap yourself and move it to your room. And tomorrow morning, I will personally purchase a desk that fits that space. My treat, consider it compensation for your... 'promos' or whatever. Or, you continue being stubborn, keep your gear here, and every time you plug it in, I will immediately trip the main circuit breaker of the entire house. Believe me, I can read in the dark. You, however, cannot game without power."

Toby was speechless. She stared at him. This guy wasn't just prickly; he was... insidious. He had her by the throat. He knew she needed the juice.

And more importantly: He promised to buy her a desk? For free?

One plus one equals two. Someone buys the desk, I save money. Desk in the room means I can scream at midnight without being unplugged!

But Toby’s ego was too massive to surrender immediately. She gnashed her teeth. "You for real about the desk? Not gonna take it out of my deposit?"

"I'm an educator. I do not lie,"

Alexander replied, his voice unnervingly steady and reliable.

"A laminate wood desk, 120 centimeters long, 60 wide. Sufficient for that garish curved monitor of yours."

*"Two monitors," *Toby bargained. "I use two. It’s gotta be 150 centimeters."

"Fine. 150 centimeters."

Alexander nodded without hesitation.

"Along with a proper cushioned chair so you stop slouching on my sofa and ruining the foam's integrity."

Toby bit her lip, weighing the situation. The game was gone. The viewers were cut off. If she kept being a brat and he actually cut the breaker, she’d be dead in the water for the rest of the night. Plus, a free high-end desk...

"Deal,"

Toby said, clapping her hands together.

"But I’m finishing my stream tonight! I gotta apologize to my viewers and make up for the donations. Let me keep the rig here for just tonight. Tomorrow, you bring the desk, and I move out immediately! A gentleman's word!"

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