World Domination Begins With Getting a System in a Modern World-Chapter 159: Putting A Fool In His Place

As James approached the table, the group of younglings turned to look at him. And he could see the curiousity, and assessing look in their eyes.

Some were also looking at him with guarded amusement, and others with mild disinterest.

There were about ten people total — a mix of men and women, most of them probably in their early-to-mid twenties.

The perfect gathering of heirs, heiresses, venture capital babies, and young elites playing at adulthood while balancing inheritance expectations.

Logan stood up when James reached them and extended his hand.

"James! Glad you made it," Logan said warmly.

James took the offered hand firmly, exchanging a subtle nod between them.

After the greeting, Logan turned to the group and started introducing James.

"Everyone, this is James Zolomon. A friend, and someone you should definitely get to know."

There were a few polite nods, some faint smiles, and more than a few were critical, measuring glances.

Logan began the introducing the group.

First, he gestured to a blond-haired guy in a linen shirt and loafers.

"That’s Carter Wills — his family owns half the vineyards in Napa."

Carter nodded lazily, lifting his glass.

Next was a slim brunette with piercing green eyes and a Cartier bracelet that probably cost more than a car.

"Sienna Greyson — her father runs one of the bigger real estate groups downtown."

She gave James a polite, but chilly, smile.

James smiled at this. It was clear that the lady isn’t very welcoming of him. But he didn’t mind.

One by one, Logan introduced the rest. And they are all heirs to some of the notable names in the corporate world, and on their way to inherit their families’ fortunes, legacies, and dynasties.

But one thing James understood is that the higher the fortune and legacy attached to a name, higher the expectation of the heirs.

It’s just as that saying that goes: uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

James couldn’t help but feel that the quote is also being directed to himself, and he smiled.

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown... but I have no intention of ever putting it down. If the crown is heavy, good. It’s only meant for those who are worthy."

Finally, Logan turned slightly, almost reluctantly, to the last two introductions — the ones James already knew about.

First was Rachel Cobb — a willowy woman with ice-blond hair, flawless skin, and a bored, vaguely contemptuous expression that seemed baked onto her features.

Her dress, a flowing white sundress, was designer. It looked understated but those that are familiar with its design will know that it’s eye-wateringly expensive.

"Rachel Cobb," Logan said simply.

Rachel gave a perfunctory nod, her gaze sliding over James like he was an item on a menu she wasn’t interested in ordering.

And then, Logan gestured to the last — William Howell.

William sat lounging back in his chair, one arm slung lazily over the seat, glass of scotch dangling between two fingers.

His sharp-jawed face was curled into a tight, smug smile, but his eyes...

His eyes burned with naked anger the moment they met James’.

"William Howell," Logan said, keeping his tone neutral.

James smiled faintly as he met William’s stare head-on, utterly unbothered.

The handshake that had accompanied the other introductions never came.

William didn’t move and he didn’t even pretend to offer a hand.

And James didn’t offer one either.

Logan, sensing the undercurrent, quickly ushered the moment along, guiding James to an open seat beside him.

James settled in smoothly, stretching one arm across the backrest, radiating easy composure.

The atmosphere, which had been lightly buzzing with casual chatter, had cooled almost imperceptibly.

The group resumed their conversations, but the edges were sharper now. The tension was invisible but it was undeniably there.

And then, just as James reached for a cocktail from a passing tray, William spoke.

His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, but it was still coated in fake casualness.

"So, Logan..." William drawled, swirling his scotch lazily. "...why exactly did you invite a nobody to our party?"

The words hit like a cold slap against polished marble.

Conversations around them stuttered, then faltered into strained silence. Several heads turned toward their table, interest piqued.

Some guests smirked, others stiffened, waiting for the explosion.

The mood of the gathering had shifted instantly — from easy to electric, heavy with unspoken expectation.

And yet...

James just smiled.

Not a forced smile. Not a flinch. But a genuine, slow, satisfied smile — like a lion who had just seen a foolish gazelle limp into the open field.

James didn’t rush. He set the untouched cocktail on the table, leaned back against the chair lazily, and turned his gaze on William, and he smiled.

It was a smile filled with amused indifference, as if he were being barked at by a particularly ugly dog.

Then, he spoke, with his voice smooth, measured, and pitched just loud enough to be heard by everyone.

"Interesting you say that," James said, his eyes cold and clear, "because if you take away your family’s name, your allowance, and your daddy’s board seats..."

He paused, giving William a slow, deliberate once-over, from his designer shoes to the overpriced scotch dangling from his hand.

"...you’re not just a nobody," James finished, smiling warmly, "you’re a nobody with no purpose."

A ripple of barely-suppressed laughter traveled through the surrounding guests.

Several tried to hide their reactions behind drinks, napkins, or sudden coughing fits, but it was too late.

William’s jaw twitched, and his hand tightened around his glass so hard James half-expected it to shatter.

But he wasn’t done yet. He leaned forward slightly, the lazy smirk cracking into something sharper, meaner.

"Big talk from someone nobody’s heard of," he sneered. "Bet you’re just another trust-fund leech who lucked into an invite. Happens all the time. Scraps floating into circles they don’t belong in."

James chuckled softly. It was the kind of chuckle that said, You poor, stupid child.

"You’re half right," James said. "I did float into this circle. Difference is..." — James leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping low, "...I didn’t need a family name to buy my ticket."

Another ripple of reaction swept the nearby crowd. Logan hid a grin behind his cocktail. Rachel Cobb lifted her sunglasses slightly, watching now with active interest rather than her earlier disdain.

William tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin, strained.

"You act like you built something," William spat. "You probably can’t even hold a real conversation without name-dropping fake achievements."

James tilted his head thoughtfully, as if seriously considering the insult.

"You’re right again," he said smoothly. "Because unlike you... I don’t need to ’name-drop.’"

He smiled wider.

"Achievements Hm— fake or real — at least I still have something to my name. Meanwhile, your only achievement today was finishing your scotch without crying."

Boom.

A few nearby guests actually coughed out their drinks, barely disguising their laughter.

Even some of William’s supposed friends at the table — Carter, Sienna — shifted uncomfortably, glancing at each other like they wanted to be anywhere else.

William’s face flushed an ugly red.

He opened his mouth to snap back, but James spoke again, cutting him off without raising his voice.

"But don’t worry," James said kindly, as if consoling a child. "If you need a participation trophy for showing up to your own party, I’m sure Logan here can arrange one for you."

Logan gave a theatrical cough and quickly looked away, but the damage was done.

The entire terrace was now practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.

William’s hand slammed down on the table hard enough to rattle the glasses.

"Watch your mouth, nobody!" he barked.

James turned fully toward him now, the easy smile fading into a cold smirk and he leaned in slightly.

"I don’t need to watch anything," he said, his eyes locked on William’s. "You’re the one standing on the edge, pretending you can swim."

William stiffened, finally realizing that he wasn’t winning.

He was drowning.

And James hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

James leaned back leisurely in his chair again, adjusting his cufflinks casually like the entire exchange hadn’t even cost him a breath.

He picked up a fresh cocktail from a passing tray and sipped it slowly, savoring the moment.

Around them, conversations cautiously resumed — but the dynamic had shifted completely.

The silent verdict of the young elite was clear:

William Howell had been flattened. He could scream, he could lash out, but it would only make him look worse now.

James had taken him apart piece by piece.

William sat there, seething, his fists clenched tightly on his knees under the table, glaring murder at James but unable to move without embarrassing himself further.

Sienna Greyson offered James a lingering, curious glance, like someone reassessing a product she had previously dismissed.

Logan, to his credit, chuckled softly and clinked his glass gently against James’ in a silent toast.

James simply raised an eyebrow, drinking in the.

And then, the next moment, a polished voice from the lounge’s built-in speakers announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, boarding for the Horizon’s Edge will begin in five minutes. Please make your way to the private dock."

The yacht party was officially about to start.

James rose slowly to his feet, adjusted his sunglasses casually, and offered the table — and William — a lazy, almost amused smile.

"See you on board," he said lightly.

Then he turned without waiting for a response, walking with Logan toward the dock, leaving William glaring daggers into his back.

"I will kill him," William said through gritted teeth.