The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled-Chapter 206: A High-Class Face-Slapping

Now that the shattered tablet was back in his hand, Julian Sterling did not display even the slightest hint of grief or annoyance. He handled the expensive piece of technology with a cold, almost surgical indifference. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the device onto the hard surface of the desk. It landed with a sharp, dry "clack" that echoed through the tense silence of the lecture hall, sounding like a bone snapping. Kian Foster, who was standing immediately beside Julian, watched the movement with a sharp eye. He noticed that after that careless impact, the already damaged casing showed further signs of structural failure; the screen began to bulge slightly from the frame, and the metal edges were visibly more deformed than they had been moments ago.

Yet, Julian Sterling remained utterly unperturbed by the destruction of his property. He showed no sign of the "poverty-stricken" distress that Vince Sutton had likely been hoping for. To emphasize his total disregard for the monetary value of these objects, Julian casually let go of the high-end laptop he had been carrying as well. He did not set it down gently; instead, he allowed it to drop, letting it strike the edge of the heavy wooden desk with a heavy, jarring thud. Any observer with even a passing knowledge of social hierarchies or the habits of the ultra-wealthy would immediately recognize this specific brand of nonchalance. This was the unmistakable aura of someone born into a life of absolute luxury and surplus. It was the behavior of a person who had been so thoroughly indulged and pampered since birth that the concept of "cost" was entirely alien to them. To Julian, these expensive tools were merely replaceable trinkets, and his refusal to mourn them spoke volumes about the vast resources at his disposal.

Vince Sutton, however, was currently far too consumed by a searing, white-hot rage to process these subtle displays of status. His rational mind had been drowned out by a tide of wounded pride, leaving behind only a primal need to lash out. His eyes were shot through with crimson veins, and his breath came in ragged, uneven bursts. His voice, when it finally broke the silence, was thick with a venomous, obsessive malice: "You are nothing but an abandoned child, a piece of useless refuse that the Sterling family has finally gathered the sense to throw away," he hissed, the words dripping with contempt. "Do you honestly still have the gall to stand there and act like the noble young master of the Sterlings? You are such a talentless, incompetent fool that you had no choice but to crawl into a pathetic, dead-end major like this one. It is a field for the worthless, a path with no future whatsoever..."

Upon hearing Vince Sutton bring up this particular line of attack, Julian Sterling did not react with the anticipated shame or anger. Instead, he tilted his head back and let out a sudden, melodic peal of laughter. It was a sound filled with genuine amusement and biting irony: "Talentless and incompetent?" Julian repeated, his voice smooth and dangerously calm: "Are you suggesting that the world-renowned professors of Saint Lawrence University, the very scholars who lead this department, are actually talentless frauds who have merely purchased their academic titles? Or perhaps you are implying that every single student sitting in this room is a failure? Are you saying they are all here because they lacked the intelligence or the capability to be accepted into other departments and were forced to settle for this worthless major? Or... is it possible that you are simply projecting your own insecurities? Are you really so pathetic that your own academic standing and intelligence fall behind the very person you are branding as incompetent?"

The retort from Julian Sterling was like a precision-guided strike. It did more than just leave Vince Sutton gasping for air, his face turning a deep, humiliated shade of purple. It effectively weaponized the entire room against him. The other students, who had initially been watching the confrontation as passive spectators, suddenly found themselves personally insulted. Their expressions shifted from curiosity to cold hostility as they stared at Vince Sutton. The conflict had begun as a private grievance between two individuals, but the moment Vince used the word "failure" to describe an entire academic discipline and everyone within it, he had crossed an unforgivable line. He had attacked the passion, the hard work, and the future prospects of everyone present.

That single, arrogant statement had offended almost everyone in the hall, especially those who had fought through immense familial pressure or societal judgment to pursue their chosen field. The air in the room grew heavy with the collective resentment of the student body.

Vince Sutton was a man of extreme vanity, but he was not so oblivious that he failed to sense the shifting atmosphere. The moment he felt the weight of dozens of cold, judging gazes pressing in on him from all sides, he realized he had made a catastrophic tactical blunder. He scrambled to find a way to redirect the anger he had accidentally sparked: "Do not twist my words around!" He barked, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure: "I was not talking about the entire department. I was specifically pointing my finger at trash like you."

"I see. Let us proceed with that assumption for a moment." Julian Sterling said, his smile sharpening into something predatory: "But the inescapable reality remains that I am still ranked higher than you in this "trash" department, and my academic performance consistently exceeds yours and everyone in your immediate circle. So, tell me, Vince. Are you suggesting that the administration of Saint Lawrence is corrupt and unfair? Are you claiming that the grading system is fundamentally flawed because it allows an incompetent person like me to outperform you? Or is your underlying message still that everyone in this room is utterly useless because they are being surpassed by someone you consider to be at the bottom of the barrel?"

"You... shut your mouth!" Vince shouted, his composure crumbling.

"Now, now, I am merely engaging in a logical and dignified conversation." Julian Sterling said, his voice lowering to a steady, rhythmic hum that seemed to command the space: "After all, did you not come here specifically to seek me out and initiate this conflict? You were perfectly aware that I am a member of the Sterling family..." Julian began to close the distance between them, his steps slow and deliberate, forcing Vince to take an involuntary step backward. He stared directly into the flickering, uncertain eyes of Vince Sutton: "And yet, you still found the audacity to walk into this room and openly provoke me? Tell me, where did you find the courage to commit such a suicidal act of stupidity?"

"An outcast who has been kicked out of the Sterling family like you is worth less than a mangy stray dog on the street." Vince Sutton spat, retreating into personal insults as his ability to argue logically vanished: "What right do you have to maintain that arrogant, overbearing attitude in front of me? You have nothing left!"

This specific accusation caused Julian Sterling to raise a single eyebrow in quiet, thoughtful contemplation. An outcast who had been kicked out? Julian wondered if this information was merely the result of the distorted, exaggerated rumors that inevitably mutated as they spread through the student body, or if the Sterling family had deliberately broadcast such a narrative to the public. He considered whether Aaron Sterling and his parents had finally decided to officially sever all ties with him. It was entirely possible that his refusal to play along with their internal family dramas had finally exhausted their patience, leading them to strike his name from the family register and publicly disown him. The thought did not bring Julian any pain. Instead, it offered a certain sense of liberation. If they wanted him to be an outcast, he would be the most formidable outcast they had ever encountered. Julian looked at Vince Sutton with a look of profound pity, as if he were looking at a small, confused insect that had wandered into a web it couldn’t even see.