I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World-Chapter 94: New Year’s Eve

December 31, 2020.

The streets of Quezon City were alive with fireworks as Matthew drove through familiar roads toward his parents' house. It was the last night of 2020, and for the first time in years, he was spending New Year's Eve with family.

He had spent the past week deep in work, assembling a team, planning Sentinel's next big move, and laying the foundation for the future. But tonight?

Tonight was different.

It was a night for family.

As he pulled up in front of the house, he could already hear the distant pops of firecrackers going off in the neighborhood. A few kids were running around outside, waving sparklers, their faces glowing in the dim light.

Matthew stepped out of his Lexus, adjusting his black jacket over his polo shirt. He had spent Christmas here a few days ago, but there was something about New Year's Eve—it wasn't just another holiday, it was a reset.

The front door opened before he could knock.

Marco stood there, grinning. "Wow. You actually came."

Matthew smirked. "Surprised?"

"A little," Marco admitted, stepping aside. "I thought you'd be too busy plotting your next corporate takeover."

Matthew chuckled as he walked inside.

The living room was filled with decorations—gold and silver banners, balloons, and a small table in the corner stacked with firecrackers. The TV was tuned to a live countdown special, and the smell of lechon, spaghetti, and barbecue filled the air.

Their mother, Teresa, emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face lit up the moment she saw him.

"Matthew!" She hurried over, hugging him tightly. "You made it."

Matthew smiled, feeling an odd warmth settle in his chest. "Of course."

His father, Ramon Sr., sat on the couch, a beer in hand, watching the TV. He glanced over at Matthew and gave him a small nod. "You're just in time."

Matthew nodded back. For his father, that was as close to 'I'm glad you're here' as it got.

He had changed. Slowly, but it was happening.

Marco grabbed a beer from the fridge and tossed one to Matthew. "Here. If you're drinking whiskey, Mom's gonna yell at you."

Teresa shot Marco a look. "I can still hear you."

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Matthew smirked and took a sip. The beer was cold, crisp, and oddly nostalgic.

New Year's Eve had always been a big deal growing up.

Back when things were simpler, when the biggest problem was fighting over who got the last slice of lechon, and not billion-peso business deals or corporate politics.

For tonight, he wanted to pretend those problems didn't exist.

By 10:30 PM, the dining table was filled with food. Lechon with crispy golden skin, creamy macaroni salad, pancit for long life, bibingka, puto bumbong, and of course, 12 round fruits—a Filipino tradition for good luck.

Teresa clapped her hands together. "Alright, everyone sit down!"

Matthew took his seat between Marco and his father. As they all clasped hands, his mother led a short prayer, thanking God for another year, for their health, and for keeping the family together.

Then, the feast began.

Matthew loaded his plate, taking his time to enjoy every bite. The lechon was perfectly crispy, the spaghetti was just the right balance of sweet and savory, and the barbecue had that slightly charred, smoky flavor that reminded him of childhood.

"So," Marco started, between bites of pancit. "How's world domination going?"

Matthew smirked. "Slower than expected."

His mother shot them both a look. "I hope you're not working too much, hijo."

Matthew exhaled. "I'm… trying to balance it."

She gave him a knowing look. "Good. Because money is nothing if you have no one to share it with."

Matthew didn't reply.

He didn't need to.

He knew she was right.

As 11:45 PM approached, the excitement grew. The neighborhood was buzzing with energy—people setting up their fireworks, kids lighting sparklers, families gathered outside, counting down the minutes.

Matthew stood on the front porch, watching as his father set up a row of fountains and aerial shells in the driveway.

"You still do this yourself?" Matthew asked.

Ramon Sr. grunted, testing the fuse of a five-shot rocket. "Not gonna pay some overpriced vendor to do something I've been doing since I was a kid."

Matthew smirked. "Figures."

His father paused. "It's tradition."

Matthew glanced at him. He wasn't the type to say much, but those words carried weight.

A reminder that no matter how much time passed, some things should stay the same.

Marco jogged over, handing Matthew a bundle of Roman candles. "C'mon, don't just stand there."

Matthew chuckled and took them, stepping onto the street.

All around, neighbors were lighting up the night—colorful explosions filled the sky, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and the echo of rapid-fire kwitis.

Marco lit his candle first, holding it up as bright streaks of red and green shot into the sky.

Matthew followed.

For a moment, as the fireworks lit up the night, he let himself just exist.

No business.

No pressure.

Just this.

The Countdown

As the clock hit 11:59 PM, the entire neighborhood gathered outside, their eyes fixed on the TV screen as the countdown began.

10…

9…

8…

Matthew glanced at his family—his mother, smiling warmly, his father, quietly watching the sky, Marco, grinning like an idiot.

7…

6…

5…

This was his reset.

His real investment.

Not Sentinel. Not money. Not power.

This.

4…

3…

2…

1…

BOOM!

The sky erupted in color, the sound of fireworks drowning out everything else. The air vibrated with energy, cheers and laughter filled the night, and for a split second—everything was perfect.

His mother pulled him into a hug. "Happy New Year, hijo."

Matthew smiled, hugging her back. "Happy New Year, Mom."

Marco clapped him on the back. "To another year of being stupidly rich."

Matthew laughed. "To another year."

His father simply nodded at him. "Keep making us proud."

Matthew exhaled, feeling something settle inside him.

"Always."

And as he looked up at the sky, watching the fireworks fade, he knew—

2021 was going to be bigger than ever.