Mr. Grant gathered the idle coaches and waiters together and was passionately lecturing them when he saw Jason Ford walk in from outside. He shot him a fierce glare, “You still have the nerve to show up?”

Jason Ford’s temper flared instantly, but he forced himself to hold it back. “I overslept today. Just count me as late.”

But of course, Linda Grant wasn’t about to let him off so easily. “Late today, and what about yesterday? Not only did you fail to uphold the club’s image yesterday, you even skipped work in the afternoon. I just don’t get it—so young, yet so arrogant. Who gave you such confidence?”

“The company feeds and houses you, and yet we’ve raised such an ungrateful wolf... What gives you the right to act like this? Your double degrees? Don’t make me laugh—those are just two worthless pieces of paper. There are more college graduates these days than dogs!”

Hearing this, Jason Ford grew even angrier. As a college graduate, he could joke that there were more graduates than dogs—that was self-deprecating. Other graduates could say it too. But Mr. Grant was just a technical school grad; for him to say it was an insult!

He steeled himself and shot back, “My food and lodging are earned through my own labor, not provided by the company. Get that straight. And as for what happened yesterday, I don’t think I did anything wrong... Why should David Miller’s mistake be blamed on me?”

He wasn’t in a good mood: he’d probably have to leave soon. What a pity—free bathhouse, free soap.

“Why?” Linda Grant laughed angrily, her voice growing sharper. “Because David Miller is a coach, so the one at fault can only be you. What, you have a problem with that?”

This logic was just too blatant, too worldview-shattering. Yet, this was real life: coaches always took priority over the underlings—after all, certified coaches were rare, but strong laborers without certificates could be found anywhere.

Jason Ford was in no mood to be polite, so he retorted directly, “Of course I have a problem with that. Right is right, wrong is wrong... A coach’s certificate? To me, it’s just another worthless piece of paper!”

The other coaches all darkened at his words. Damn... is this kid looking for trouble?

In fact, as soon as he said it, Jason Ford realized he’d made a mistake. But... so what? What’s said is said—why regret it?

Mr. Grant just sneered, “A coach’s certificate? It actually matters. Let me tell you straight: in my eyes, in this industry, a coach’s certificate is worth far more than your so-called double degrees!”

Jason Ford’s hands, hanging at his waist, slowly clenched into fists. He narrowed his eyes and asked through gritted teeth, “Are you insulting me?”

“Insulting you would be giving you too much credit,” Linda Grant sneered coldly. “What, you want to hit me now?”

Jason Ford actually had no intention of hitting anyone. Unless absolutely necessary, he didn’t want to lay a hand on a woman.

He just wanted to resign. His stroke of luck had nothing to do with the dormitory; leaving now would just mean a bit more expense.

However, just as he was about to speak, a silvery voice rang out coldly from behind, “What’s going on here?”

Everyone turned their heads in surprise—it was the company’s general manager.

Today, Ms. Ford was wearing a white short-sleeved blouse with a small collar and a light gray pencil skirt.

On any other woman, this outfit would be the standard look of a career woman, but on her, it exuded an undeniable authority and an aggressive aura.

A woman not wearing stockings seemed to shed much of her disguise and pretense, fully displaying the bearing of someone in charge.

Only then did Mr. Grant realize the boss had arrived, and he hurried to explain, “Ms. Ford, I’m cracking down on bad examples here. Didn’t see you come in... The company’s atmosphere isn’t great right now—the youngsters are all too slack. We have to put a stop to this unhealthy trend.”

“Hmm,” Ms. Ford nodded noncommittally.

But Linda Grant knew she had to give the boss an explanation, so she pointed at Jason Ford, “This kid is a prime example—doesn’t get along with colleagues, skipped work yesterday, late today...”

After a pause, she thought of something else. “Some members appreciate him, but he doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“Oh?” Ms. Ford looked Jason Ford up and down, recalling something. She knew exactly what “members appreciate him” meant—there were indeed a few unusual clients at the club. “He’s the one with the master’s degree, right?”

Jason Ford’s mouth twitched: It’s a double degree, not a master’s!

“Yes,” Linda Grant nodded. “His name is Jason Ford, and he’s never really fit in.”

“Hmm,” Ms. Ford nodded again, then her eyes suddenly lit up. “Jason Ford... are you ‘Falling Flowers Season’?”

“Ahem,” Jason Ford coughed awkwardly. Ms. Ford, is it really appropriate to talk about games in front of the staff at a time like this?

“That’s right, his QQ name is ‘Falling Flowers Season,’” Paul Reed chimed in. “He says it’s ‘Falling Flowers Season, Meeting You Again’... so pretentious.”

Ms. Ford gave him a speechless look. “‘Society’s Ms. Ford’ is a pretty pretentious name too. What, you want to bite me?”

In fact, she hadn’t come over on a whim—she had her reasons.

After figuring out what was going on, Ms. Ford shot a cold glance at David Miller. “I’ll let it go this time. But if you harass the club’s customers again, don’t blame me for being harsh.”