The Obsidian Suite's door slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing Evan and the group of young men inside the private dining room.
The polished black stone walls shimmered under the floating light array, casting delicate patterns across the long table set with titanium cutlery and crystal glasses.
The panoramic windows framed the city's skyline, its towers pulsing with holo-ads, while a faint floral scent mingled with the cool air.
The ambient music, a soft hum of strings, filled the space, but it couldn't mask the heavy, awkward silence that settled over the room like a fog.
Evan stood at the head of the table, his posture impeccable, his charcoal suit hugging his frame with tailored precision.
The Valthorne Chronograph ticked softly on his wrist, a grounding weight amidst the tension. The System's silent evaluation loomed in his mind, its invisible scrutiny pushing him to maintain his composure.
He felt the urge to shrink under the group's curious glances, but days of temperament training held firm.
'This silence is killing me,' he thought, his nerves buzzing. 'But I'm not cracking first—unless it's on my terms.'
The group of young men, now seated along the table, seemed equally uncomfortable. Their tailored blazers and crisp shirts, paired with sleek smartbands, marked their wealth, but their usual confidence was absent.
They shifted in their chairs, avoiding eye contact, their fingers tapping restlessly on the table's edge. The silence stretched, oppressive and unnatural, until Evan decided to take control.
He sat, his movements fluid, and leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and authoritative.
"So," he said, meeting each of their gazes with a steady, warm look, "what do you gentlemen feel like ordering tonight?"
His tone was inviting but carried an effortless command, as if he'd hosted such dinners countless times.
The group blinked, caught off guard by his initiative. The young man with the silver earpiece managed a small smile, but no one spoke, their eyes flicking to the holo-menus hovering above the table.
Evan didn't hesitate. Knowing the System would handle all payments for the evaluation, he opened his menu, scanning the labyrinth of dishes—each with names like "deconstructed velouté" and "sous-vide protein mosaic"—and their staggering prices.
Five-digit AR entrees, six-digit AR wine pairings, even seven-digit AR vintage bottles from off-world vineyards.
'If the System's footing the bill,' he thought, a flicker of amusement breaking through his nerves, 'I'm not holding back.'
He signaled the waiter, a man in a sleek uniform, with a subtle nod.
"We'll start with the chef's ten-course tasting menu for the table," Evan said, his voice steady and polished.
"Add the molecular amuse-bouche and the off-world truffle supplement. For drinks, pair each course with the recommended infusions, and bring a bottle of the 2187 Vynara Reserve—two, actually, to share."
He closed the menu, his expression serene, as if ordering half a million AR in food and wine was routine.
The group's eyes widened, their breaths catching. They watched, frozen, as the waiter nodded and tapped his dataslate, unfazed by the extravagant order.
Rylan, the one with the earpiece, coughed lightly, his smile strained. Kael's fingers tightened on his glass, while Sylas's jaw twitched. Varen shifted in his seat, and Lian's polished composure flickered for a moment.
They were rich—born into wealth, managing conglomerates—but even they didn't spend like this on a single meal. A bottle of Vynara Reserve cost more than most hovercars, and Evan had ordered two without blinking.
'Who is this guy?' Rylan thought, his earlier curiosity now tinged with awe. 'The Obsidian Suite, and now this? His background's gotta be unreal.'
Since this was Evan's suite, they let him lead, but their inner shock was palpable.
They exchanged subtle glances, their smartbands dimming as they focused entirely on the young man at the head of the table.
Evan felt their scrutiny but kept his poise, his chin slightly raised, his hands resting calmly on his lap.
'They're freaking out,' he thought, suppressing a grin. 'Good thing the System's got my back, or I'd be broke ten times over.'
Taking the opportunity, Rylan cleared his throat, standing to break the renewed tension.
"Guess we should introduce ourselves," he said, his voice carrying a practiced charm. "I'm Rylan. I manage Nexus Interactive, a gaming company. We're rolling out some big holo-games next quarter."
He gestured to the others, prompting them to follow.
The tallest, a lanky guy with neatly combed hair and a navy blazer, stood next.
"Kael," he said, his voice quieter but steady. "I manage Vynix Motors, a car dealership chain. High-end hovercars, expanding to the eastern districts."
The thinnest, a wiry guy with sharp cheekbones and a charcoal shirt, went next.
"Sylas," he said, leaning forward. "I'm with Cryon Beverages, managing their premium line. Our sparkling infusions are in every elite club."
The fourth, a stocky guy with a softer build, adjusted his tie and stood.
"Varen," he said, his tone warm but businesslike. "I handle real estate for Varen Properties. Commercial developments, luxury towers, mostly."
The last, whose suit was the finest—silk with a subtle sheen, paired with a smartwatch nearly as striking as Evan's Valthorne—stood with relaxed confidence.
"Lian," he said, his smile polished. "I manage Elara Gems, a jewelry company. Rare off-world stones, custom pieces for the elite."
Evan's heart lurched as each introduction hit. These guys were barely past twenty—maybe a year or two older than him—and already managing conglomerates?
Nexus Interactive's holo-games were viral, Vynix Motors' hovercars gleamed outside megacorp HQs, Cryon's drinks were inescapable, Varen Properties shaped the city's skyline, and Elara Gems adorned holo-celebrities.
'Are you kidding me?' he thought, his mind reeling. 'They're running empires, and I'm just a student with a magic watch.'
Despite the shock, Evan kept his composure, his posture unwavering. The System's evaluation was ongoing, its silent judgment a constant pressure.
He couldn't let his surprise slip, not when every move was being judged. He stood, his movements fluid, and nodded to the group.
"Evan Quillian," he said simply, his voice calm and authoritative, offering no further details.
He sat again, his expression serene, though his pulse raced. 'Keep it vague,' he thought. 'No way I'm inventing a backstory with these guys.'
The introductions done, the silence returned, heavier now. The group exchanged glances, their curiosity sharpened by Evan's minimal response and the extravagant order.
They wanted to ask more—Rylan's eyes lingered on the Valthorne, Kael's brow furrowed slightly—but the Obsidian Suite's weight and Evan's unshakable poise held them back. They settled into their seats, the ambient music filling the void as they waited.
The first course arrived, a delicate arrangement of hydroponic greens and molecular foam, presented like a sculpture. Evan selected the outermost fork, his grip precise, and ate slowly, savoring the unfamiliar flavors.
His movements were flawless—back straight, elbows off the table, pacing deliberate—exuding a noble temperament honed in System Space. He sipped the paired infusion, his gestures refined, as if he'd dined in such settings all his life.
The group ate in silence, their own etiquette polished but lacking Evan's ethereal grace. They watched him subtly, their forks pausing mid-air as he navigated the complex utensils with ease.
Rylan's eyes narrowed slightly, noting Evan's perfect posture. Kael glanced at the Valthorne, its gleam reinforcing his suspicions. Sylas's jaw tightened as Evan sliced a protein slab with surgical precision.
Varen's fingers tapped his glass, and Lian's smile grew thoughtful.
'This isn't just money,' Lian thought, his earlier assumptions shifting. 'He's got the bearing of someone born to power. What kind of background produces that?'
The courses continued, each more intricate—a soup in a heated orb, a protein slab with shimmering sauce, a sorbet in a chilled glass. Evan handled each with the same precision, his etiquette impeccable, his temperament serene.
The group followed suit, their manners refined but overshadowed by Evan's effortless mastery. The silence persisted, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the waiter's quiet movements.
The Vynara Reserve arrived, its bottles glowing faintly, and Evan poured for the table with a steady hand, his gesture both generous and commanding.
They ate in silence, the group's suspicion growing with every course. Evan's noble demeanor—his calm authority, his flawless etiquette, his extravagant orders—painted a picture of someone far beyond their level.
They were rich, yes, but Evan's presence suggested a background unfathomable, a world of influence they couldn't touch.
'The Obsidian Suite, that watch, this meal,' Varen thought, his earlier shock deepening. 'He's not just wealthy. He's something else entirely.'
Lian, seated closest to Evan, had been stealing glances at the Valthorne Chronograph throughout the meal.
As the dessert course—crystalline sugar and fruit essence, delicate as glass—was served, his eyes lingered on the watch's silver face, its intricate numerals catching the light.
His heart skipped as recognition hit. The Valthorne Chronograph wasn't just expensive—it was ultra-exclusive, one of only five in the world.
Even with Elara Gems' connections, Lian knew that no amount of AR could buy one; only those with the highest backgrounds, the elite of the elite, could access them for order.
His mind spun, turmoil rising. 'How does he have that?' he thought, his polished smile faltering. 'A student? No way. This guy's connected beyond anything we know.'
Lian understood in his heart that they had to tread carefully. Offending Evan could bring consequences their families' wealth couldn't shield them from.
The Obsidian Suite, the extravagant order, the watch—it all pointed to a power they couldn't fathom.
He stood, his movements deliberate, and picked up one of the glowing Vynara Reserve bottles. With a respectful nod, he approached Evan, pouring the wine into his crystal glass with a steady hand.
"Young Master Quillian," he said, his voice smooth but deferential, "allow me."
Evan blinked, caught off guard by the title, but maintained his serene expression, nodding in acknowledgment.
'Young Master?' he thought, his pulse quickening. 'What's he playing at?'
The System's silence offered no guidance, so he accepted the gesture with a calm smile, his poise unshaken.
The rest of the group wasn't shocked. Rylan's eyes flicked to the Valthorne, a knowing glint in them. Kael's brow smoothed, as if Lian's actions confirmed his own suspicions.
Sylas's fingers stilled on his glass, and Varen's posture straightened slightly. They understood why Lian was acting this way. The watch, the suite, Evan's effortless grace—it all pointed to a background they couldn't afford to cross.
'He's not just some rich kid,' Kael thought, his earlier awe solidifying into respect. 'We're out of our league here.'
The meal drew to a close, the final course—crystalline sugar and fruit essence, delicate as glass—cleared away by the waiter's silent efficiency.
Evan maintained his noble demeanor to the end, his movements precise as he set down his fork, his posture unwavering, his expression serene.
The group of young men, their earlier silence now softened by the Vynara Reserve's warmth, watched him with a mix of awe and curiosity.
The Obsidian Suite's shimmering walls and glowing skyline view seemed to amplify Evan's presence, making him appear even more untouchable.
As the waiter departed, Evan stood, his charcoal suit smooth and uncreased, the Valthorne Chronograph catching the light with every subtle gesture.
"Gentlemen," he said, his voice calm and authoritative, "it's been a pleasure."
His tone carried a finality that signaled the evening's end, and he nodded to each of them, his smile warm but measured, as the System's training dictated.
The group rose, their tailored blazers and crisp shirts a testament to their wealth, but their movements carried a newfound respect.
Rylan, the gaming manager, was the first to step forward, pulling a sleek business card from his pocket. Its surface shimmered with a holo-embossed logo for Nexus Interactive, his personal phone number etched in fine script.
"Young Master Quillian, let's keep in touch," he said, his smile genuine but tinged with deference. "You ever want to try our new holo-game, I'll hook you up."
Kael followed, his navy blazer shifting as he offered his own card, Vynix Motors' logo gleaming.
"Young Master Quillian, if you're ever in the market for a hovercar, I've got you," he said.
Kael's voice is quieter but earnest.Sylas handed over a card with Cryon Beverages' minimalist design, his sharp cheekbones catching the light.
"Young Master Quillian, for when you want something better than Vynara," he said, a playful edge to his tone, though his eyes held respect.
Varen, the real estate manager, presented his card, Varen Properties' skyline motif reflecting the view outside.
"Young Master Quillian, if you're looking to invest in the city, give me a call," he said, his tone warm but businesslike.Lian, his silk suit gleaming, was the last.
His card, adorned with Elara Gems' intricate gemstone pattern, felt heavier than the others.
"Young Master Quillian, for anything rare and exceptional," he said, his polished smile carrying a weight of understanding. "I mean that."
Evan accepted each card with a nod, his fingers steady as he tucked them into his jacket's inner pocket.
'Young Master Quillian? They're all doing it now,' he thought, his pulse quickening but his expression unchanged.
The System's evaluation was still ongoing, its silence a constant pressure, and he couldn't afford to falter.
"I appreciate it," he said, his voice smooth, betraying none of his inner shock. 'They're treating me like I run the city.'
The group lingered for a moment, their gestures friendly—smiles, respectful nods, a light clap on the shoulder from Rylan—but underscored by deference.
They parted ways at the suite's door, Evan stepping into the corridor with the same fluid grace he'd maintained all night. The receptionist, still deferential, escorted him to the exit, where the hovercar waited, its chassis gleaming under the streetlights.
Evan slid inside, the leather seat cool against his back, and exhaled, the System's hum a quiet presence as the car glided away.
Back in the Obsidian Suite, the group lingered, the silence returning now that Evan was gone.
They stood around the table, the empty plates and glowing Vynara bottles a reminder of the night's extravagance. Rylan broke the quiet, his voice low but intense.
"Okay, what just happened?" he said, glancing at the others. "Young Master Quillian—he's not just some rich kid."
Kael nodded, his brow furrowed. "The Obsidian Suite, that order, the watch? No way he's just a student. Did you see how he handled everything? Like he was born to it."
Sylas leaned against the table, his sharp features thoughtful. "The bill was paid before we could even offer to chip in," he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"We were ready to cover our share—hell, I was bracing for a hit to my account—but Young Master Quillian didn't even ask. Just left, like it was nothing."
Varen crossed his arms, his stocky frame tense. "That's not normal. Even we don't drop half a million AR on dinner and walk away without a word. Who's paying for that? And why?"
Lian, still holding the empty Vynara bottle, set it down carefully, his expression grave.
"It's not just the money," he said, his voice quieter than the others.
"That watch—the Valthorne Chronograph. I recognized it halfway through the meal. There are only five in the world, and you can't buy them, not even with our families' wealth. You need connections, the kind that open doors we can't touch. Young Master Quillian's not just rich. He's… untouchable."
The group fell silent, the weight of Lian's words settling over them. They'd suspected Evan's background was extraordinary, but the Valthorne's exclusivity confirmed it.
They'd dined with someone from a world they couldn't fathom, and the realization was both thrilling and unsettling. Rylan ran a hand through his hair, his earpiece glinting.
"We need to know who Young Master Quillian is," he said, his tone resolute but careful. "Not to mess with him—God, no—but to understand. If he's got that kind of pull, we can't afford to be in the dark."
Kael nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Agreed. But we do it quietly. A natural investigation, like we always do with new players. Check our networks, see who's heard of Quillian."
Sylas smirked, though his eyes were serious. "Chaebols don't get to our level by staying ignorant. But we keep it respectful. If Young Master Quillian's as big as we think, crossing him could sink us."
Varen grunted, his fingers tapping his smartband. "My family's got contacts in the upper districts. I'll dig, but I'm not pushing too hard. Something tells me Young Master Quillian would know if we did."
Lian, his silk suit catching the light, nodded slowly. "We treat Young Master Quillian like an ally, not a target. He's not someone we can afford to offend. Let's find out what we can—carefully."
They exchanged looks, a silent vow passing between them. As chaebols, they were used to navigating power structures, mapping out allies and rivals with precision.
Investigating Young Master Quillian was second nature, but they'd do it in moderation, wary of the consequences.
The Obsidian Suite, the Valthorne, the effortless grace—it all pointed to a background they couldn't ignore.
They gathered their things, their smartbands buzzing with new messages, and left the suite, their minds already turning over plans to uncover the mystery of Young Master Quillian.