The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over 7 Elysian Crescent, its rays catching the villa's glass walls and infinity pool. Evan stood in the master suite, adjusting his cufflinks in the holo-mirror.
The System's training had transformed him over the past week—etiquette and temperament lessons mastered at 100%, elite brand names memorized, his body now moving with the unconscious grace of Young Master Quillian.
His hair, styled to fall perfectly across his brow, framed his striking features, his pale skin almost luminous under the soft light. The Valthorne Chronograph gleamed on his wrist, a 2,500,000 AR anchor to his new reality.
Today was Rylan's birthday banquet at the Halstead estate in Cresthaven, and Evan was ready—almost. The black card's 10,000,000 AR investment mission loomed, but tonight was about connections and the mystery box gift.
A soft chime announced Lian's arrival. Evan glanced out the window, spotting the Kryon Phantom—its 9,200,000 AR holo-paint shimmering—pulling into the driveway.
Lian stepped out, his silk suit impeccable, his polished demeanor as sharp as ever. Evan grabbed the black draw box, its five mystery keys secure inside, and headed to the foyer, his movements fluid and noble, a habit now etched into his frame.
Lian waited by the Phantom, his eyes widening as Evan approached. "Young Master Quillian," he said, bowing slightly, his voice warm but deferential. "You look… remarkable. My compliments."
Evan nodded, his smile measured, exuding the System's trained poise.
"Thank you, Lian. Good to see you too." His voice carried a refined lilt, automatic now, though inwardly he grinned at Lian's reaction.
'Remarkable, huh? I'll take it.'
Lian's awe was palpable, his gaze lingering on Evan's appearance. He'd always found Evan striking—those sharp features and quiet authority at the Obsidian Suite had left an impression—but today was different.
Evan's hair, styled down to perfection, softened his handsome face, his pale white skin glowing against the deep charcoal of his suit. The suit itself stopped Lian cold.
Its fabric shimmered subtly, tailored to hug Evan's frame with precision, but it was the embroidery that seized his attention—a delicate dragon motif, its scales glinting like molten silver, winding across the lapels and cuffs.
Evan caught Lian's subtle glance, smirking inwardly. 'He recognizes it,' he thought, his confidence spiking.
The suit, provided by the System, was a masterpiece from Aurellion Couture, the world's premier clothier, known only to the upper circle's elite.
The dragon embroidery, a signature of their 1,500,000 AR bespoke line, was a status symbol even Lian's Elara Gems couldn't rival.
'The System doesn't mess around,' Evan mused, his poise unwavering as he gestured to the Phantom.
"Shall we?"
Lian recovered, his smile returning, though his awe lingered. "Of course, Young Master Quillian. After you."
He opened the passenger door, and Evan slid into the leather seat, the black draw box resting on his lap.
Lian took the driver's seat, the Phantom purring to life as they glided out of Elysian Heights, heading for Cresthaven.
Meanwhile, at the Halstead estate, a sprawling mansion of glass and white stone buzzed with activity.
Holo-lights floated above manicured gardens, casting patterns across the driveway where hovercars and shuttles dropped off guests.
The capital's elite—chaebols, megacorp execs, and upper-circle figures—streamed through the obsidian entrance, their bespoke outfits rivaling the estate's grandeur.
Rylan Halstead, the birthday celebrant, stood at the forefront with his parents, Lord Cedric Halstead and Lady Elara Halstead, greeting each arrival with practiced charm.
His silver earpiece glinted under the lights, his tailored suit sharp, but his smile strained slightly, fatigue creeping into his posture after hours of handshakes and pleasantries.
"Rylan, you're looking pale," his father, Cedric said, his voice low but firm, clapping his son's shoulder.
His broad frame and silver-flecked beard exuded authority, tempered by a father's concern.
"Take a break inside. Your mother and I will handle the guests for a bit."
Rylan nodded, relief flickering in his eyes. "Thanks, Father," he said, his tone warm but tired.
He glanced at his mother, Elara, her elegant gown shimmering with Cryon accents, who offered a subtle nod of agreement.
He slipped through the crowd, dodging a few latecomers, and entered the estate's lounge—a quiet oasis of plush sofas and glowing holo-art.
He sank into a chair, loosening his tie, the hum of the banquet muffled by the soundproof walls.
'Finally, a breather,' he thought, sipping a Cryon infusion a server brought.
His rest was short-lived. A group of young women, daughters of lower-circle chaebols, approached, their dresses shimmering with Elara Gems and Veyron accents.
"Young Master Rylan, happy birthday!" one said, her smile overly sweet, leaning closer than necessary.
"Nexus Interactive's new holo-game sounds amazing. Maybe you could give me a private demo sometime?"
Another chimed in, her voice coy. "Or a tour of Cresthaven? Your estate's stunning."
Rylan's smile tightened, his disdain buried beneath a polite facade. He'd grown used to this—gold-diggers circling, angling for favor or a marriage alliance. It was part of the rich life, a game he loathed but played well.
"Appreciate that, ladies," he said, his tone smooth but distant. "I'll be sure to let you know about the game launch."
He stood, excusing himself with a nod, and moved to a window overlooking the driveway.
His gaze scanned the arriving vehicles, searching for familiar faces.
'Where are Lian, Kael, Sylas, and Varen?' he thought, impatience stirring. 'And Young Master Quillian.'
The memory of Evan—his Valthorne Chronograph, the Obsidian Suite's extravagance, the loaned Phantom—sparked a mix of awe and anticipation.
Rylan's friends were his anchor in this sea of schemers, and Evan's presence promised something extraordinary. He leaned against the frame, the banquet's noise fading, willing their hovercars to appear.
Fatigue weighed on him until three familiar hovercars pulled up, disgorging Kael Drayce, Sylas Norren, and Varen Calder, their outfits—Vynix Motors leather, Cryon minimalist chic, Varen Properties' skyline motif—marking their rising status in the lower circle's middle ranks.
Rylan broke away from the entrance, his grin wide as he reached them.
"Finally, the cavalry!" he said, clapping Kael's shoulder. "Thought I'd be stuck charming old execs all night. You're late, man."
Kael, his navy blazer crisp, smirked, brushing off Rylan's hand. "Late? Blame Sylas. He stopped to critique some guy's hovercar in the lot. Said it had 'uninspired aerodynamics.'"
Sylas, his sharp cheekbones catching the holo-lights, rolled his eyes, holding up a sleek Cryon bottle as a gift.
"Uninspired's generous. That thing was a 2,000,000 AR eyesore. Happy birthday, Rylan, you ungrateful bastard. This bottle's worth more than your last game launch."
Rylan laughed, snatching the bottle. "Low blow, Sylas. That crash wasn't my fault—blame the coders. At least I didn't tank a deal over a bad cocktail recipe like you did at Cryon's gala."
Varen, stocky and serious, snorted, his arms crossed. "You're both disasters. I spent my last pocket money bribing a client after my dad's land deal went south. Rylan, you better have good food tonight, or I'm selling this estate for scrap."
"Keep dreaming, Varen," Rylan shot back, his mood visibly lifting, the gloom of endless pleasantries fading.
"You'd need my signature, and I'm not signing anything till you admit my holo-game's better than your penthouses."
Kael grinned, nudging Varen. "He's got you there. Those penthouses scream 'mid-tier chaebol.' Rylan's got the edge with Nexus's new VR suite. Right, birthday boy?"
"Damn right," Rylan said, his earpiece glinting as he led them to the lounge, a quiet oasis of plush sofas and glowing holo-art.
Their banter continued, a rapid-fire mix of jabs and laughs—Kael mocking Sylas's "artsy" drink choices, Sylas firing back about Kael's "tasteless" Vynix hovercar designs, Varen grumbling about his family's latest property tax hike.
The familiarity grounded Rylan, his friends a shield against the banquet's schemers.
Then, Rylan's gaze caught a flash of holo-paint in the driveway—the Kryon Phantom, unmistakable at 9,200,000 AR.
His heart raced. "That's Young Master Quillian and Lian," he said, his voice low, eyes sparking with anticipation.
"Come on, we're greeting them ourselves."
He led Kael, Sylas, and Varen through the crowd, their swift stride drawing attention.
The guests—sipping Cryon infusions, clad in Elara Gems and Veyron accents—noticed the celebrant's urgency, their murmurs rippling.
"Who's Young Master Rylan's rushing to meet?" a woman in a 500,000 AR gown whispered, her holo-fan flickering.
"Must be someone huge," her companion, a megacorp VP, replied, craning his neck.
"The Halsteads are climbing, but this is bold." Another, a lower-circle investor, leaned in.
"Bet it's an upper-circle player. Nobody else gets that kind of move from Rylan."
A young chaebol daughter clutched her glass, muttering, "If it's bigger than the Veyrons, I need to know who."
The crowd's intrigue swelled, eyes locked on the driveway.
The Phantom stopped, and Lian stepped out, his silk suit shimmering as he rounded the car to open Evan's door—a gesture that sent a shockwave through the onlookers.
"Lian Veyron, opening a door?" a tech mogul gasped, his dataslate nearly slipping.
"He's from the upper circle's Veyron side branch!" another whispered, her Elara necklace glinting.
"Who's worth that deference?"
The murmurs grew frantic, heads turning as Evan emerged.
Evan stepped out, his Aurellion Couture suit—1,500,000 AR with dragon embroidery—catching the holo-lights, its silver scales glinting like molten metal.
His pale skin glowed, his styled hair down framing a handsome face that radiated princely demeanor, his movements fluid with the System's trained grace.
The Valthorne Chronograph gleamed, sealing his untouchable aura. The crowd fell silent, then erupted in whispers.
"Who is he?" a chaebol son hissed.
"That suit's Aurellion—dragon embroidery! Costs a fortune!" A woman nearby gaped.
"He looks like royalty. That poise… unreal."
Another muttered, "Valthorne watch? There's only five of that in the world!"
Rylan stepped forward, his grin warm but deferential, forgetting protocol in his awe.
"Young Master Quillian," he said, bowing slightly, Kael, Sylas, and Varen echoing the gesture.
"Welcome to my banquet. It's an honor to have you."
The crowd's shock deepened—Rylan, the celebrant, was welcoming this stranger first, reversing the expected birthday greetings.
Gasps rippled.
"He's greeting him?" a guest whispered.
"Who's this Quillian?"
Another hissed, "Must be a upper circle?Nobody else gets that treatment."
Evan, clutching the black draw box, nodded, his smile measured but warm, exuding Young Master Quillian's effortless authority.
"Happy birthday, Rylan," he said, his voice smooth, carrying a refined lilt. "I'm glad to be here."
Inwardly, he marveled at the crowd's stares, the System's hum urging composure.
'They're eating it up,' he thought, his confidence soaring from Lian's deference and the suit's impact. 'Time to own this.'
The Halstead estate's grand hall shimmered with opulence, its holo-lights casting intricate patterns across white stone walls and floating above the crowd of capital elites—chaebols, megacorp execs, and lower-circle power players.
The air buzzed with clinking Cryon-infused glasses and the murmur of high-stakes deals.
Evan Quillian, clutching the black draw box with its five mystery keys, stood among Rylan Halstead and his friends—Kael Drayce, Sylas Norren, Varen Calder, and Lian Veyron—their deference to him as Young Master Quillian palpable.
His Aurellion Couture suit, its 1,500,000 AR dragon embroidery glinting like molten silver, and the 2,500,000 AR Valthorne Chronograph on his wrist amplified his princely aura, drawing whispers from the crowd still reeling from his arrival.
The System's hum kept Evan's poise flawless, though inwardly he marveled at the attention.
'This is the stage,' he thought, readying for the mystery box gift moment, but the banquet's schedule held that for later.
Rylan, his silver earpiece glinting, led Evan and the group into the hall, his mood buoyant with his friends' presence.
"Come on, Young Master Quillian," he said, his tone warm but respectful, "let's grab a drink before the speeches bore us to death."
Kael, Sylas, Varen, and Lian followed, their banter resuming as they wove through the crowd to a private corner near a holo-art display.
Servers glided by, offering trays of Cryon infusions and off-world delicacies, which Evan accepted with a practiced nod, his movements unconsciously noble from the System's 100% mastered etiquette training.
The group settled around a sleek table, their conversation turning to their companies—each a rising venture in the lower circle's middle ranks, distinct from their parents' conglomerates. Kael leaned back, his Vynix Motors leather jacket creasing.
"We're rolling out a new hovercar line next quarter," he said, smirking. "Ten million AR per unit, and the pre-orders are already crashing our servers. Unlike Rylan's last game launch."
Rylan laughed, rolling his eyes. "Keep talking, Kael. Nexus Interactive's VR suite's got investors begging. We're projecting 50 million AR in sales by year-end. Your cars can't match that."
Sylas, sipping a Cryon cocktail, grinned. "You two are cute, bickering over pocket change. Cryon Beverages just signed a deal for off-world distribution. Hundred million AR contract, minimum. Beat that, birthday boy."
Varen, ever serious, crossed his arms, his skyline-motif suit catching the light.
"Varen Properties closed a deal for a new tower block in the central district—200 million AR valuation. You're all playing small ball."
He glanced at Evan, his tone softening. "What about you, Young Master Quillian? Any projects you're steering?"
Evan deflected with a faint smile, his voice smooth and refined.
"I keep things quiet," he said, sipping his infusion, the System's training guiding his restraint.
'Can't say I'm figuring out how to invest 10 million AR without losing everything,' he thought, the black card's weight a silent pressure.
The group nodded, their deference clear, interpreting his vagueness as the confidence of a hermit family heir.
Their chatter continued—Kael mocking Sylas's "pretentious" drink recipes, Rylan joking about Varen's "boring" penthouses—while Evan listened, his poise masking his awe at their casual talk of millions.
The hall's lights dimmed, signaling the gift-giving ceremony. Lord Cedric Halstead, his silver-flecked beard commanding attention, and Lady Elara Halstead, her gown shimmering, took the stage.
Cedric's voice boomed, warm but authoritative.
"Rylan, your mother and I are proud of you," he said, gesturing to a holo-document that materialized. "Our gift: a 2% share in Halstead Enterprises."
The crowd gasped—Halstead Enterprises, their conglomerate separate from Rylan's Nexus Interactive, was a lower-circle titan worth billions of AR. Lady Elara smiled, adding,
"A foundation for your future, son."
Rylan bowed, his grin genuine but tempered. "Thank you, Father, Mother," he said, the crowd applauding.
Guests followed, presenting lavish gifts. A woman in an Elara Gems gown stepped forward, her voice clear.
"Young Master Rylan, a 500,000 AR pendant from Elara's Celestial line," she said, presenting a glowing gem. Murmurs rose.
"That's rare," a guest whispered.
A Vynix exec followed, smirking. "A prototype hoverbike, 1,200,000 AR. Enjoy, Young Master Rylan."
The crowd buzzed. "Vynix doesn't share prototypes!" someone hissed.
A Cryon rep offered a vintage collection, saying, "750,000 AR, Young Master Rylan. To your taste."
Whispers swelled. "That's a decade's stock!" a chaebol muttered.
Each gift upped the ante, the crowd's eyes flicking to Evan, anticipating his move.
Evan's turn came, and the hall fell silent, all eyes snapping to him. He stepped forward, the black draw box in hand, his princely demeanor unwavering, the System's hum guiding him.
The crowd leaned in, their intrigue peaking, whispers hushed in anticipation of Young Master Quillian's gift.