I lay in the dark, my whisper hanging in the air, half-expecting nothing but silence. Then, like a ghost, the glowing screen flickered to life above my bed.
⟪No need to worry, Noah,⟫ the Show-Off System said, its text sharp and clear.
⟪You'll gain more Credits as long as you complete the missions I provide.⟫
I sat up, my heart thumping. "Easy for you to say," I muttered, glancing at the door to make sure Ryan, Jason, and Eric were still asleep.
"I've got only 47.32 CRD. How's that gonna impress anyone?"
The screen pulsed, almost amused.
⟪Wealth isn't just Credits. It's how you carry yourself. My missions will guide you. Complete them, and the Credits will follow.⟫
I snorted, leaning closer. "Guide me? What, like a life coach from outer space?"
⟪Think of me as a system for success,⟫ it replied.
⟪Your first mission arrives tomorrow. Learn to act wealthy, and the rewards will be yours.⟫
I shook my head, half-laughing. "Act wealthy? I can barely act awake."
The screen didn't respond, just vanished, leaving me to stew in my doubts.
I flopped back onto my pillow, staring at the ceiling. "This better not be a scam," I whispered, but the promise of Credits was too tempting to ignore.
I was broke, desperate, and out of options. "Fine, system," I said to the empty room. "Show me what you've got."
The silence felt heavier now, like the system was watching, waiting. I closed my eyes, half-expecting to dream of glowing screens and impossible riches.
The next morning, the system was back, its screen hovering as I brushed my teeth.
⟪To be wealthy, one must act the part,⟫ it declared.
⟪From today, you will learn noble etiquette and the temperament of a young master.⟫
I nearly choked on my toothbrush. "A young master?" I said, spitting into the sink.
"What is this, a historical drama?"
The system ignored my sarcasm, displaying a list of tasks: posture, speech, dining etiquette, even how to walk with "authority." I groaned.
"I'm a college student, not a prince."
But the system was relentless. ⟪Wealth is a mindset, Noah. You must embody it to show it off.⟫
I rolled my eyes, wiping my mouth. "Embody it? I embody broke."
The screen flashed, undeterred. ⟪These skills will make your displays of wealth believable. Start with posture. Shoulders back, head high. Practice now.⟫
I sighed, straightening up in front of the mirror, feeling like an idiot. But with rent looming and my CRD account practically empty, I didn't have much choice.
The system's demands felt like a crash course in a life I'd never known. Noble etiquette meant no slouching, no casual slang, and definitely no scarfing down ramen like a starved animal.
I spent the morning practicing in my room, muttering formal phrases like "Pleased to make your acquaintance" while Ryan was at practice.
"This is ridiculous," I said, catching my reflection standing unnaturally stiff.
The system's tasks were precise: hold a fork like it's a scepter, walk like I owned the room, smile with just the right amount of confidence. It was exhausting, like playing a role I wasn't cast for.
I kept at it, though, driven by the promise of Credits. The system's instructions were oddly specific, like it had studied every rich person in history.
⟪A young master exudes calm authority,⟫ it said when I slouched during a practice session.
"Calm authority?" I muttered. "I'm sweating just standing here."
But I adjusted, shoulders back, chin up, pretending I was someone who didn't check his CRD balance ten times a day. It felt fake, but the system insisted it was the foundation for everything else.
By the end of the day, I was mentally drained, my brain stuffed with rules about table settings and proper handshakes.
"If this doesn't pay off, I'm done," I told the empty air, but the system's silence felt like a challenge.
I wasn't just learning to act rich—I was learning to believe I could be. And with every awkward practice, I wondered if this was the start of something bigger or just another dead end.
The system introduced its next trick: a subspace, a mental training ground I could enter anytime.
⟪Access the subspace through intent,⟫ it explained that evening.
⟪Your body will appear to nap, but your mind will train in a controlled environment. Time flows slower there—one hour outside equals three in the subspace.⟫
I blinked at the screen, toothbrush in hand again. "A nap that's secretly a boot camp? That's… wild." The system didn't flinch.
⟪This ensures privacy and efficiency. No one will suspect. Begin now?⟫
I hesitated, glancing at the dorm's thin walls. Ryan was out, and Jason and Eric were in class, so I had time.
"Alright, let's try it," I said, lying on my bed and closing my eyes.
I focused, picturing a door in my mind, and suddenly I was somewhere else—a vast, white room with no walls, just endless space. A table appeared, set with fancy silverware, and the system's voice echoed:
⟪Practice dining etiquette. Begin.⟫
I picked up a fork, fumbling at first, but the subspace felt real, like I was actually there.
Time in the subspace was a blur. I practiced walking, talking, even bowing like some old-money heir. Hours passed inside, but when I opened my eyes, only twenty minutes had ticked by in the real world. My body felt rested, like I'd napped, but my mind was buzzing.
"This is insane," I whispered, checking my phone's clock.
The system was right—no one would suspect I was training to be a "young master" while I looked like I was dozing off.
The subspace became my secret weapon. I'd slip into it during breaks, practicing between classes or late at night. The system threw scenarios at me: dinner parties, business meetings, even fake interviews where I had to charm faceless figures.
⟪Your tone lacks conviction,⟫ it critiqued when I stumbled over a greeting.
"I'm trying, okay?"
I snapped, but I kept going. The slower time let me drill every detail, from how to sip wine without looking like a rookie to how to nod like I was born rich.
The best part? No one noticed. To Ryan, Jason, and Eric, I was just taking power naps, catching up on sleep from my late-night study sessions.
"You're gonna burn out, Noah," Eric said once, seeing me "napping" on the couch.
I just grinned, my mind fresh from an hour in the subspace practicing handshakes. The system was clever—hiding my training in plain sight. But the pressure was on. I had to master this, or the promised Credits would stay a fantasy.
For three days, I endured the grueling grind of reshaping myself. The subspace was relentless, throwing etiquette drills and temperament tests at me like a drill sergeant.
I learned to keep my back straight, my voice steady, even when I wanted to slouch and curse. The system graded every move, docking points for fidgeting or mumbling.
"I'm not a robot," I muttered after a failed attempt at a "refined laugh."
⟪Focus, Noah. A young master is deliberate,⟫ it replied.
I gritted my teeth and tried again.
The training was brutal, but I could feel myself changing. My usual slouch was gone, replaced by a posture that felt alien but powerful.
I practiced speaking with confidence, even when I felt like a fraud. The system's scenarios grew tougher—mock banquets where I had to navigate complex table settings, or conversations where I had to deflect questions about my "wealth."
By the third day, I was exhausted but sharper, like I was carving a new version of myself.
The system's assessments were merciless. Each night, it scored my progress, pointing out every flaw.
⟪Your eye contact wavers,⟫ it said after one session.
"I'm staring at a fake duke!" I protested, but I adjusted, holding gazes with imaginary tycoons.
The system promised an evaluation after three days, and I poured everything into it, knowing those Credits were my lifeline. I wasn't just learning to act rich—I was fighting for a way out of my broke, orphan life.
The long-awaited day arrived, and the system summoned me to the subspace for my final assessment. I stood in the endless white room, facing a simulated dinner party with faceless guests.
I navigated the meal, the greetings, the small talk, my heart pounding as I tried to embody the "young master" the system demanded.
When it was over, the screen appeared: ⟪Score: 65%. Commendable effort, Noah. Not perfect, but sufficient to proceed.⟫
I exhaled, half-relieved, half-annoyed. "Sixty-five? I busted my ass for that?"
The system didn't care about my complaints. ⟪For your efforts, a reward.⟫
A massive turntable materialized in the subspace, its surface glittering with prizes—Credits, gadgets, even a car.
My jaw dropped. "What is this, a game show?" I said, but I was grinning.
The system instructed: ⟪Spin the turntable. Your reward awaits.⟫
I stepped forward, my hands sweaty, and gave it a hard pull. The wheel spun, colors blurring, my heart racing with it.
The turntable whirred, a kaleidoscope of possibilities. I held my breath, watching it slow, the arrow ticking past prizes I could only dream of.
"Come on, something good," I whispered, my hands clenched.
The system was silent, letting the moment stretch. I thought about my 47.32 CRD, the rent I couldn't pay, the life I was stuck in. This had to be worth it. The wheel's clicks grew slower, teasing, until it finally stopped.
I stared, my brain struggling to process the result. The system's voice broke the silence: ⟪Congratulations, Noah. You've won a Lorvex Éclat Prime.⟫
I blinked, confused. "A what?"
The screen displayed an image—a sleek, silver watch, its face studded with gems that caught the subspace's light.
⟪A luxury watch by Lorvex, makers of exclusive goods. Worth over 60 million Credits. Only five exist worldwide.⟫
My knees buckled. "Sixty million?" I choked out. "You're kidding."
The subspace dissolved, and I was back in my room, the watch now on my wrist, heavy and impossibly real. I stared at it, its intricate design screaming wealth I couldn't comprehend.
The system chimed: ⟪Wear it. Show it off. This is your first step.⟫
I shook my head, my expression wild. "Show it off? This thing could pay my tuition for a decade!"
But the system wasn't done. ⟪Control your reaction, Noah. A young master is composed.⟫
I tried to calm my face, but my heart was doing somersaults.
Sixty million Credits. Lorvex was a name I'd only heard in ads for the ultra-rich, their watches and accessories flaunted by celebrities and CEOs.
The Éclat Prime was a legend—handcrafted, exclusive, a status symbol I had no business touching. I turned my wrist, watching the gems catch the dim light of my dorm. It felt like a dream, but the weight on my arm was real.
"This is insane," I whispered, still half-expecting it to vanish.
The system's reprimand echoed in my mind as I heard Jason's voice through the door.
"Yo, Noah, get out here! Ramen time!" Eric's voice followed, louder. "Move it, man, before I eat your share!"
I froze, the watch glinting like a beacon. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out, forcing a casual grin as I joined Jason and Eric at our cramped table, the ramen steaming in cheap bowls.
Jason, glasses fogging from the heat, squinted at my wrist.
"Whoa, Noah, what's that?" he said, pointing at the watch.
Eric leaned over, his chopsticks pausing mid-air. "Dude, that looks expensive as hell. Where'd you get it?"
My heart skipped, panic rising. "Oh, this?" I said, my voice too high. "Thrift store find. Got it for, like, ten CRD. Total steal."
I held my breath, praying they'd buy it.
Jason raised an eyebrow but shrugged. "Lucky score, man. Looks like it belongs in a museum."
Eric laughed, slurping his ramen. "Ten CRD? You're the king of bargains, Noah. Teach me your ways."
I forced a chuckle, my pulse slowing. "Just got a good eye," I said, twirling my chopsticks.
The watch felt like a spotlight, but they didn't push. We ate, trading dumb jokes, Jason complaining about his lab partner, Eric flexing about his gym gains. I kept my wrist under the table, terrified they'd look too closely.
The lie worked, but it left me jittery. The watch was a fortune, a ticket to a life I couldn't imagine, and I'd passed it off as a thrift store trinket.
"Nice one, Noah," Jason said, clapping my shoulder as we cleaned up. "Next time, find me a deal like that."
I nodded, my smile tight. The system's voice lingered in my head, urging composure, but I was barely holding it together. This was my first taste of "showing off," and it felt like walking a tightrope.
I couldn't help but sigh in relief inwardly as I slipped back into my room, the watch still heavy on my wrist. The dorm was quiet now, the others settling in for the night.
I lay down, staring at the Lorvex Éclat Prime, its value—60 million Credits—burning in my mind. The system had delivered, but I was already in over my head, and I had no idea what came next.