Days passed like a breeze, and I could feel myself transforming, bit by bit, into the "young master" the Show-Off System demanded.
Every moment I wasn't in class or sleeping, I was in the subspace, drilling etiquette and temperament until my head spun. I practiced walking with a confident stride, speaking with a measured tone, even sipping water like it was fine wine.
It was grueling, but I threw myself into it, driven by the promise of Credits and a way out of my broke life. I barely noticed the hours slipping away, my focus narrowing to the system's lessons.
The subspace was my sanctuary, a place where I could mess up without judgment. I'd spend hours there, perfecting the tilt of my head during a greeting or the way I held a fork.
"This is who you are now," I'd tell myself, staring at my reflection in the subspace's endless white void.
But it came at a cost—I started skipping shifts at the coffee shop and tutoring sessions, my part-time jobs falling by the wayside. I didn't regret it, not exactly. The system's rewards felt closer than ever, and I was betting everything on them.
My old life felt like it was slipping away, replaced by this strange new version of me. I caught myself standing straighter in the dorm, my movements smoother, my words more deliberate.
It wasn't just practice—it was becoming instinct. I'd pass a mirror and pause, surprised by the guy staring back, someone who looked like he belonged in a boardroom, not a cramped dorm.
"You're getting there, Noah," I'd mutter, half-proud, half-terrified of what I was becoming.
The system was relentless, pushing me to refine every detail. ⟪Your posture is improving, but your smile lacks warmth,⟫ it would say, and I'd grit my teeth, forcing a grin that felt like it belonged to someone else.
I didn't have time to second-guess it. My CRD balance was dwindling and wasn't going to last long—and the system's promises were all I had. I was all in, no turning back, even if it meant leaving parts of my old self behind.
It wasn't just the training consuming me; it was the isolation. I barely saw Ryan, Jason, or Eric anymore. They were caught up in their own lives.
The dorm felt empty most days, just me and the system's glowing screen. I missed our late-night talks, the way we'd laugh over nothing, but I couldn't stop now. Not when I was so close to something bigger.
Eric, Jason, and Ryan were always out, chasing their own goals. Eric was either at the gym or with Emily, planning dates or picking up packages like the one I'd grabbed for him.
Jason was holed up in the chem lab, chasing a breakthrough that might finally boost his grades. Ryan was juggling practices and his trading company gig, his sponsorships keeping him busier than ever.
I'd catch glimpses of them—Ryan grabbing his gym bag, Jason muttering about formulas—but our paths rarely crossed. It left me alone with my thoughts, the system my only constant companion.
My savings were another problem, shrinking faster than I could handle. With my jobs on hold, every CRD I spent on food or transit stung. Worse, our dorm contract was up next month, and I had no plan for where to go.
The university's housing office had sent a reminder: move out by the end of the term. I'd stare at my CRD account—now down to 10.15—and feel my stomach twist.
"You better deliver, system," I'd whisper, half-expecting it to answer. It didn't, but the weight of the Lorvex Éclat Prime on my wrist reminded me what was at stake.
The loneliness hit harder than I expected. I'd grown used to the noise of the dorm—Eric's bad singing, Ryan's laughter, Jason's endless debates about sci-fi. Now, it was just me, the subspace, and the pressure to become someone new.
I'd walk past their empty rooms, wondering if they'd notice how much I was changing. Part of me wanted to tell them about the system, the watch, the whole insane deal, but how could I? They'd think I'd lost it, and I wasn't sure they'd be wrong.
I tried to focus on the training, but the real world kept creeping in. Rent was due soon, and without my jobs, I was cutting it close. I'd lie awake at night, calculating how many CRD I'd need to scrape by, the numbers never adding up.
The system's promises—Credits, assets, a new life—were all I had to hold onto. "Just keep going, Noah," I'd tell myself, clutching the watch like a lifeline. It was a gamble, but it was mine.
After five more days, I'd done it. The young master lessons weren't just lessons anymore—they were me. I couldn't slouch if I tried; my shoulders stayed back, my steps purposeful.
I spoke with a calm authority I barely recognized, my words measured even when I was joking with myself in the mirror.
"Look at you, Noah Theylenor," I'd say, smirking at my reflection. "Practically royalty."
It was embedded in me, a new way of living I couldn't shake even if I wanted to.
The subspace had rewired me. I moved through the world differently now, my gestures polished, my presence heavier. Even simple things—eating cereal, tying my shoes—felt like performances, every motion deliberate.
The system had promised I'd become a young master, and it delivered. I wasn't just acting anymore; I was the role, and it scared me as much as it thrilled me.
I caught myself standing taller in class, nodding with a confidence I'd never had. Professors noticed, one even commenting on my "new focus." I brushed it off, but inside, I was reeling.
The system had changed me, and there was no going back. "This is who you are now," I told myself, and for the first time, I believed it.
The broke, scrambling Noah was fading, replaced by someone who could wear a 60-million-CRD watch and make it look natural.
That night, the system appeared, its screen glowing brighter than ever. ⟪Congratulations, Noah. You've integrated the young master lessons,⟫ it said.
I leaned back on my bed, a grin tugging at my lips. "Took long enough," I replied.
⟪Now, the final challenge: a real-world evaluation of your etiquette and temperament. Pass, and a reward awaits.
My grin faltered. "Another test? Haven't I done enough?"
The system was unmoved. ⟪This is the culmination. You will dine at Maison Étoile, a 10-star restaurant, and be graded on your performance.⟫
I froze, my mouth dry. "Maison Étoile? The place with million-CRD wine?"
⟪Correct. Show off your skills. The bill will be covered. Prepare.⟫
I laughed nervously. "Prepare? I'm gonna need a miracle."
The screen vanished, leaving me to process the insanity of dining at the most exclusive restaurant in Veyloria.
I sat there, heart pounding. Maison Étoile wasn't just a restaurant; it was a legend, a place where the elite flaunted their wealth over plates that cost more than my tuition.
The cheapest dish was five digits, and their wine list could bankrupt a small country. I'd never even walked past it, let alone dreamed of eating there.
"You're out of your mind, system,"
I muttered, but the challenge was set, and I had to nail it or risk losing everything I'd worked for.
Maison Étoile was the crown jewel of Auremouth, the capital city of Veyloria, where I'd lived my whole life.
Veyloria was a sprawling nation, a blend of cutting-edge tech and old-world charm, its economy driven by Credits, the universal digital currency that powered everything from street vendors to skyscrapers.
Auremouth was its beating heart, a glittering metropolis of towering glass buildings and historic cobblestone streets, where the rich flaunted their wealth and the rest of us hustled to survive.
The university sat on the city's edge, a bubble of academia amidst the hustle, but even students knew Maison Étoile's name.
There was only one Maison Étoile in the country, a beacon of exclusivity in Auremouth's upscale district. Its reputation was mythic—10 stars, reserved for the elite, with a waiting list months long unless you had serious connections or Credits.
The idea of walking in there, me, a broke orphan with 10.15 CRD to my name, made my legs weak. But the system's promise to cover the bill was my only comfort. I'd have to trust it, or I'd be out of my depth before I even sat down.
The system's assurance about the bill was a relief, but I was still a wreck. It was afternoon, and dinner was hours away. I stood in front of my closet, staring at my meager wardrobe.
A suit felt too formal, too hot for Auremouth's lingering summer. I settled on a minimalist look: a crisp white polo, black pants, and black shoes I'd polished to a shine.
Simple, but sharp, like I belonged at Maison Étoile without trying too hard. I caught my reflection and paused—I looked good, better than I expected.
Styling my hair was a first. I borrowed some of Eric's gel, slicking it back with careful strokes then messed it down like natural.
The mirror showed a stranger: pale skin, sharp features, a tall frame at 170 centimeters that carried the outfit better than I'd hoped.
"Not bad, Noah," I said, smirking.
I looked almost like an idol, the kind you'd see in Veyloria's glossy ads, not a guy scraping by on campus. The Lorvex Éclat Prime gleamed on my wrist, tying it all together. For once, I felt like I could pull this off.
I spent longer than I'd admit getting ready, adjusting my collar, practicing my "young master" smile. The system had trained me for this, but the stakes felt higher now.
Maison Étoile wasn't the subspace; it was real, with real people watching. I turned my wrist, the watch catching the light, its 60-million-CRD weight a reminder of what I was playing for.
"You've got this," I told myself, but my nerves were buzzing. I was about to walk into a world I'd only seen from the outside.
The outfit felt like armor, but I couldn't shake the impostor syndrome. I wasn't rich, not yet, but the system was forcing me to act like it.
I checked my phone—still a few hours until dinner. I paced my room, running through etiquette rules in my head: fork on the left, don't slouch, smile but not too much.
The thought of sitting at a table with million-CRD wine made me dizzy, but I had to trust the system.
"Better not screw this up, Noah," I muttered, adjusting my watch one last time.
I opted for the subway over a taxi, worried about rush-hour traffic clogging Auremouth's streets. The train was packed, and I felt eyes on me—girls glancing my way, their gazes lingering on my watch, my outfit, maybe even my face.
I kept my expression neutral, channeling the system's lessons, but my pulse was racing. "Focus, Noah," I whispered under my breath, gripping the rail.
I wasn't used to this kind of attention, and it made me tense, like I was already being judged.
The subway rattled through the city, and I stared out the window, trying to calm my nerves. The girls' glances were flattering but unnerving—I wasn't some idol, just a guy with a crazy system and a watch worth more than most people's homes.
I adjusted my posture, keeping my shoulders back, my chin up, like the system taught me. By the time I stepped off the train, I was sweating, not from the heat but from the weight of what was coming. Maison Étoile was waiting, and I had to be ready.
Finally, it was evening, and I stood in front of Maison Étoile, its sleek glass facade glowing under Auremouth's city lights. The restaurant loomed like a palace, its name in elegant gold script above the entrance.
My heart pounded, the Lorvex Éclat Prime heavy on my wrist, my minimalist outfit suddenly feeling like a costume.
This was it—the system's final challenge, my chance to prove I could be the young master it wanted. I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and prepared to step into a world I'd never belonged to.