Smiling inwardly now that I've confirmed the multiplier and managed to do some actual good with it, I make my way toward the mall.
Traffic is light, and it does not take long to reach the Antelope Valley Mall. I find an open space at the far end of a row, park the Mustang, and grab the variety box before stepping out.
I lock the car and start toward the entrance.
A violent screech tears through the parking lot behind me.
A horn blasts so close and so loud that it stabs straight through my ears.
At the same time, a faint weight settles over the back of my mind.
Dread.
Not panic.
A warning.
Imminent danger.
My head snaps around.
Everything slows.
A pickup truck barrels straight toward me from the next lane. One of its front tires has blown apart, shredded rubber whipping around the rim while sparks spray across the pavement behind it. The driver is fighting the wheel, but the truck keeps sliding sideways through the lot with its horn screaming nonstop.
I swear its grille is grinning at me.
Not a normal grille, either.
An evil, smug-ass grin like the truck knows exactly what it is doing.
Fear floods my body.
Power surges right behind it.
My thoughts accelerate so violently that the entire parking lot turns into angles, distances, speed, clearance, and timing. The truck is too close for me to outrun. Jumping left puts me in front of another moving car. Jumping right sends me directly beneath the wheels.
But the centerline beneath the truck is clear.
Its suspension sits high enough.
There is one way through this.
The answer forms within a fraction of a heartbeat.
I drop flat.
The truck passes directly over me.
Heat, metal, and the roar of the undercarriage rip across my senses as the frame clears my body by inches. Sparks flash beyond my shoulder. The smell of burned rubber fills my nose.
Then it is gone.
I roll hard to the side, spring to my feet, and get out of the traffic lane before another car can finish what the truck started.
Behind me, the pickup jumps the curb and crashes nose-first into a palm tree.
The horn finally dies.
For a second, I just stand there breathing hard while adrenaline tears through my veins.
Then I look at the crushed front end wrapped around the tree.
I could swear the grille looks offended.
A grin pulls across my face.
"Nice try. Not today, Truck-kun."
The laugh that escapes me is probably a little too loud, but I am alive, uninjured, and apparently capable of dodging vehicular assassination attempts by letting them drive over me.
People rush in from every direction.
"Are you okay?"
"Holy shit, that truck went right over him!"
"Somebody call an ambulance!"
A woman grabs my arm and searches my face. "Sir, don't move too fast. You might be in shock."
Maybe I am.
That would explain why this is somehow hilarious.
Inside my head, I practically cheer.
"Thank you, System. That was a close one, eh, Genesis?"
"Extremely," she replies. "Your Contextual Instinct identified the threat, Accelerated Cognition calculated the viable survival path, and Enhanced Physiology allowed you to execute it in time."
"So three different upgrades just saved my ass."
"That is an imprecise but accurate summary."
I could walk away. I feel fine—better than fine—and Genesis has already confirmed I'm uninjured.
But one look at the crowd tells me that would only create another problem.
Half of them are watching me like I might collapse the second I take a step, and I get the distinct feeling at least a few would follow me all the way into the mall just to make sure I don't.
So I stay.
Mostly to put their minds at ease.
I wait for the ambulance beside the growing crowd, answering the same questions in slightly different forms while sirens begin to rise in the distance.
The ambulance arrives a few minutes later, its lights washing red and white across the parked cars.
Two paramedics work their way through the crowd and sit me on the back step while they check me over. Pulse, blood pressure, pupils, breathing, range of motion—the whole routine.
I answer their questions, let them inspect every place the pavement should have torn up, and even stand when they ask me to prove nothing hurts.
After several increasingly confused looks, one of them finally lowers his clipboard.
"No signs of trauma, no visible injuries, and your vitals are normal," he says. "Honestly, you're extremely lucky."
Exactly what Genesis already told me.
"Good to hear," I say, keeping the smugness out of my voice. Mostly.
The crowd finally begins to relax once the professionals confirm I'm not about to drop dead in the parking lot.
I start whistling as I head inside, the mall's cool interior a welcome contrast to the morning heat outside.
I don't have a particular store in mind, so I let my legs choose for me.
A few turns later, I find myself inside a high-end jewelry store, standing in front of a glass display case and staring at a platinum choker studded with black diamonds.
The price tag reads one million dollars.
I immediately picture Nikhol's reaction if her father shows up with a million-dollar gift.
She would freak out.
Then refuse it.
Then accuse me of being reckless while checking my forehead for a fever and demanding to see my bank statements.
The image makes me smile.
Another man approaches with a woman hanging on his arm. He laughs when he notices what I'm looking at, then places one hand down on the display case beside me.
He is definitely older than me, probably in his early fifties. A messy mop of salt-and-pepper hair sits atop his head, already receding halfway back from where his hairline should be and leaving a shallow U-shaped strip across the front. A slight potbelly pushes against his silk suit, and even with my new height, he stands a little shorter than me.
Clearly the I-got-bullied-so-now-I-bully-others type.
"That necklace costs one million dollars," he says, his voice carrying farther than necessary.
No shit.
The price is right there.
He looks me over and sneers.
"Move aside. If you aren't planning to buy it, don't hog the display gawking like some old country farmhand."
The woman beside him snickers.
I look from her to him, and a slow smirk pulls across my face.
Oh.
It's that old trope.
The loudest man in the room assumes he is the biggest spender—right up until somebody with actual money shows up.
Except this isn't one of those tycoon stories on Webnovel.
This is real life.
And I am absolutely going to humiliate this man.
My amusement deepens as I pull out my phone and check my personal account again.
$2,227,000.00.
More than enough to turn this into a very educational morning.
I've always wanted to do something like this.
This man has no idea what is about to happen.
༺◈✧ Shling ✧◈༻
Crystalline sound rings through the jewelry store as gold, crimson, silver, blue, and emerald light unfolds across my vision.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
◈ SOVEREIGN MISSION GENERATED ◈
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
" MULTIPLIER OPPORTUNITY DETECTED "
♦ MISSION
SHOPPING BATTLE: HUMBLE THE LOUDMOUTH
◆ OBJECTIVE
Challenge the insulting customer to a shopping battle.
Complete a higher total value of legitimate purchases within the Antelope Valley Mall.
Secure his concession or leave him unable or unwilling to match your next completed purchase.
◆ VALIDATION RULES
All purchases must be genuine and completed.
Reversed, fabricated, or circular transactions are invalid.
System returns do not count toward the shopping total.
Purchased assets may be retained, gifted, or donated according to genuine intent.
♦ CURRENT RESOURCES
Available Personal Balance: $2,227,000.00
Mission Assistance: PERMITTED
Debt Exchange: AVAILABLE
♦ REWARDS
Base Cash Reward: $5,000.00
Reward Realization Multiplier: 10.00×
Final Cash Reward: $50,000.00
Base Experience Reward: 2,500 XP
Experience Gain Multiplier: 2.00×
Final Experience Reward: 5,000 XP
Achievement: PUT UP OR SHUT UP
Business & Investment Purchase Voucher ×1
◆ VOUCHER EFFECT
Bonus Multiplier: 10.00×
Valid Scope: BUSINESS PURCHASE / INVESTMENT
Stacking Compatibility: ENABLED
Applies to one qualifying transaction.
May enhance a Business Purchase, an Investment, or one transaction legitimately qualifying as both.
Adds a separate 10.00× return without replacing established category returns.
Dual Qualification: 2.50× + 7.50× + 10.00× = 20.00×
Qualification must remain genuine.
System Return Recursion: BLOCKED
◆ PERFECT-VICTORY BONUS
Eligibility: ACTIVE
Requirement: WIN WITHOUT FRAUD, COERCION, OR REVERSAL
Reward: HIDDEN
♦ MISSION STATUS
Acceptance: PENDING
Failure Penalty: NONE
♜ THE SOVEREIGN COMMANDS • TABOO EXECUTES ♜
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I stare at the mission panel.
Then I read the rewards again.
Five thousand in base cash becomes fifty grand through Reward Realization. Twenty-five hundred XP becomes five thousand. There's an achievement, a hidden perfect-victory bonus, and a voucher capable of turning one properly structured business investment into a twenty-times return.
All for beating one loudmouth at his own game.
Then I look at the man.
Then back at my balance.
"Oh, you read my mind."
"I interpreted your intent," Genesis replies.
"Same damn thing."
My grin widens as I close the banking app.
This is going to be fun.
"I accept," I say aloud, not budging from my place.
The words are for Taboo and Genesis, but I keep my smirk aimed directly at the man.
An emerald pulse flashes across the mission panel before it folds out of sight.
That earns a burst of laughter from him and the woman hanging off his arm. Up close, she looks like some cheap gold digger dressed as an oversized leprechaun—a sequined green dress, an orange-red wig, and pasty-white skin completing the whole unfortunate picture.
"Enlighten us," the man says through his laughter, sweeping one hand toward the displays. "What exactly do you accept?"
Before I can answer, he cuts himself off with another laugh.
"Oh, I know. You accept that you'll never afford a piece this fine."
"No," I interrupt, letting my smile settle into something calmer. "I accept your challenge."
His laughter falters.
"We'll play by the normal rules. From this point forward, whoever completes the highest total value in legitimate purchases wins." I tilt my head, letting the mockery show. "I just hope you don't back down. I'm real interested to see how you plan on putting me in my place."
Seeing her man hesitate, the redhead tightens both hands around his arm and presses it between the abundant swell of her cleavage.
"Come on, baby. Show this man who he's messing with." She bats her eyes up at him. "Beat him, and I'll do that special thing you like right in the car."
His eyes widen.
Then that nasty-looking sneer returns with fresh confidence.
"Eager to be humiliated?" he asks. "Very well. It's your funeral."
I just smirk.
"Then you go first. Pick a piece and buy it outright. I'll top it. We keep going until one of us taps out." I point toward the black-diamond choker. "The loser buys that necklace for the winner."
His eyes flick toward the million-dollar price tag.
For the first time, he looks less than completely certain.
The redhead squeezes his arm tighter.
He straightens his silk jacket and lifts his chin.
"Agreed."
"Good." I gesture toward the cases. "Ladies first."
He lets the woman choose the opening piece.
She immediately points to a heavy yellow-gold ring set with emeralds and rubies. The price card beneath it reads five thousand dollars.
The associate behind the counter removes it from the case, and the man pays without hesitation.
He turns the receipt toward me like he just closed a billion-dollar deal.
"Watch and learn," he says. "This is what real wealth looks like."
I chuckle and scan the rings until I find a coordinated set of stackable gold bands set with diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds.
Ten thousand dollars.
"I'll take the entire set," I tell the male associate who has been watching us. "My girls will love them."
My payment clears.
A few shoppers slow down outside the store. Then a few more stop entirely.
Within minutes, a small crowd begins to form around the entrance, whispering about the challenge. One glance at my clothes has half of them deciding I'm already in too deep.
That only makes this more entertaining.
The man growls and chooses a fifteen-thousand-dollar anklet wrapped in small yellow diamonds.
I answer with a thirty-thousand-dollar white-gold set consisting of two diamond-studded anklets connected to matching toe rings by thin jeweled chains.
His jaw tightens.
The third round jumps sharply.
He spends sixty thousand dollars on a ruby-and-diamond bracelet.
I buy a one-hundred-twenty-thousand-dollar sapphire necklace with matching earrings and a bracelet.
Once the purchases cross six figures, the original associate quietly steps aside and the store manager takes over. She watches every approval herself while the crowd grows thick enough to block part of the entrance.
The man is sweating now.
Still, pride drags him into one more round.
He selects a one-hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar platinum watch set with white diamonds along the face and band.
I counter with a three-hundred-thousand-dollar collection of platinum necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and rings centered around black diamonds and deep-red rubies.
My payment clears without so much as a pause.
Four rounds.
He has spent two hundred thirty thousand dollars.
I have spent four hundred sixty thousand.
And every item is bought outright.
The man stares at the latest receipt for several long seconds. His shoulders slowly sag before he gives me a shallow, painfully humble bow.
"You win," he says through clenched teeth. "At this rate, I won't even have enough left for the necklace. Let's stop here. I'll buy it, and we can be done with this."
The crowd erupts into murmurs.
I could let it end there.
But where would the fun be in that?
I turn toward the manager.
"What is the most expensive complete collection in the store besides that choker?" I ask. "I need to spoil my girls."
The manager studies me for a moment, then signals to another employee.
He disappears through a secured door and returns with a wide black-lacquered case trimmed in gold. The manager unlocks it and raises the lid.
Twelve individual velvet compartments fill the interior.
Each contains a completely different piece of jewelry, but all twelve share the same design language—platinum, white gold, and blackened gold shaped around rare black and white diamonds. Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, alexandrite, fire opals, pink diamonds, yellow diamonds, Paraíba tourmalines, tanzanite, amethyst, and black opals give every piece its own personality.
"The Twelve Crowns Collection," the manager says. "Twelve one-of-one pieces created by the same designer. They were made as a unified collection, but each piece was designed to stand alone. The full set is five hundred fifty thousand dollars."
Twelve pieces.
Sierra. Miranda. Amara. Nikhol. Kamilla. Morgana. Talia. Andrea. Scarlett-Rose. Valentina. Kamiko. Elyza.
One for each of them.
Yeah.
That works almost too perfectly.
"I'll take it," I say. "Box every piece separately."
The manager's professional expression finally cracks.
The redhead's mouth falls open.
The man goes pale.
My payment clears for another five hundred fifty thousand dollars, pushing my completed shopping total to one million ten thousand.
I look at the man over the open collection case.
"Your turn."
The man raises both hands.
"No more rounds."
He points toward the black-diamond choker, and the manager gives a silent signal to the associate behind the counter.
The necklace is removed from its display.
Lin pays the full one million dollars without another complaint.
Once the transaction clears, the associate places the choker inside a polished presentation case and slides it across the counter to me.
The man watches it cross the glass, then reaches into his jacket and holds out a business card.
"You humbled me," he says, his voice stripped of its earlier arrogance. "If you're ever looking for a business opportunity, I'm Lin Yuan of Yuan Equity Group."
I take the card and give him nothing more than a dismissive nod.
He accepts that, then turns toward the manager.
"Treat my purchases as spoils of war," he says. "He takes those as well."
The manager inclines her head.
Lin Yuan gives me one final look before turning and walking out of the store, the redhead trailing behind him.
I look over the mountain of boxes, cases, and velvet-lined trays covering the counters.
"Can all of this be delivered?"
"Of course," the manager answers immediately. "We can arrange insured delivery for the entire collection."
Perfect.
I provide the delivery information while her staff finishes boxing and cataloging everything. A few minutes later, she hands me a thick itemized invoice listing every piece, its purchase value, and the ownership transfers from Lin Yuan.
Something to keep for my records—and something to produce when Nikhol inevitably demands proof that I haven't joined a jewelry-smuggling ring.
I tuck the invoice away, thank the manager, and leave the store.
As I step back into the mall, a familiar chime rings through my ears.
༺◈✧ Shling ✧◈༻