While letting my legs carry me through the mall, I examine the panel Taboo has displayed before me, breaking down my purchases, their multipliers, and the rewards from the mission itself.
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◈ SOVEREIGN MISSION SETTLEMENT ◈
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" SHOPPING BATTLE COMPLETE "
♦ MISSION
SHOPPING BATTLE: HUMBLE THE LOUDMOUTH
◆ OUTCOME
Mikæl Completed Purchases: $1,010,000.00
Lin Yuan Completed Purchases: $230,000.00
Victory Margin: $780,000.00
Opponent Concession: CONFIRMED
Perfect Victory: ACHIEVED
♦ PURCHASE PROCESSING
Qualifying Personal Purchase Base: $1,010,000.00
Purchase Principal Reimbursement: +$1,010,000.00
Personal Purchase Return 10.00×: +$10,100,000.00
Debt Exchange: NOT REQUIRED
Gift Transfer Evaluation: PENDING
System Return Recursion: BLOCKED
◆ GIFT CLASSIFICATION
Relationship and gift effects will be evaluated when the intended recipients legitimately receive the jewelry.
No duplicate return has been processed at this stage.
♦ SPOILS OF VICTORY
Black-Diamond Choker: +$1,000,000.00
Transferred Opponent Purchases: +$230,000.00
Total Jewelry Value Acquired: $2,240,000.00
♦ MISSION REWARDS
Base Cash Reward: $5,000.00
Reward Realization Multiplier: 10.00×
Final Cash Reward Credited: $50,000.00
Base Experience Reward: 2,500 XP
Experience Gain Multiplier: 2.00×
Final Experience Awarded: 5,000 XP
Achievement Unlocked: PUT UP OR SHUT UP
Business & Investment Purchase Voucher ×1: CLAIMED
◆ PERFECT-VICTORY BONUS REVEALED
Ability Acquired: SOVEREIGN APPRAISAL — COMMERCE
Status: ACTIVE
Evaluates authenticity, fair market value, ownership structure, obligations, and visible risk in goods, businesses, and investment opportunities by organizing and analyzing legitimately available evidence.
Inaccessible facts are not fabricated.
Future outcomes are not guaranteed.
♦ LIQUID BALANCE
Starting Personal Balance: $2,227,000.00
Purchase Outflow: −$1,010,000.00
Principal Reimbursement: +$1,010,000.00
Personal Purchase Return: +$10,100,000.00
Mission Cash Reward: +$50,000.00
Current Personal Balance: $12,377,000.00
Net Liquid Increase: +$10,150,000.00
Jewelry assets are not included in the liquid balance.
♜ THE SOVEREIGN COMMANDS • TABOO EXECUTES ♜
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I nearly walk straight into a kiosk.
"Bro."
"Your reaction is understandable," Genesis says.
"Twelve million, three hundred seventy-seven thousand dollars, two-point-two-four million in jewelry, a twenty-times business-investment voucher, and a new appraisal ability."
"That is correct."
"And Lin Yuan's business card."
"Also correct."
I shake my head, grinning as I keep walking.
"That man's mouth just made this a very productive morning."
"His mouth did not generate the returns. Your purchases did."
"You know what I mean."
I dismiss the settlement panel with a thought and open my banking app one more time.
$12,377,000.00.
Still there.
Still insane.
I lock my phone and let my legs carry me until a high-end clothing boutique makes me stop outside its entrance.
Warm light spills across polished marble. Gold fixtures frame racks arranged by shade, texture, and season, with lilac dresses and tailored pieces displayed beneath soft spotlights. Even the mannequins look richer than I did when I woke up this morning.
I'm still taking it in when a small voice speaks from just behind me.
"Excuse me, sir?"
I turn.
A young woman stands there with one hand resting against a rolling rack she has apparently been trying to guide past me.
Rich brown skin, long dark curls spilling down her chest and back, tiny lilac and gold clips scattered through them. One eye is violet and the other a warm amber-gold, both fixed on me with professional patience that is beginning to wear thin.
Her work clothes match the boutique almost perfectly—a fitted lilac cardigan over a ribbed top, high-waisted cream trousers, and pointed lavender heels. A gold name badge rests against her chest.
CALLIE
STYLE ADVISOR
"But you're in the way," she continues. "Are you coming in?"
I smile and nod as I look around the boutique, down at myself, and then back at her.
Fair question.
My clothes did not look terrible before this morning. Standing in front of her, they suddenly look like they lost an argument with the rest of me.
I focus my gaze on her, trying to get Taboo to show me what it knows and what she is feeling right now.
A translucent panel opens beside her.
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◈ RELATIONSHIP PROFILE ◈
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" RECOGNITION AND ANALYSIS COMPLETE "
♦ IDENTITY
Name: CALIDOPI "CALLIE"
Surname: UNAVAILABLE
Occupation: STYLE ADVISOR
Workplace: HIGH-END CLOTHING BOUTIQUE
◆ IMMEDIATE THOUGHTS
He is gorgeous up close.
Those clothes do not match the way he carries himself.
Please tell me he actually came here to shop.
Why is he looking at me like that?
♦ RELATIONSHIP INDICATORS
Affection: 11%
Interest: 68%
Loyalty: 0%
Personalized Relationship Multiplier: 5.00×
◆ INTERPRETATION LIMITS
Displayed thoughts are immediate surface impressions available through current Recognition, Analysis, and relationship access.
Private memories and inaccessible thoughts are not fabricated.
Indicators are dynamic measurements, not control values.
♜ THE SOVEREIGN COMMANDS • TABOO EXECUTES ♜
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I keep my face neutral while reading it.
Mostly.
"Sixty-eight percent interest?" I ask Genesis silently. "She just told me to get out of the doorway."
"She also finds you highly attractive and hopes you intend to enter the store," Genesis replies.
"And my clothes?"
"She considers them a professional emergency."
"Damn. No hesitation at all."
"You requested an accurate interpretation."
Before I can respond, Taboo chimes again.
༺◈✧ Shling ✧◈༻
A second panel unfolds over the first.
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◈ OPTIONAL CONQUEST MISSION ◈
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" A BETTER FIT "
♦ OBJECTIVES
Allow Callie to help rebuild your wardrobe.
Learn who she is beyond the professional interaction.
Earn a genuine date through mutual interest.
◆ VALIDATION RULES
Professional courtesy does not equal romantic consent.
Pressure, coercion, manipulation, or abuse of System information invalidates all progress.
Callie retains complete agency over every interaction and outcome.
♦ POTENTIAL REWARDS
Base Experience Reward: 1,000 XP
Experience Gain Multiplier: 2.00×
Final Experience Reward: 2,000 XP
Achievement: A BETTER FIT
Personalized Multiplier Recalibration: ON COMPLETION
Acceptance: PENDING
Failure Penalty: NONE
♜ THE SOVEREIGN COMMANDS • TABOO EXECUTES ♜
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"You two are shameless," I think.
"Taboo generated the opportunity from your intent," Genesis says.
"My intent was to buy clothes."
"Your intent contained additional layers."
Of course it did.
I let both panels fade, then gesture down the length of my body and at the clothes I'm wearing.
"Kinda need a new wardrobe."
I chuckle lightly, and a faint blush warms Callie's cheeks.
"Mind helping me out?"
"I... I can do that."
She bites her lower lip, then leads me toward a fitting area and picks up a measuring tape.
"Are you looking for anything specific?"
I shake my head.
"I figured I'd let the cute stylist have her fun."
I give her a warm, confident smile.
"If it's good enough, I might even sign up for the subscription. I heard this place has one."
"We do." Callie's eyes brighten despite the color still warming her cheeks. "A stylist curates new pieces for you every month based on your measurements, preferences, and schedule."
"So I get clothes picked by you delivered to my door?"
"Possibly by me," she says, trying for professional and landing somewhere closer to playful. "That depends on whether you behave during the consultation."
I lift both hands.
"I'm on my best behavior."
"That is slightly concerning."
I laugh, and she motions for me to stand on a low fitting platform in front of three tall mirrors.
"Arms out, please."
I obey.
Callie steps behind me and stretches the measuring tape across my shoulders. Her fingertips brush the fabric near my collar before she checks the number twice.
"Well," she murmurs.
"Well what?"
"You have the shoulders of a man who should not be wearing that shirt."
I glance at myself in the mirror.
"Damn. You really do hate my clothes."
"I don't hate them." She moves the tape down one arm. "I resent the wasted potential."
"That sounds personal."
"I take my work seriously."
She circles around me and measures my other arm, then wraps the tape across my chest.
"Try not to flex."
"I'm not flexing."
Her mismatched eyes lift to mine in the mirror.
"That is somehow worse."
My grin widens.
Callie clears her throat and looks down at the tape like the numbers have suddenly become extremely important.
"Chest is done."
"You sure? You looked distracted."
"I was verifying the measurement."
"Twice?"
"Quality control."
"Of course."
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile as she lowers the tape to my waist.
"Hold still."
"I haven't moved."
"You keep leaning toward me."
"Maybe you keep stepping closer."
That earns me a quick look.
"Difficult clients cost extra."
"Put it on the subscription."
A laugh escapes her before she can stop it.
"There. Waist recorded." She steps back and writes the number on a tablet. "I can get the rest from the outside seam and the measurements on your current trousers. No need to make this consultation more dangerous than it already is."
"Dangerous?"
"For your bank account," she says quickly.
"Right."
She gives me an innocent smile that does not fool either of us.
"For my bank account."
Callie lowers the measuring tape and studies me from head to toe, her expression shifting into focused concentration.
"Okay," she says at last. "I know where to start."
I step down from the platform.
"Have your fun, cute stylist."
Her blush deepens, but this time she holds my gaze.
"Oh, I plan to."
I grin.
"As do I."
Callie's smile freezes for half a second before it returns with a little more confidence.
"Good," she says. "Then let's see whether you can keep up."
She turns toward the sales floor, and I watch the sway of her curls as she starts issuing quiet instructions to two other associates.
A rolling rack appears first.
Then a second.
Then shoes, folded shirts, jackets, belts, and enough garment bags to make me wonder whether she plans to rebuild my wardrobe or open a second store inside the fitting area.
I glance toward the invisible mission waiting in the back of my thoughts.
Accept A Better Fit.
A soft emerald pulse answers without interrupting the moment.
Callie returns carrying the first outfit over one arm.
"We start simple," she says. "I need to see what your body does to clean lines before I start taking risks."
"Thought we established that you like risks."
Her mismatched eyes flick up to mine.
"I like calculated risks. Fitting you appears to be an occupational hazard."
I laugh and take the clothes into the changing room.
The first look is a fitted black Supima-cotton T-shirt, charcoal trousers with a sharp taper, a thin black leather belt, and white low-top sneakers so clean they look incapable of touching an ordinary sidewalk.
I step out.
Callie stops writing on her tablet.
The other two associates stop arranging the next rack.
Even a woman browsing near the mirrors glances over twice.
Callie slowly circles me.
"This," she says, tugging lightly at the hem of the shirt, "is what I meant by wasted potential."
"It's a T-shirt and pants."
"It is proportion, drape, contrast, and restraint."
"So... expensive T-shirt and pants."
She gives me a flat look.
"Go change before I add an annoyance fee."
The second outfit replaces the black with warmth: a cream knit polo left open at the throat, dark-chocolate pleated trousers, and brown suede loafers without socks.
When I step out, Callie's gaze tracks from my shoes to my face.
"Sunday brunch," she decides. "Relaxed enough to pretend you did not plan the outfit. Polished enough that everyone knows you did."
"I don't go to brunch."
"You will now."
"Bossy."
"Professionally decisive."
I turn toward the mirror.
The cream brings out the gold in my eyes, and the trousers make my legs look longer than they already are.
"Keep it," I say.
"I was going to."
The third outfit is built around an emerald silk shirt with a hidden placket, black trousers, black loafers, and a slim gold chain resting just above the open collar.
Callie steps closer the moment I come out and folds one side of the collar down with two careful fingers.
"This color is unfair on you."
"Unfair to who?"
She meets my eyes.
"The general public."
I grin.
"That sounds like their problem."
Her cheeks warm again, but she refuses to look away.
"Keep turning that charm on and it may become mine."
"May?"
She retreats before I can crowd the point.
"Next outfit."
The fourth look is casual in a completely different way: dark fitted jeans, a black crew-neck shirt, a burgundy suede jacket, and polished black boots.
I step out and roll my shoulders inside the jacket.
Callie places one hand over her heart.
"Oh, that is irritating."
"What is?"
"You somehow look more expensive when dressed like you are about to ignore a dress code."
"I've had practice."
"At ignoring dress codes?"
"At being irritating."
"That, I believe."
The fifth outfit shifts into business: a deep-navy suit with a subtle windowpane pattern, a pale-blue shirt, no tie, and dark oxblood shoes. The jacket fits closely through the waist while leaving enough room across my shoulders to move.
I walk out buttoning it.
Callie goes still.
"Say something," I tell her.
"You look like you are about to buy the building."
"Maybe I am."
Her laugh comes out uncertain until she realizes I might not be joking.
"What do you do?" she asks.
"A little of everything. Investing. Business. Fixing situations people should've handled before I got involved."
"That sounds deliberately vague."
"It's a new job description."
She adjusts one cuff, and her fingers linger at my wrist near the Genesis Cardinal Watch.
"How old are you?" I ask.
Callie looks up sharply.
"That transition was terrible."
"Still waiting on the answer."
"Twenty-five." She narrows her eyes. "Why?"
"Making sure I'm not flirting with somebody too young for me."
"And?"
"You're grown."
A slow smile forms on her lips.
"So are you."
"Very observant."
"It's literally my job to examine you."
The words leave her mouth before she can stop them.
Her entire face warms.
I let the silence sit just long enough to be cruel.
"Best job in the mall?"
"Changing room," she orders, pointing toward it.
I laugh the entire way inside.
The sixth outfit is a charcoal double-breasted suit over a thin black turtleneck, finished with black leather Chelsea boots. It makes me look like I should be walking into a private board meeting where at least one person is about to lose their company.
Callie studies me, then lifts the tablet and takes a picture.
"For the client profile," she says.
"Sure."
"It is."
"You didn't take one of the navy suit."
"I forgot."
"Quality control slipping already?"
She takes another photo without lowering the tablet.
"I can delete both."
"You won't."
"No," she admits. "I probably won't."
The seventh look is an ivory dinner jacket with a black silk shirt, black trousers, and velvet loafers. A small onyx pin sits at the lapel.
I emerge, spreading my arms.
"Too much?"
Callie shakes her head slowly.
"Just enough. Formal without looking like you are trying to prove you own a tuxedo."
"I don't own one."
"You own this one now."
"I haven't paid yet."
She raises one eyebrow.
"Are you planning to make me put anything back?"
"No."
"Then you own it emotionally. Accounting can catch up."
The eighth outfit is all texture: a black cashmere mock neck, stone-gray trousers, a long camel overcoat, and dark-brown boots.
Callie moves behind me and lifts the coat collar slightly.
"This one is for winter travel."
"California winter?"
"For wherever you decide to go after remembering you have twelve million dollars."
I glance at her in the mirror.
"You noticed the banking app?"
"I noticed enough zeros to become extremely committed to excellent customer service."
I laugh.
"At least you're honest."
"I'm twenty-five, underpaid, and surrounded by luxury clothing all day. Honesty is cheaper than pretending money is not attractive."
"Money or the man wearing it?"
Her hands pause on my collar.
"Both can be true."
Fair enough.
The ninth outfit goes in the opposite direction: tailored black joggers, a heavyweight white shirt, a cropped black-and-gold bomber jacket, and black designer sneakers.
I step out feeling ten years younger.
Callie folds her arms.
"Movie night."
"You dress like this for movies?"
"I dress better than this for Marvel premieres."
That gets my attention.
"You like Marvel?"
"Love Marvel." She brightens immediately. "Not blindly. Some of the movies are a mess, and I will argue about the writing for hours, but yes."
"Favorite hero?"
"Spider-Man."
"Safe answer."
"It is the correct answer."
"Which Spider-Man?"
"All of them for different reasons." She points the tablet at me like a weapon. "Do not turn this into one of those conversations where someone acts like liking one version means I have to hate the others."
"I was about to say the same thing."
Her expression softens into delighted surprise.
"Okay. You might be salvageable."
"Might?"
"Try the next outfit."
The tenth look is built around mythology without becoming a costume: a deep-red shirt beneath a black leather jacket lined with subtle gold geometric patterns, black trousers, and boots fitted with brushed-gold hardware.
When I step out, Callie smiles before I can say anything.
"I call this one Ares after he learns restraint."
"That man never learned restraint."
Her eyebrows rise.
"You know your mythology?"
"Greek, Norse, Egyptian, bits of Mesopotamian, West African traditions, Japanese, Hindu, Celtic. Enough to know every god is messy and most family trees should be investigated by professionals."
Callie laughs so hard she has to lower the tablet.
"Finally. Someone understands."
"You're into mythology too?"
"My mother named me Calidopi." She touches the badge on her chest. "It is not exactly subtle."
"Calliope. The Muse of epic poetry."
"Different spelling, same inspiration." Her smile turns warmer. "Most people just ask why my parents made my name difficult."
"Most people are boring."
"Exactly."
She looks at the red-and-black outfit again.
"I started with Greek mythology because of my name, but Egyptian mythology is probably my favorite now. The way their gods overlap, merge, change roles, and contradict one another feels more like a living religion than a clean fictional canon."
"Thank you." I point at her. "People act like mythology came with an official continuity editor."
"Right? Half the fun is seeing how beliefs changed between cities and dynasties."
Genesis gives a quiet hum of approval somewhere inside my thoughts.
Of course she likes this conversation.
The eleventh outfit is softer: a lavender-gray cardigan over a white fitted shirt, slate trousers, and gray suede shoes.
Callie stares when I step out.
"What?"
"I picked that color as a joke."
"Because it matches the store?"
"Because it matches me."
I look from the cardigan to her lilac uniform.
"So now we coordinate."
"We do not coordinate."
"We absolutely coordinate."
She moves beside me in front of the mirror, and the colors make her argument impossible.
I lift my phone and take a picture of our reflection.
Callie's mouth opens.
"You could warn somebody."
"You looked good."
She glances at the photo when I turn the screen toward her.
Her smile appears slowly.
"So did you."
"I'll send it to you."
"You don't have my number."
"Not yet."
The twelfth and final outfit combines everything she has learned: black tailored trousers, a fitted dark-red knit shirt, a structured charcoal jacket with faint gold stitching along the inside seam, and polished black boots. It is comfortable enough to wear all day, sharp enough for a meeting, and just unusual enough to feel like mine.
Callie waits until I finish looking at myself.
"That one," she says, "is you."
"You got all that after an hour?"
"Confident. Slightly dangerous. Comfortable enough to move. Expensive without needing the logo to announce it." She gives me a look. "And entirely too pleased with yourself."
"I like it."
"I know."
I turn to face her.
"And I like the stylist."
The room goes quiet around us despite the associates still working a few feet away.
Callie tucks one curl behind her ear.
"You are very direct."
"Life got too short for subtlety."
Her gaze flicks over my face, searching for the joke.
She does not find one.
"Good," she says softly. "I'm terrible at subtle."
"Then let me make this easy. You said Spider-Man is your favorite."
"Yes."
"Go see Spider-Man: Brand New Day with me when it opens."
Her amber-gold eye widens slightly more than the violet one.
"Are you asking me on a date while wearing the outfit I picked for you?"
"I figured I should use every advantage available."
"That is shameless."
"Is that a no?"
Her smile answers before she does.
"No. It is not a no."
"So it's a yes."
"It's a yes," she confirms. "But I reserve the right to judge your movie snacks."
"Popcorn, nachos, candy, and a drink big enough to require structural support."
"Acceptable."
I hold out my phone.
Callie enters her number, then sends herself the mirror picture.
A moment later, her phone chimes in her pocket.
"Now," she says, slipping smoothly back into stylist mode, "you mentioned girls. Plural."
"My daughter first. Nikhol."
"How old?"
"College age, and fully convinced her father cannot be trusted to shop without supervision."
"Based on the clothes you entered wearing, she has evidence."
"Damn. Y'all would get along."
"I already like her." Callie pulls up a new client profile. "Do you know her sizes?"
"I have them saved from the last time she made me order something for her."
I bring up the information, along with a few recent pictures Nikhol has sent me. Callie studies them with the seriousness of someone reviewing architectural plans.
"She has range," she says.
"She has opinions."
"Even better."
The selection for Nikhol becomes larger than mine almost immediately.
Callie starts with a campus look: high-waisted dark jeans, a fitted cream top, a cropped brown jacket, and ankle boots. Then she builds a softer version with wide-leg trousers, a lavender knit sweater, and white sneakers.
The third is for presentations—an ivory blouse beneath a fitted navy blazer, matching trousers, and low heels comfortable enough to cross campus without hating every decision that led there.
The fourth uses a black pleated skirt, a deep-red turtleneck, sheer tights, and knee-high boots.
The fifth is relaxed: premium gray joggers, a fitted black tank, an oversized cream cardigan, and clean leather sneakers.
The sixth is a brunch outfit built around a pale-yellow wrap dress, a cropped white jacket, and gold sandals.
The seventh is for warm evenings—a green silk slip dress beneath a light black blazer, paired with low gold heels and a small structured bag.
The eighth is a dark-denim jumpsuit cinched at the waist with a thin gold belt.
The ninth is a tailored black pantsuit with a wine-colored silk camisole that makes Callie nod approvingly at the screen.
"She can wear that when she needs to terrify somebody professionally."
"That's my girl."
The tenth combines a fitted leather jacket, a white shirt, charcoal jeans, and heavy-soled boots.
The eleventh is a long rust-colored coat over a cream sweater dress and tall brown boots.
The twelfth gives her a soft-blue cashmere set with matching trousers, a cropped sweater, and silver-gray sneakers for travel.
The thirteenth is an emerald evening gown with an asymmetric neckline and enough movement in the skirt to keep it elegant instead of stiff.
The fourteenth is a black cocktail dress with subtle gold embroidery tracing the waist and one shoulder.
The fifteenth is a red structured dress with a matching cropped jacket and black heels.
The sixteenth pairs a white corset-style top with a flowing black maxi skirt and a short gold chain belt.
The seventeenth is pure comfort disguised as fashion: a fitted knit dress, long cardigan, boots, and a scarf soft enough to count as bedding.
The eighteenth is a complete winter set—wool coat, cashmere sweater, lined trousers, gloves, boots, and a structured travel bag.
Callie adds shoes for every category, belts, bags, scarves, jewelry cases, sleepwear, workout sets, and enough underlayers to make each outfit usable in different weather.
Then she creates six additional mix-and-match capsules from the same pieces so Nikhol can turn eighteen full outfits into more than forty combinations.
"You realize she is going to yell at me," I say.
"Because she hates clothes?"
"Because she hates when I spend too much on her."
Callie looks around at the racks covering most of the fitting area.
"She may have a point."
"She definitely has a point."
"And you're doing it anyway."
"Absolutely."
Callie laughs and saves both wardrobes.
"Then let me show you the memberships before your common sense wakes up."
She guides me to a seating area and turns the tablet sideways.
Five plans appear across the screen.
Muse includes seasonal styling and basic alterations.
Hero adds monthly selections and priority appointments.
Oracle includes custom sourcing, travel packing, wardrobe cataloging, and on-call digital styling.
Titan adds bespoke commissions, same-day regional delivery, private showroom access, and emergency event service.
Then Callie taps the final plan.
MYTH.
The highest tier.
Fifty thousand dollars for the first year.
It includes everything below it, plus a primary stylist, unlimited consultations, worldwide wardrobe coordination, annual bespoke allocations, private designer previews, secured storage, insured delivery, home fittings, event preparation, and complete wardrobe management for two people.
I glance at the line naming the primary stylist.
CALIDOPI "CALLIE" — REQUESTED
"You already put your name there."
Callie lifts her chin.
"You told me to have my fun."
"I did."
"And?"
I tap the approval box beside her name.
"I meant it."
Her smile turns bright enough to make the entire sales pitch unnecessary.
She reviews the invoice with me.
My immediate wardrobe, bespoke reserve, shoes, coats, and accessories come to four hundred eighty-five thousand dollars.
Nikhol's larger wardrobe, seasonal capsules, shoes, bags, outerwear, and future adjustment reserve come to three hundred sixty-five thousand.
Tailoring, private sourcing, insured delivery, secured wardrobe cataloging, and additional commissioned pieces total one hundred thousand.
The Myth membership adds fifty thousand.
Total: one million dollars even.
Callie studies my face.
"We can reduce this," she says carefully. "Significantly. The Myth plan is designed for clients who—"
"Who can afford it?"
"Yes."
"I can."
"I noticed, but one million dollars is still one million dollars."
"I appreciate you saying that instead of trying to push the number higher."
Her expression softens.
"I like the commission. I don't like taking advantage of people."
"Good answer."
I hand her my card.
"Run the full amount."
For the first time since meeting her, Callie has absolutely nothing to say.
She takes the card with both hands and walks me to the private register near the back of the boutique. A manager joins us for the authorization, checks my identification, reviews the invoice again, and confirms the delivery information for both wardrobes.
Callie remains beside me while the terminal processes the charge.
One million dollars.
No panic.
No hesitation.
Just a quiet approval tone from the register.
TRANSACTION APPROVED — $1,000,000.00
The manager congratulates me on becoming a Myth-tier member.
Callie looks from the receipt to me as though she is still deciding whether I am real.
I lean closer.
"So, about that movie."
She finally laughs.
"Text me tonight, Myth-tier."
"That my new name?"
"Until I learn whether Mikæl behaves on dates."
"I thought we established I'm always on my best behavior."
"That," she says, handing me the receipt, "is exactly what worries me."
A familiar crystalline chime rings through my ears before I can answer.
༺◈✧ Shling ✧◈༻
I slide the receipt into the inside pocket of the charcoal jacket Callie picked for me.
She notices.
"You're leaving in that one?"
"Thought you said it was me."
"It is." Her smile turns pleased. "I just wanted confirmation that I won."
"Don't get greedy, cute stylist."
"I just sold you a million dollars in clothes and a Myth membership. Greedy already worked."
I laugh and start toward the boutique entrance.
"Text me tonight," she calls after me.
I glance back over my shoulder.
"That sounded dangerously close to an order."
"It was a professional recommendation."
"Sure it was."
Her grin follows me all the way through the doorway.
The instant my shoes cross onto the mall's polished floor, a translucent panel unfolds in front of me.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
◈ SOVEREIGN TRANSACTION SETTLEMENT ◈
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
" MYTH-TIER ACQUISITION COMPLETE "
♦ VERIFIED TRANSACTION
Total Purchase: $1,000,000.00
Mikæl Wardrobe & Bespoke Reserve: $485,000.00
Nikhol Wardrobe & Seasonal Reserve: $365,000.00
Services, Sourcing & Commissions: $100,000.00
Myth Membership — First Year: $50,000.00
Payment Status: COMPLETE
♦ PURCHASE CLASSIFICATION
Qualifying Personal Purchase Base: $1,000,000.00
Purchase Principal Reimbursement: +$1,000,000.00
Personal Purchase Return 10.00×: +$10,000,000.00
Debt Exchange: NOT REQUIRED
Business Purchase: NOT QUALIFIED
Investment: NOT QUALIFIED
System Return Recursion: BLOCKED
◆ GIFT & RELATIONSHIP EVALUATION
Nikhol-directed goods and services remain legitimate intended gifts.
Relationship/Gift effects will be evaluated when Nikhol legitimately receives or accepts the purchased benefits.
No duplicate Relationship/Gift return has been generated at the purchase stage.
Callie's commission and professional benefit are ordinary consequences of a legitimate transaction.
Financial benefit does not substitute for romantic consent, affection, loyalty, or mission progress.
♦ LIQUID BALANCE
Starting Personal Balance: $12,377,000.00
Purchase Outflow: −$1,000,000.00
Principal Reimbursement: +$1,000,000.00
Personal Purchase Return: +$10,000,000.00
Current Personal Balance: $22,377,000.00
Net Liquid Increase: +$10,000,000.00
♜ THE SOVEREIGN COMMANDS • TABOO EXECUTES ♜
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Before I can finish processing that number, the panel shifts.
༺◈✧ Shling ✧◈༻
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
◈ CONQUEST MISSION COMPLETE ◈
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
" A BETTER FIT "
♦ OBJECTIVE VALIDATION
Wardrobe Rebuilt: COMPLETE
Learn Callie Beyond Professional Role: COMPLETE
Genuine Date Through Mutual Interest: COMPLETE
◆ VALIDATION
Professional courtesy was not treated as romantic consent.
No coercion, pressure, manipulation, or misuse of System information detected.
Callie's acceptance of future contact and the Spider-Man date was voluntary.
♦ REWARDS
Base Experience Reward: 1,000 XP
Experience Gain Multiplier: 2.00×
Final Experience Awarded: 2,000 XP
Achievement Unlocked: A BETTER FIT
◆ RELATIONSHIP RECALIBRATION
Calidopi "Callie"
Previous Personalized Multiplier: 5.00×
Recalibrated Multiplier: 7.50×
Basis: GENUINE COMPATIBILITY / VOLUNTARY INTEREST / SHARED CONNECTION
Mission Status: COMPLETED
♜ THE SOVEREIGN COMMANDS • TABOO EXECUTES ♜
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
I stop walking.
"Twenty-two million, three hundred seventy-seven thousand."
"Correct," Genesis says.
"I paid a million dollars, kept a million dollars' worth of clothes, services, and membership benefits, and somehow walked out ten million dollars richer."
"That is an accurate description of the Personal Purchase return."
"And I got two thousand XP, an achievement, and a date."
"Those outcomes were validated independently of the purchase."
I narrow my eyes at the panel.
"You really wanted to make that part clear."
"It appeared necessary."
"Because I spent a million dollars?"
"Because you spent a million dollars while flirting with the person receiving a commission from the sale."
I think about that for half a second.
"...Fair."
Genesis sounds smug without saying anything.
"Don't."
"I said nothing."
"You were about to."
"I was not."
"You absolutely were."
I dismiss the transaction panel, but leave the mission result floating for another second.
Seven-point-five times.
Not because I bought anything.
Because we actually clicked.
I like that distinction.
When I glance back, Callie is still standing just inside the boutique with her tablet hugged against her chest. She catches me looking, lifts her phone, and points at it.
Tonight.
I laugh, give her a two-finger salute, and finally turn away.
"Okay, Gen."
"Yes, Mikæl?"
I look down at the clothes I'm wearing, then at the mall stretching ahead of me.
"Now I actually look like I got twenty-two million dollars."
A pause.
"You look significantly better than when you entered."
"Damn. You too?"
"Callie's assessment was professionally sound."
"Traitor."
I keep walking, grinning like an idiot.
My stomach growls hard enough to interrupt the moment.
I press a hand against it.
"Time for lunch."
I head toward the food court, letting the smell of everything from burgers to grilled meat fight for my attention.
Chinese wins.
Mostly because the place on the right has a sign big enough to catch my eye from halfway across the court.
TIAMAT CHINESE DRAGON RESTAURANT.
"That sounds promising."
I angle toward it.
And that's when I finally notice something I somehow missed until now.
People move out of my way.
Not dramatically.
Nobody jumps aside or stares at me like I'm dangerous.
It's subtler than that.
A man walking toward me shifts half a step to the side before we get close enough to need it. Two teenagers talking across the walkway unconsciously tighten their path together, opening space for me to pass. A woman pushing a stroller angles away several feet early, then continues on without ever looking confused about why she did it.
One after another, people adjust.
They make room.
For me.
I slow slightly, watching it happen again as I approach Tiamat's counter.
The small line in front of the register shifts almost on instinct, leaving a clean path along one side before anyone even turns to see me coming.
I stop just short of the counter, my hunger momentarily forgotten.
Huh.