Resurrected in Silk and Gold

After his conversation with Eris, Andre decided to explore the mansion. He needed to familiarize himself with this new world—this lavish prison of wealth that was now his home.

"Might as well get to know my gilded cage," he muttered to himself as he stepped out of the bedroom cautiously, his bare feet meeting plush carpet that felt like walking on clouds.

The hallway stretched before him, lined with oil paintings in gilded frames—portraits of stern-faced men and elegant women who shared the same sharp jawline as Maxwell Atlas. "Must be ancestors," he whispered, feeling their painted eyes following his every move. "Quite the intimidating welcoming committee."

The second floor of the mansion was a labyrinth of closed doors and quiet corridors. Andre tried one door and found a guest bedroom larger than the entire apartment he'd shared with Iris. "You could fit my whole former life in here with room to spare," he said with a low whistle. Another revealed a home theater with reclined leather seats and a screen that covered an entire wall. "Now that's what I call movie night." A third opened to a library that would make universities envious—shelves reaching to the ceiling, filled with leather-bound first editions and rare manuscripts. "Wow!, this library is enormous! I bet some of these books are worth more than I ever made in a year."

He descended a grand staircase that curved gracefully to the main floor, his hand sliding along a polished mahogany banister. "Probably costs more than everything I've ever owned," he thought, marveling at the craftsmanship. The foyer below was dominated by a crystal chandelier that refracted sunlight into thousands of dancing rainbows across marble floors.

The east wing housed formal spaces designed to impress—a dining room with a table long enough to seat thirty, a ballroom with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens, and a sitting room where every piece of furniture looked too delicate and expensive to actually sit on. "Do they actually use any of these rooms?" Andre wondered. "Or are they just for show?"

The west wing was more practical, if luxury could ever be called practical—a professional-grade kitchen where three chefs were already preparing dinner, a sunroom filled with exotic plants and wicker furniture, and a climate-controlled wine cellar stocked with bottles dating back centuries. "I wouldn't know a fine wine from grape juice," Andre admitted to himself.

But it was the lower level that truly demonstrated the Atlas family's wealth. A fully equipped gym with personal trainers on standby. "Better than any fitness center I've ever seen," he noted appreciatively. An Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool with a retractable glass ceiling. "Damn!... that's one big pool" A spa complete with sauna, steam room, and massage tables. A games room with pool tables, arcade machines, and a bar stocked with liquors from around the world. "This is what heaven looks like." And most impressive of all, a garage filled with luxury cars—Bentleys, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, each more valuable than the last. "Holy shit!... I could buy a small country with what's in this garage alone."

As Andre wandered through an art gallery featuring original works by masters both classic and contemporary, he found himself running his fingers along the frame of a particularly striking abstract piece. he stared at it with wide-eyed wonder, forgetting for a moment to pretend that he'd seen it all before. "The colors are so vibrant."

Two maids rounded the corner, carrying fresh linens, and paused when they saw him.

"Is everything alright, young master?" one asked, concerned by his obvious fascination with artwork he should have seen thousands of times before.

Andre quickly dropped his hand. "Just... appreciating the details," he said lamely.

After they had passed, the younger maid whispered to her companion, "What's wrong with the young master? He's acting like he's never seen the Rothko before."

The older maid shook her head. "The master already told us he might show some strange behavior after... you know... coming back to life. It's to be expected."

"Do you really think he was dead?" the younger maid asked, her voice hushed.

"I was in the room when it all happened," the older woman replied with a shudder. "As dead as dead can be."

"How terrifying," the younger maid murmured as they continued down the hallway. "Should we report this to Mr. Atlas?"

"No need. Mr. Atlas said to continue our duties as normal unless the young master becomes dangerous or ill."

Their voices faded as they turned a corner, leaving Andre relieved that his slip-up hadn't aroused too much suspicion. "That was close," he exhaled sharply. "Need to be more careful. At least the old man anticipated some oddities."

He continued exploring, eventually finding himself in a glass-walled conservatory overlooking a swimming pool shaped like a lagoon. "From poverty to paradise in one lifetime... well, two lifetimes technically," he mused, lost in thought about how different this life was from his former existence. He didn't hear someone calling his name repeatedly.

"Andre? Andre!" The voice grew increasingly impatient. "Didn't you hear me?"

Andre turned to find a young man standing behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Instantly, memories flooded his mind—not his own, but Andre's. "Julian Blackwood," his mind supplied automatically. Heir to the Blackwood Media empire and Andre Atlas's best friend since childhood.

Julian was the definition of classic good looks—golden blonde hair that fell in artful waves, piercing blue eyes that seemed to shift between ice and sky depending on his mood, and a smile that had graced dozens of magazine covers despite his family's efforts to keep him out of the public eye. His tall, athletic frame was casually dressed in designer clothes that looked effortlessly perfect. "Seems like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine," Andre thought. "Hard to believe we're supposed to be friends."

Andre remembered their friendship forming at age seven, at an exclusive boarding school in Switzerland where they'd been the only two students who spoke fluent English. Julian had defended Andre from bullies, they both joined a study group and eventually passed their exams. They'd been inseparable ever since—summers on the Blackwood yacht in the Mediterranean, winters skiing in Aspen, adventures and mischief that only the obscenely wealthy could manage.

Julian had always been the charming one, attracting female attention since before either of them understood what to do with it. At thirteen, girls had passed him notes and giggled when he walked by. By sixteen, models and actresses twice their age had slipped him their phone numbers, his reputation as a heartbreaker was legendary—something that had always amused Andre, who preferred more meaningful connections.

"Earth to Andre," Julian said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You in there?"

"Sorry," Andre replied, trying to sound normal. "Just... thinking."

Julian's expression softened. "I heard you were back from the dead. Came running as soon as the news hit my phone." He punched Andre lightly on the shoulder. "Even though we had that argument the other night, I still had to check on you. Can't get rid of me that easily."

"The argument?" Andre asked before he could stop himself.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "About the Nightshade club investment? You said it was a waste of money, I said it would be the hottest nightclub in the city?" He studied Andre's face. "You really don't remember?"

Andre quickly recovered. "Right, right. Sorry, my mind's still... foggy."

Julian's concern turned to amusement. "Dying will do that to you, I guess." He threw an arm around Andre's shoulders. "Come on, let's go sit somewhere and catch up. I want to hear what the afterlife is like. Did you see any angels? Was there a bright light? Did all your sins flash before your eyes?"

They ended up in Andre's suite, Julian sprawled across a leather couch while Andre sat more formally in an armchair, trying to remember how the real Andre would have behaved. "Would he sit casually or properly?" Andre wondered. "Better err on the side of formality for now."

Their conversation flowed more naturally than Andre expected. Julian did most of the talking, filling him in on gossip and events he'd missed during when they were still not talking.

I went on a disastrous date with a socialite's daughter

Julian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Andre, this was a disaster from start to finish."

Andre smirked. "What did you do this time?"

Julian sighed. "So, she's this proper, polished, socialite's daughter, right? The type who grew up in mansions, probably had a personal chef by age six. I already knew I was out of my depth, but I figured, hey, just be charming, don't overthink it."

Andre nodded. "Solid plan. What went wrong?"

Julian exhaled. "We're talking, it's going fine, and then she goes, 'You know, I really believe in using my privilege to help others.' And me—without thinking—just go, 'Oh yeah, like adopting a poor person for the summer?'"

Andre choked. "JULIAN."

Julian threw up his hands. "I DON'T KNOW WHY I SAID IT! It just came out! And the worst part? She didn't even laugh. She just sat there, staring at me like I'd personally insulted the concept of philanthropy itself."

Andre was already wheezing. "How did you fix it?"

Julian groaned. "I tried to backpedal, but the more I talked, the worse it got. Something about internships, charity galas, indentured servitude—I don't even remember. By the end of it, she just took a sip of her wine and went, 'Wow.'"

Andre wiped a tear from his eye. "You're actually hopeless."

Julian slumped back. "Yeah. No second date."

By the time the sunset painted the room in golden light, Andre felt almost comfortable in this strange new reality. Julian was easy to like—charismatic, funny, and seemingly loyal despite whatever disagreement they'd had before Andre's death. "Maybe this new life won't be so bad with a friend like him," Andre thought cautiously.

"I should head out," Julian finally said, checking his watch. "I've got a date with twins from Sweden. Models, of course." He winked. "Don't die again while I'm gone."

After Julian left, Andre collapsed onto his bed, exhausted from maintaining his façade. "It was nice talking to Julian. I see why the former host liked him," he murmured to himself. Then a thought occurred to him. "But if someone in this house murdered Andre, could it be Julian? He had access, and they'd recently argued..."

He shook his head. "There would be time for suspicions later. For now, I need to understand my new capabilities. Let's see what this system can really do."

"Status," he whispered, activating the system.

[KARMIC SYSTEM]

[VESSEL: ANDRE ATLAS]

[LEVEL: 1]

[TITLE: Neophyte Resurrectee]

[HP: 100/100] [EP: 80/80]

[PHYSICAL STATS]

- Strength: 2/10

- Agility: 3/10

- Endurance: 1/10

- Speed:3/10

[MENTAL STATS]

- Intelligence: 3/10

- Wisdom: 4/10

- Charisma: 4/10

[NEXT LEVEL: 0/100 EXP]

Andre frowned at the unimpressive numbers. "You've got to be kidding me," he groaned. "Apparently, the former Andre wasn't really intelligent and also physically weak—hardly the body I'd hoped for. Rich but weak and not particularly bright. Great combination."

He studied the HP and EP metrics. "Health Points and Energy Points, I'm guessing. Standard for any starting character, but these stats... barely above a normal human. And what's with this 'Neophyte Resurrectee' title? At least each level should help me grow stronger and improve these pathetic numbers."

A new notification appeared on his screen:

[NEW TASK ASSIGNED]

[IMPROVE ALL STATS TO LEVEL 2 OR HIGHER WITHIN ONE WEEK]

[REWARD: UNLOCK SPECIAL ABILITY]

"So, I gain new abilities just from Leveling up? I wonder what kind of power it'll be... But either way, I've already made up my mind. This is my chance to get stronger—no holding back now."

"Alright," he muttered, pulling himself up. "Guess I'm hitting that fancy gym tomorrow. Time to make this body less pathetic."