Chapter 3: Valthorne Chronograph

Evan sat on his bed in room 47, the dorm quieter now than it had been all morning. Marcus had left for the art studio, Liam was off at the chemistry lab, and Torren was likely welding at the engineering workshop.

The faint hum of the HVAC system and the occasional chatter from the hallway were the only sounds, leaving Evan alone with his thoughts—and the persistent buzz of the System of Sacrifice in his mind.

He leaned back against the peeling drywall, staring at the water stain on the ceiling, his body still heavy from exhaustion but his mind restless.

The flatcakes from Hearthstone's sat warm in his stomach, but the spark of possibility from the System's appearance last night refused to fade.

'What are you waiting for?' he thought, half-expecting the translucent panel to shimmer into view. It had been silent since breakfast, its cryptic promise of "opportunities" and "sacrifices" hanging over him like a debt he couldn't yet pay.

He rubbed his eyes, wondering if he'd imagined the whole thing—sleep deprivation could play tricks, after all—but the buzz was too real, too distinct, like a smartwatch vibrating faintly in his skull.

As if answering his thought, a soft chime rang in his mind, and the azure panel flickered into existence before him, hovering like a holographic display. Evan straightened, his pulse quickening. The text glowed faintly, sharp and undeniable.

[Host: Evan Quillian. System of Sacrifice fully integrated. First objective assigned. Objective: Cultivate the demeanor of wealth. Progress: 0%.]

Evan blinked, reading the words again. "Demeanor of wealth?" he muttered, his voice rough in the empty room. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm supposed to act rich?"

The idea was absurd. He barely had eight AR in his wallet, and his jacket was more thrift-store patches than fabric. Wealth was a foreign world, one he'd only seen on social media or in downtown high-rises.

[To achieve wealth, you must embody it. The System will guide you. Enter System Space to begin training. Proceed? Y/N]

Evan's throat tightened. System Space? The term was as vague as the rest of this bizarre setup, but the panel's countdown timer—already ticking down from sixty seconds—pressed him to decide.

He thought of his life: the endless shifts, the gnawing hunger, the constant scramble for cash. If this System could deliver even a fraction of what it promised, it was worth a try. And if it was a trick… well, he'd survived worse.

"Fine," he said, louder than he meant to. "Let's see what you've got."

[Selection confirmed. Entering System Space.]

The panel vanished, and the world around Evan dissolved in a flash of light blue, like sinking into a digital void. He gasped, his stomach lurching as the dorm's familiar walls faded, replaced by an expanse of shimmering azure.

He stood—or thought he stood—on a smooth, featureless surface that stretched infinitely in every direction. The air was cool, odorless, and faintly electric, like a server room.

Above and around him, the light blue void pulsed gently, as if alive. There were no walls, no ceiling, just an endless, serene space that felt both vast and intimate.

Evan turned, half-expecting to see his bed or the dorm door, but there was nothing but the blue. His sneakers made no sound as he took a tentative step, the surface solid yet strangely soft.

"Where am I?" he said, his voice echoing faintly before being swallowed by the void.

[Welcome to System Space, host. This is a mental construct accessible at your will, a secure environment for training and development.]

[Here, you will acquire skills, knowledge, and attributes to fulfill System objectives. Time within System Space is accelerated: one hour here equates to ten minutes in the physical world.]

Evan's head spun. A mental construct? Accelerated time? It sounded like something from a sci-fi app, but the clarity of the System's voice—calm, precise, almost robotic—made it hard to dismiss.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. "So, this is… what, a VR study room in my head?"

[An oversimplification, but adequate. System Space is tailored to your needs. Current objective: Cultivate the demeanor of wealth. Training module: Etiquette and Temperament. Begin now?]

Evan hesitated, glancing around the empty expanse. "Etiquette and temperament? Like, table manners? I'm not exactly dining at penthouse galas, you know."

[Wealth is not merely money, host. It is perception, presence, and influence. To attract wealth, you must project it. Etiquette shapes how others perceive you; temperament governs how you carry yourself. These are foundational. Begin now?]

Evan sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Sure. Why not? Teach me how to fake being rich."

[Training module initiated. Stand by.]

The azure void shifted, and a long, polished table materialized before Evan, its surface gleaming like smoked glass.

It was set with an array of stainless steel cutlery, crystal wine glasses, and plates sleeker than anything he'd seen at the diner where he bussed tables.

Chairs with leather upholstery lined the table, and a minimalist LED chandelier hovered above, casting soft light. Evan stared, his mouth dry. The setup looked like it belonged in a CEO's private dining room, not his mind.

[Module 1: Formal Dining Etiquette. Objective: Master basic table manners to project refinement. Follow instructions precisely.]

A chair slid back silently, inviting him to sit. Evan approached warily, half-expecting the table to glitch out. He sat, the leather softer than his dorm mattress, and the System's voice continued.

[Posture: Sit upright, shoulders relaxed but not slouched. Place hands on lap when not eating. Begin.]

Evan straightened, feeling awkward. He wasn't used to sitting like this—most of his meals were scarfed down standing in a kitchen or hunched over a takeout box.

The System's tone was firm, like a corporate trainer, and he found himself complying, though not without a grumble.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, adjusting his shoulders.

[Incorrect. Chin slightly raised. Do not slouch. Reset.]

Evan groaned but tried again, lifting his chin and keeping his back straight. The System corrected him relentlessly, noting every slip—his elbows too close to the table, his hands fidgeting, his posture sagging after a few minutes.

It was grueling, like bussing tables for a double shift, but in a different way. His mind strained to keep up with the System's precise commands, and his body ached from holding positions that felt unnatural.

[Acceptable progress. Next: Utensil usage. Select the outermost fork for the first course.]

Evan stared at the array of forks, knives, and spoons, each gleaming and slightly different.

"There's more than one fork?" he said, incredulous. At the diner, he was lucky to get a single plastic spork.

[Correct. Formal dining requires specific tools for each course. Outermost fork, left side. Proceed.]

Evan picked up the fork, feeling like a kid fumbling with chopsticks. The System guided him through a mock meal, conjuring plates of virtual food—seared salmon, microgreens, a velouté soup he could almost smell.

It corrected his grip, his angle, even the way he sliced a phantom filet. Every mistake earned a sharp rebuke, and every success a curt acknowledgment.

Hours passed—or what felt like hours, though the System's accelerated time meant little had changed outside.

By the time the System paused the module, Evan's head throbbed, and his back screamed from sitting so rigidly. "This is worse than stacking crates," he said, slumping in the chair despite the System's earlier warnings.

[Progress: 15%. Insufficient. However, effort noted. To maintain motivation, a reward is offered.]

Evan perked up, though warily. "Reward? What kind?"

[Accessing reward interface. Stand by.]

The dining table vanished, replaced by a glowing azure wheel, twice as tall as Evan, hovering in the void. Its surface was divided into segments, each inscribed with cryptic icons or words too faint to read. A golden needle poised at its center, glinting like a premium app logo.

[Spin the wheel to receive a random reward. All rewards are legitimate and integrated into your physical world legally. Proceed.]

Evan stood, eyeing the wheel. "Legitimate, huh? No scams?"

He thought of horror stories about hacked crypto wallets, but the System's calm assurance—and his own desperation—pushed him forward.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the wheel's edge. It was warm, solid, and thrummed with energy. He gave it a hard spin, the segments blurring into a whirl of light.

The needle ticked, slowing, then stopped on a segment marked with a tiny clock icon. A soft chime rang, and a small, polished box materialized in Evan's hands.

It was sleek, black, and embossed with a logo he didn't recognize. He opened it, revealing a watch nestled on a velvet cushion. Its face was silver, with intricate numerals and hands that ticked smoothly.

The band was leather, supple and dark, and the clasp gleamed with a subtle luster. It looked like something a tech billionaire might wear, not a broke student like him.

"What is this?" Evan said, lifting the watch. It was heavier than it looked, its craftsmanship undeniable.

[Reward: Valthorne Chronograph, ultra-exclusive edition. Retail value: 2,500,000 AR. Only five units crafted worldwide. Legal documentation for ownership has been generated in your physical world. Wear it to enhance your perceived status.]

Evan's jaw dropped. "Two and a half million dollars?" He'd never dreamed of such a sum, let alone held something worth it. "This can't be legal. Where'd it come from?"

[All rewards are acquired through legitimate channels. Ownership is registered to you via System-generated documentation. No irregularities. Accept the reward to continue training.]

Evan stared at the watch, his mind reeling. Selling it could erase his student loans, buy an apartment, fund a startup. But the System's words—enhance your perceived status—echoed Marcus's talk of perception and presence.

Maybe this was part of "acting rich." He slipped the watch onto his wrist, the leather cool against his skin. It fit perfectly, as if tailored for him. The weight was strange but grounding, like a wearable promise of a life he didn't yet understand.

"Alright," he said, exhaling. "Let's keep going."

[Resuming training module: Temperament. Objective: Cultivate confidence and poise. Stand by.]

The wheel vanished, and the void shifted again, forming a mirrored hall with countless reflections of Evan staring back. He flinched, seeing his own haggard face—dark circles, messy hair, slouched shoulders. The System's voice returned, sharper now.

[Temperament is internal strength projected outward. Wealth demands confidence, not arrogance. Stand tall. Meet your reflection's gaze. Begin.]

Evan faced the nearest mirror, forcing himself to stand straighter. His reflection looked skeptical, like it knew he was faking.

The System guided him through exercises: walking with purpose, speaking with steady cadence, maintaining eye contact with his own image. It was harder than the dining module, more personal.

Every time he faltered—his voice cracking, his gaze dropping—the System corrected him, its tone unyielding.

[Incorrect. Voice must project authority. Repeat: 'I am Evan Quillian, and I shape my future.']

Evan groaned but complied, his voice shaky at first. "I am Evan Quillian, and I shape my future."

The words felt hollow, but he repeated them, over and over, until they began to carry weight. The System pushed him to walk, to gesture, to hold himself like someone who belonged in a boardroom, not a diner kitchen.

It was exhausting, like rewiring his entire being, but a small part of him felt the shift—a flicker of confidence, alien but real.

Hours later—or what felt like hours—the System paused again. Evan was sweating, his mind foggy but sharper than before. The mirrors faded, leaving the azure void.

[Progress: 30%. Adequate for initial session. Return to physical world?]

Evan nodded, his throat dry. "Yeah. I need a break."

[Exiting System Space. Stand by.]

The blue void dissolved, and Evan found himself back on his bed in room 47, the dorm's familiar dimness jarring after the System's sterile light.

His phone showed 8:15 AM—barely thirty minutes had passed, despite feeling like he'd spent a day in that strange space. His body ached, but the watch on his wrist gleamed, its ticking a soft reminder of the System's reality.

He stared at it, half-expecting it to vanish, but it remained, solid and impossibly valuable.

Curiosity gnawed at him. He grabbed his cracked laptop from his backpack, a secondhand relic from the community college he'd attended before transferring to Eldren.

After a few sluggish clicks, he managed to pull up a luxury goods site specializing in high-end watches. He typed "Valthorne Chronograph" into the search, his fingers trembling.

The results loaded, and Evan's mouth fell open. The watch stared back from the screen, its image identical to the one on his wrist.

The price listed was 2,500,000 AR, with a note: "Ultra-exclusive edition, only five crafted worldwide."

Articles described it as a collector's holy grail, coveted by CEOs and venture capitalists, with one unit reportedly owned by a Silicon Valley mogul. There were no secondhand listings—nobody parted with a Valthorne.

Evan's heart pounded as he scrolled, half-expecting to find a catch, but every source confirmed the watch's rarity and value.

"This is real," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The System hadn't lied. The watch was his, legally his, worth enough to upend his life. He could sell it, pay off his loans, buy a car, start a business.

But the System's words—perceived status—stopped him. Selling it might solve today's problems, but keeping it could open doors to a world he'd never imagined.

He leaned back, the watch's weight a strange comfort. The System's training lingered, too—his back was straighter, his voice a touch steadier when he spoke to himself.

"I am Evan Quillian, and I shape my future," he murmured, testing the words. They didn't feel as hollow now.

The dorm door creaked, and Evan flinched, slamming his laptop shut. Marcus poked his head in, his braids swinging.

"Yo, you still moping? Thought you'd be crashed out by now."

"Just… chilling," Evan said, tucking his wrist under his jacket. The watch felt like a secret he wasn't ready to share.

Marcus squinted, then shrugged. "Alright, but don't miss your shift later. You look like you need every buck you can get." He grinned and ducked out, leaving Evan alone again.

Evan exhaled, his mind whirling. The System was real, its rewards tangible, its demands relentless. Etiquette and temperament were just the start—what else would it ask? What sacrifices would it require?

He didn't know, but the watch on his wrist and the faint buzz in his mind were proof he'd crossed a threshold. For the first time in years, he felt a path forming, narrow and perilous but his to walk.

He stood, stretching his aching limbs, and caught his reflection in the cracked mirror. The dark circles were still there, but his shoulders were squarer, his gaze steadier.

'I can do this,' he thought, the words more conviction than hope. Whatever the System had in store, he'd face it, one step at a time.