Chapter 5: Hearthstone’s Apex
A week had slipped by since Evan first entered System Space, and his life had shifted in ways he hadn't anticipated.
The grueling shifts at the diner, the depot, and the campus mailroom had dwindled to almost nothing. He'd quit the mailroom outright, citing "personal reasons," and scaled back his diner hours to one shift a week.
The depot was harder to let go—its pay was steadier—but he'd called in sick twice, using the time to dive deeper into the System's training.
His bank account was thinner than ever, but the Valthorne Chronograph on his wrist and the System's promise of wealth kept him focused. The hum in his mind was a constant companion now, urging him forward.
Evan's progress in System Space had climbed steadily, each session refining his etiquette and temperament. He moved with an effortless grace, his gestures precise, his voice carrying a quiet authority.
He barely noticed it himself, but others did—classmates raised eyebrows at his polished demeanor, professors nodded approvingly during discussions, and even the diner's regulars tipped better, drawn to his newfound poise.
His friends, Marcus, Liam, and Torren, still teased him about his "glow-up," but their jabs had softened into grudging admiration.
Evan brushed them off with half-truths about "self-improvement," laughing inwardly at their cluelessness.
'They'd lose it if they knew I'm training to act like a megacorp exec,' he thought, amused but guarded.
This morning, Evan sat in his dorm, the room dim save for the glow of his cracked dataslate. Marcus was out sketching, Liam was at the lab, and Torren was at the workshop, leaving the space quiet.
Evan's smartband read 7:12 AM, and he'd just returned from a four-hour stint in System Space, his progress now at 92%. His body ached, but his mind was sharp, buzzing with the System's latest announcement.
[Host: Evan Quillian. Progress: 92%. Evaluation assessment required to advance. Objective: Demonstrate mastery of etiquette and temperament in a high-status real-world setting. Location: Hearthstone's Apex, 10-star restaurant, central district. Reservation secured for 8:00 PM tonight. Prepare accordingly.]
Evan stared at the azure panel hovering before him, his heart racing. Hearthstone's Apex? The name was legendary, a dining haven for the city's elite—megacorp CEOs, holo-celebrities, and tech tycoons.
A single meal there cost more AR than he'd earn in a year, and the dress code was stricter than a corporate boardroom.
'Me, dining there?' he thought, a mix of dread and excitement churning in his gut.
He'd never set foot in a place like that, let alone sat down to eat. The System's hum pulsed, as if sensing his nerves.
[Assessment parameters: You will be judged on posture, utensil usage, conversational poise, and overall demeanor. Failure to meet standards will reset progress to 80%. Success will unlock next objective and reward. Additional preparation required. Proceed with grooming and attire upgrade?]
Evan swallowed hard. Grooming and attire? His usual outfit—faded jeans, a patched jacket, and scuffed sneakers—would get him laughed out of Hearthstone's Apex before he reached the door.
His hair was a mess, his skin dry from sleepless nights, and his only "nice" shirt was a thrift-store button-up with a frayed collar. The System's offer was his only shot at pulling this off.
"Yeah, let's do it," he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
[Preparation initiated. Booking secured at Lumora Salon, elite grooming service, 10:00 AM. Attire acquisition arranged at Vexen Tailors, 1:00 PM. Transportation provided for assessment: chauffeured vehicle, 7:30 PM pickup. Stand by for further instructions.]
The panel vanished, leaving Evan blinking at the empty air. Lumora Salon? Vexen Tailors? Those were places he'd only seen in holo-ads, catering to the city's richest. He glanced at the Valthorne Chronograph, its silver face glinting.
'This thing's worth more than my life,' he thought, half-joking. If the System could deliver a 2,500,000 AR watch, maybe it could make him look the part for one night.
He grabbed his backpack and headed out, the dorm's concrete halls buzzing with early-morning students. His steps were smooth, his posture upright without effort, drawing a few curious glances.
He ignored them, his mind on the day ahead. The System's hum was a quiet guide, keeping his nerves in check.
Lumora Salon was a sleek glass building in the central district, its facade shimmering with holo-patterns. Evan stepped inside at 10:00 AM sharp, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.
The receptionist, a woman with a flawless smile, scanned his smartband and ushered him to a private suite without question. Evan's stomach knotted—he half-expected her to realize he was a fraud—but the System's documentation must have cleared him, because no one batted an eye.
The suite was a cocoon of soft lights and ambient music, smelling of citrus and something floral. A team of stylists descended, their tools humming like miniature drones.
They trimmed his hair, shaping the unruly strands into a sleek, modern cut that framed his face. His pale skin, usually dulled by exhaustion, was cleansed, exfoliated, and treated with serums that left it glowing.
A manicurist tidied his ragged nails, and a skincare specialist applied a subtle tint to even his tone. Evan sat through it all, feeling like a prototype in a lab, but the mirror told a different story.
When they finished, he barely recognized himself. His hair was glossy, falling in soft waves that caught the light. His skin was luminous, accentuating his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His eyes, usually shadowed, sparkled with a clarity that made him look… striking.
'Is that me?' he thought, turning his head to catch different angles.
He'd always been pale, his features fine but hidden under neglect. Now, with the shabbiness stripped away, he looked like he belonged on a holo-billboard, more handsome than any actor or influencer he'd seen.
He grinned, then schooled his expression, remembering the System's lessons on poise.
"Thank you," he said to the stylists, his voice calm and authoritative.
They nodded, clearly pleased, and he left the salon feeling like he'd stepped into someone else's life.
Vexen Tailors was next, a boutique tucked between towering skyscrapers. The interior was all dark wood and soft lighting, with racks of fabrics that shimmered like liquid metal.
A tailor, an older man with a precise demeanor, greeted Evan and led him to a fitting room.
The System had pre-selected his outfit, and Evan's jaw dropped when he saw it: a tailored charcoal suit, its fabric smooth and lightweight, paired with a crisp white shirt and a silver tie that matched the Valthorne. Polished black shoes completed the look, their soles whispering quality.
Evan changed, the suit fitting like it was molded to his frame. The tailor adjusted the cuffs and hem, his movements swift and expert. When Evan stepped in front of the mirror, he froze.
The man staring back was a stranger—tall, elegant, exuding a quiet power. The suit hugged his shoulders, the tie knotted perfectly, and the Valthorne gleamed like a status symbol. His posture, honed by days of training, was flawless, and his expression held a confidence he barely felt.
'I look like I own a megacorp,' he thought, half-laughing.
The tailor nodded approvingly, and Evan left with the outfit boxed, the System covering the cost he didn't dare ask about.
Back at the dorm, Evan stashed the suit and spent the afternoon in System Space, rehearsing dining scenarios to prep for the assessment.
The System conjured a virtual Hearthstone's Apex, complete with haughty waitstaff and complex menus. Evan practiced navigating multi-course meals, handling obscure utensils, and deflecting subtle snubs from virtual diners.
His progress ticked to 93%, and the System's voice was almost encouraging.
[Preparation adequate. Assessment begins at 8:00 PM. Maintain focus. Failure is not acceptable.]
Evan exited System Space, his smartband reading 6:45 PM. He showered, careful not to muss his hair, and dressed in the suit, his movements precise.
The Valthorne's weight anchored him, and he adjusted his tie in the cracked dorm mirror, barely recognizing the polished figure staring back. Marcus, Liam, and Torren were out—thankfully, sparing him their inevitable teasing—and Evan slipped out, his heart pounding.
At 7:30 PM, a sleek black hovercar waited outside Cinder Hall, its chassis gleaming under the streetlights.
A chauffeur, a man in a crisp uniform, opened the door without a word. Evan slid into the leather seat, the interior smelling of polish and faint cologne.
'This is insane,' he thought, but he kept his expression neutral, nodding to the chauffeur as the car glided toward the central district.