The braids framed his face, and the coat made him look like he hosted a weekly death game on interdimensional television, if that even existed.
Even the bunny stared up from the corner of the dressing room and gave an approving little nod.
He stepped out and sifted through racks like a man who just realized capitalism could be a game, and he finally got the cheat codes.
The butler, ever professional, hovered nearby like a style consultant summoned straight from a fashion-themed gacha pull.
They tried on everything from velvet cloaks to clean-cut blazers.
In the end, Jason settled on a simple black shirt, slightly form-fitted, paired with sleek blue jeans and matte black boots, discarding his former clothes.
"Understated. Clean. Deadly," he muttered, striking a pose in the mirror.
Even the bunny sitting on a velvet stool nodded in slow approval like a tiny fluff-based fashion judge.
By the time he approached the counter, heads were turning.
And the receptionist?
Oh. Her whole face had rebooted.
When he walked in, she looked at him like he was a walking stain on her golden floor. Now?
Now she looked like she wanted to take a bite out of his paycheck. Her eyes ran down his form slower than molasses in winter.
Jason raised an eyebrow. "Still me, sweetheart. I just upgraded my skin."
She giggled. Actually giggled. "I — I noticed. You, um… look good in black."
He smirked. "I look good in unpaid rent, too."
『CONFIDENCE: MAXED.』
"Alright," he clapped, "how much damage did we do?"
She blinked out of her thirst-trance and started fiddling with the holographic register, scanning tags, inputting product IDs, and probably praying to whatever finance god she worshiped to make this sale count toward her bonus.
A long pause.
BEEP.
BEEP-BEEP.
...BEEEEEEEEEP.
Jason waited. And waited. And finally —
She turned the screen toward him.
$300,000.00
"…Jesus Christ wearing Gucci slides," Jason muttered under his breath. "That's not damage. That's a murder charge."
He winced. Physically winced.
His soul left his body for a moment to hover over the register and cry.
『CHUMP CHANGE.』
The bracelet on his wrist pulsed.
And just like that — it shifted.
Metal glowed and twisted with a zip until it morphed into a sleek, black card with a silver trim. It even had his name printed on it in a gothic font.
Jason blinked. 'Okay, that's hot.'
『Now swipe like your life depends on it. Because your outfits do.』
He tapped the card on the reader.
The machine rejected it.
Jason raised a brow.
"Oh right, I need a PIN or some—"
『PIN CODE: 4926』
The numbers shimmered above his vision in glowing text.
He entered the code.
Beep.
Transaction Approved.
Just like that, three hundred grand vaporized like a cheap promise in crypto.
The cashier handed him his receipt, his folded bags stacked neatly by his side.
And slid something extra across the counter with a sly look.
A folded slip of paper.
Jason opened it with two fingers.
A name.
A number.
And a tiny lipstick kiss at the bottom.
He blinked.
Looked at her.
Then looked back at the paper.
'…Classic hoe,' he muttered with a straight face, shoving it in his pocket for research purposes.
『Achievement Unlocked: DRIPPED AND DIPPED.』
『New Stat Boost: Charisma +2』
He grabbed his bags, nodded at the butler who gave him a respectful bow, and stepped out of Haute.exe with the kind of swagger reserved for billionaires, anime antagonists, and recently single people who hit the gym once.
The city air hit different.
Even the sky looked richer.
"Next stop?" he muttered.
The system pinged with a new message.
『Next Stop: Upgrading Your Poor Living Conditions.』
Jason grinned.
...
The afternoon sun hit different when your wallet was 300k lighter but your swag was 10x heavier.
Jason strolled down the sunbaked sidewalk, designer boots crunching against the gravel, his bags swaying at his side like trophies.
In the distance loomed the glittering glass towers of the Upper District, so high up they scraped the clouds and wiped their asses with sunlight.
Jason squinted up at them and muttered, "One day, baby. One day."
The bunny on his shoulder adjusted like a furry satellite, scanning the area in silence.
Jason's eyes flicked left and right as he approached the MetroHomz Housing Exchange, a squat, government-licensed building with a flickering neon sign that read:
"WE RATE YOU BEFORE YOU BUY!"
『That sign feels personal.』
"Question," Jason thought, sending the words directly into the system's interface as he walked through the sliding doors. "The money we have been transferring... is it traceable?"
The bracelet buzzed with a tiny flicker of sarcasm before a screen materialized in front of his eyes.
『Untraceable. Not even God, Interpol, or your ex-girlfriend could track that transfer.』
『Now go be poor with pride.』
Jason sighed in relief, muttering under his breath, "Why are you always like this?"
The system screen blinked.
『Trauma.』
He didn't respond.
Inside the MetroHomz Exchange, the air was stale and smelled faintly of cheap lemon-scented polish.
A soft jazz loop played in the background as people browsed digital apartment brochures hovering in the air.
He walked up to the reception desk, where a woman with blue eyes and a hairstyle shaped like a cube gave him a once-over.
"Membership card?" she asked, not bothering to hide the disinterest in her voice.
Jason held up his Tier 3 Meteor City Card, white and glossy with the signature silver flame logo.
The receptionist blinked.
"Oh. You're a Tier 3 buyer," she said, this time with 3% more interest. "That gives you access to mid-level units in Zones B through G. No waterfronts, no rooftops, but we have some nice city views... occasionally."
Jason leaned on the counter and flashed his best I'm actually rich, but hiding it because I might be a vigilante smile. "Any thriving areas with less screaming neighbors and more walls that don't bleed sound?"
She tapped away at a console, and a list of apartment units blinked into a floating hologram. "We've got a two-bedroom on the 14th floor in Zeta Complex, just got cleaned out after the last tenant exploded. Uh — not metaphorically."
Jason blinked. "I like the sound of that."
『He would.』
"Price?" he asked.
"Forty-eight thousand," she said, eyes flicking toward his card. "Barely within your limit. Want to tour it?"
Jason nodded. "Let's tour."
『Buy it already. You're going to villain meetings, not hosting tea parties.』
"Shut it," Jason muttered.
The receptionist tapped a glowing button on the sleek black desk, and with a soft hum, a hologram of the entire district rose into the air between them.
Buildings rotated in the air, units zoomed in and out, and Jason raised a brow.
"Alright, that's kind of hot."
He placed his hand on the hologram and spread his fingers, dragging and expanding certain sections like he was playing real estate Fruit Ninja.
He zoomed in on a corner unit with a little balcony and gave a nod.
"This one. That got main character energy."
He extended his bracelet forward like a digital credit wand, and the receptionist — who hadn't said much since he walked in — brought out a compact card machine and slid it across the counter like she was trained in customer service and secret agent protocol.
The bracelet morphed into a sleek black card, like it had been waiting for this moment its whole life.
Jason inserted it into the slot, and just before the machine could beep, a floating system screen flickered into existence.
『Don't forget your pin, pretty boy.』
Jason scowled. "You're such a hater."