Jordan rged into the right lane, following the GPS directions toward Long Beach. The ocean stretched out beyond the highway barrier, sunlight bouncing off the water in a way that would’ve been calming if his brain wasn’t currently having a ltdown.
He glanced down at himself while stopped at a red light.
Grey gym shorts. Volleyball shirt from a team he never joined. White Nike socks pulled up to mid-calf like he was about to play pickup basketball at the Y.
"Oh fuck," Jordan said out loud.
This wasn’t date attire. This was laundry day attire. This was "I cleaned my apartnt for sixteen hours and put on the first clean clothes I could find" attire.
He was about to et a woman who made six figures posting pictures of her body on the internet, and he looked like he was headed to Planet Fitness.
Wait.
Jordan’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Why the hell did he care what Calypso thought of his outfit?
She didn’t actually care about him. She cared about the three thousand dollars he’d transferred to her account. In her eyes, Jordan was just another loser subscriber who paid premium rates to pretend they had a connection. She’d show up, smile behind her mask and sunglasses, make small talk for exactly forty-five minutes, take a few photos for her page, and disappear back into the internet void.
This wasn’t a date. This was a transaction.
Jordan could just bail. Turn the car around right now. He’d already completed the most important quest objective by calling his father. The System had deposited fifteen hundred dollars into his account. He could cut his losses, go ho, finish his skincare routine, and call it a successful day.
But the daily quest.
Jordan pulled up the quest log on his phone at the next red light.
DAILY QUEST: Path to Becoming Adonis
OBJECTIVES:
[✓] Physical: 120 minutes logged (bonus completed)
[✓] Hygiene Level 1: Shower using actual soap
[✓] Hygiene Level 2: Brush teeth, floss
[X] Grooming: Apply skincare routine
[X] Social: 2/3 beauties contacted for 2 minutes
Two out of three beauties contacted. One more conversation and the social objective was complete. Then all he’d need was the skincare routine and he’d bank another three quest tickets.
Calypso counted as a beauty. Objectively. Her entire career depended on it.
Forty-five minutes with her would definitely satisfy the two-minute requirent.
Jordan nodded to himself, rging back into traffic. Gaplan: show up, spend the forty-five minutes making normal conversation without being weird, complete the daily quest, go ho.
Simple.
But then his brain snagged on a different problem.
The System.
Could he even use it on Calypso?
Jordan had two slots available. He’d checked the chanics last night while reading through the System interface. Once he registered soone to a slot, he could track their attraction percentage in real ti. Spending money on them generated cashback based on that percentage. The whole thing functioned like a dating sim with financial incentives.
But here was the issue: Jordan could only see attraction ters for won who were registered. Right now, both slots sat empty. When he’d talked to his neighbor this morning or the salon receptionist, nothing had appeared on his screen. No percentages, no prompts, no data.
So if he t Calypso without registering her first, he’d be flying completely blind.
Which ant he needed to make a decision.
Register her as Slot One or don’t bother at all.
Jordan chewed his bottom lip, eyes on the road ahead. Long Beach was getting closer. Fifteen minutes out according to the GPS.
If he registered Calypso and she had zero attraction to him, that information would hurt. Like actually hurt. Finding out in nurical terms that a woman he’d spent thousands of dollars on viewed him as a walking ATM would be brutal.
But if he didn’t register her, he’d never know. He’d just continue existing in the sa limbo he’d been stuck in for months. Throwing money at won and hoping they’d like him back.
Besides, he still had a second slot available. If Calypso turned out to be a disaster, he could register soone else later. This was just a test run. A way to see if the System actually worked in real-world scenarios.
Jordan nodded again, this ti with more confidence.
Test run. That’s all this was.
The GPS announced his exit. Jordan took the off-ramp and entered a neighborhood that looked like it belonged in a lifestyle magazine. Clean sidewalks, palm trees lining every street, restaurants with outdoor seating full of people who probably had trust funds. His Honda Civic stuck out imdiately, surrounded by Teslas and BMWs and one Porsche SUV that cost more than two years of tuition.
The Ivy appeared on his right. White building with ivy growing up the walls, which felt on the nose. Valet parking out front. A hostess stand visible through the glass doors where a woman in all black stood with a tablet.
Jordan checked the ti on his dashboard.
2:37 PM.
Twenty-three minutes early.
He’d arrived early to almost every interaction with Eliza, sitting in parking lots and convenience store bathrooms, waiting for the "appropriate" ti to walk in so he didn’t look desperate. She’d still cheated on him anyway.
But showing up to a date in gym shorts was a level of social suicide even the old Jordan wouldn’t have risked.
Jordan kept driving past The Ivy, scanning the area for options.
Across the street, a shopping plaza stretched out with multiple stores. Macy’s anchored the far end, its logo visible even from a distance.
Perfect.
Jordan pulled into the plaza parking lot and found a spot near the Macy’s entrance. He killed the engine and sat for a mont, staring at the steering wheel.
He had fifteen hundred forty-seven dollars in his account right now. Enough to buy an entire new wardrobe if he wanted. But blowing his sign-on bonus on clothes seed stupid.
Budget: two hundred dollars. Maybe two-fifty if he found sothing that actually fit.
Jordan climbed out of his car and locked it twice. The automatic doors of Macy’s whooshed open, blasting him with cold air and the sll of perfu from the costics section. A woman in her fifties stood behind the Clinique counter, watching him with the expression of soone who’d already decided he couldn’t afford anything in the store.
n’s section was upstairs according to the directory.
Jordan took the escalator, riding up past ho goods and won’s clothing. The n’s section occupied the entire second floor. Racks of dress shirts, jeans, blazers, shoes organized by brand. Way too many options for soone who needed to make a decision in fifteen minutes.
He headed for the clearance section first. Old habit. Even with money in his account, spending full price on clothes felt wrong.
A young guy around Jordan’s age worked the floor, refolding shirts on a display table. Na tag said Marcus, which was a weird coincidence considering Jordan had just left a barbershop run by a Marcus.
"You need help finding sothing?" Not-Barber Marcus asked, looking up from his folding.
Jordan gestured vaguely at himself. "I need to look like I didn’t just finish cleaning my apartnt."
Not-Barber Marcus looked Jordan up and down. "You got like a date or an interview?"
"Date. Sort of."
"Budget?"
"Two hundred."
"Cool. Co with ."
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