Don left the terrace without a word, passing through the dining area and living room before reaching the entrance hall. Instead of heading to his room, he stepped out into the shared hallway of the building.
He didn’t own a suit—at least not one he’d willingly wear to an event hosted by the mayor. Which ant there was only one place to go.
Charles’s door stood at the far end, polished black with faint gold trim. As Don approached, a soft beam swept over him from head to toe~.
"Identity recognized," the door’s digital voice intoned. "Informing owner of your presence. Please wait."
He stood with his hands in his pockets, listening to the distant hum of the building’s ventilation. A few seconds later—
"Owner has permitted entry. Please enter."
The door slid open with a smooth chanical sigh~.
Stepping into the penthouse, Don was t by one of Charles’s android butlers. Calling it an android was generous—it had none of Winter’s realism. Its design was closer to the hospitality models he’d seen in the casino private room Charles had shown him.
It moved forward with a tray of bottles, most of them various shades of amber or gold. "Would you like sothing to drink, sir?" the digitized voice asked.
Before Don could answer, Charles’s voice carried over from the living area. "Don, what a welco surprise. Please—join for a drink. It’s a good day for indulgence."
The tone wasn’t slurred, but Don could hear the slight drag between syllables, the kind of pace that ca after more than a few glasses. The scent of alcohol was faint in the air, not strong enough for most to notice—but unmistakable to him.
He reached out, plucked a whole bottle off the butler’s tray, and walked toward the living area.
Charles was sprawled across a deep, low sofa, wrapped in a silver silk robe that caught every stray reflection from the floor-to-ceiling windows. A small table beside him was crowded with bottles—half-empty, so barely touched, others already drained.
His gaze was locked on the Santos City News, where the mayor and commissioner were shown mingling with a rotating circle of strangers in expensive suits. Don didn’t recognize any of them. Politics bored him. If forced to choose, he’d rather spend an afternoon in ntal drills than keep track of who was shaking whose hand on-screen.
He claid an armchair a few feet away, straight-backed at first as if preparing to speak—then uncapped the bottle instead.
The first swallow went down hot, coating his throat in a burn that lingered just long enough to feel worth it~. His physiology ant it would take more than this to touch him, but the ritual of it still had its appeal.
Charles reached for his own bottle without breaking eye contact with the screen. They drank in tandem, lowering their bottles at roughly the sa ti.
"Good stuff," Don said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But unfortunately not why I’m here."
That drew Charles’s attention fully. His expression sharpened into sothing between curiosity and amusent. "Oh? Do tell. How may I be of help?"
Don let a small smile show. "It’s nothing interesting. I just need your help making a suit. Sothing subtle, but..."
He let the sentence hang, unsure of the word that fit.
Charles’s mouth curved slightly, his eyes narrowing in quiet delight. "Dominating?"
Don lifted a brow, raising the bottle for another drink. "It seems you already have sothing in mind."
Charles swirled the liquor in his glass before taking an unhurried sip. "Of course."
Fifteen minutes later, the living area of Charles’s penthouse had turned into an impromptu runway. Charles still lounged in his silver silk robe, a bottle in one hand, the faint scent of expensive liquor hanging in the air. Across from him stood Don, now wearing a tailored black tuxedo with a slim-cut jacket, satin peak lapels, and a crisp white shirt underneath. The trousers had a perfect break over polished black oxfords, the kind that didn’t just shine—they reflected judgnt.
Charles gave him an unhurried once-over, taking another sip before nodding in approval.
"I still think it could do with a few rain stones on the cuffs and buttons," he said, swirling his drink like the thought was worth savoring. "But this too looks good. Naturally, the material is high-grade. You could be on a battlefield and still look fabulous."
Don glanced down at himself, rolling a shoulder to test the fit. "Can’t say you’re wrong."
His eyes shifted toward the nearby butler unit—a chro-bodied, slightly outdated model—still holding the clothes he’d arrived in. He stepped over, plucking them from the droid’s tal arms.
"Well, I better get going."
Charles raised his bottle in a half-toast. "Ta-ta. We’ll et tomorrow at school, say... before 10?"
"That works," Don replied, heading toward the door. The quiet hiss of it sliding open followed him out. ~
Charles lingered where he stood, gaze drifting toward the low table still cluttered with half-full bottles. "Well... it’d be a sha to continue enjoying this alone now. Hmm... I wonder."
———
Back in his own penthouse, Don went straight to his room, dropped the old clothes, and stepped into the bathroom. He leaned toward the mirror, running his fingers through his hair to fix what the tux collar had pushed out of place. The sound of faint city wind seeped in through the slightly open terrace door.
That was when it appeared—unexpected, unwanted, and yet... satisfying.
A translucent prompt blinked into view in the glass before him.
———
SYSTEM NOTICE
Congratulations! User has successfully completed Period Event: City Restrictions.
Calculating tiline gains and losses...
Notable Adjustnts:
420 Idol Points — For saving people in public view, making the press swoon, and generally being the dia’s new favorite misunderstood bad boy.
416 Aura — Apparently the "brooding hero who used to be a bastard" look is intimidating and inspiring. Who knew?
18 Idol Points — For not throwing Sumr off a balcony when she tested your patience.
–5 Villain Points — Accidentally made Charles think you have taste in fashion.
30 Aura — Because your flinch chance is now high enough to make vicious dogs whimper at eye contact.
–20 Aura — For enduring multiple hours of useless talking.
15 Idol Points — Assisted in "family bonding," or at least the appearance of it. PR counts it as heroic.
[...] — And far more events that the system can’t be bothered to list without charging processing fees.
Final Tally:
Villain Points: 10 (unchanged)
Idol Points: 1,020 → 1,503
Aura: 3,150 → 3,581
Don stared at the numbers, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
And here I thought all the shit I’ve been through these past few weeks didn’t amount to much.
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