Kyle checked his account balance before he did anything else. It was a reflex — the same distrust of good things that had been conditioned into him over years of things not working out. But the number was still there. Over $50,000, sitting in an account that had been empty less than twenty-four hours ago.
The smile that broke across his face was involuntary and enormous, and it made Jane take a visible step backward behind the counter.
He composed himself. Barely.
The system had already moved on, a new notification blinking patiently at the edge of his vision.
"Harem function?"
He didn't even need to ask aloud. The system, apparently anticipating confusion, expanded immediately:
[The Harem function allows the user to recruit women into his harem by gaining their affection. A special cashback bonus is granted in addition to the standard system tier with each amount spent on women within the user's harem.]
Kyle blinked at this for a long moment.
"Holy—" he caught himself, clamping down on it, suddenly aware that he was standing in a public Apple Store making expressions at empty air while a cashier watched him with escalating concern.
"Sir?" Jane said carefully. "Are you alright?"
"Completely fine," Kyle said, which was not even remotely true in any conventional sense. "Thank you, Jane."
He gathered the packaged items and slid them across the counter toward her. She accepted them with both hands, still watching him like she wasn't entirely sure he was safe to be around.
He pressed [YES] on the lottery draw before he stepped away.
[Congratulations! You have drawn: Extreme Memory Recall!]
[Extreme Memory Recall: The user possesses the ability to recall every piece of information and every event experienced, down to the most insignificant detail.]
[Congratulations! You have drawn: Vehicular Mastery!]
[Vehicular Mastery: The user is an innate master of operating any vehicle. Cars, motorcycles, aircraft — all fall within the user's capability.]
[Congratulations! You have drawn: a Jaguar XF!]
[The Jaguar XF has been placed in the nearest available driveway.]
[Congratulations! You have drawn: JPD Agency Group!]
[JPD Agency Group: The user is now the owner of a small but promising talent agency in Beverly Hills. Documentation and the agency address can be found in the vehicle.]
Kyle stood very still and read each notification twice.
Then he walked out of the Apple Store into the California heat wearing the widest smile of his adult life.
The Jaguar was not difficult to find. It sat in the nearest lot looking precisely like a car that didn't belong there — dark, sleek, conspicuously expensive against a backdrop of sensible sedans. The key materialized in his pocket as he approached, solid and real, the weight of it impossible to argue with.
He was almost at the door when something caught his shirt.
He turned. Jane stood there, color high in her cheeks, a folded piece of paper extended toward him. She couldn't quite hold his gaze — her eyes kept drifting to the middle distance, then flickering back. Behind her, through the store's glass front, her colleagues had abandoned any pretense of working and were watching openly, a few of them visibly suppressing laughter.
Kyle took the paper. A phone number, written in careful print.
[Harem Members: 1] [Name: Jane | Age: 23 | Affection: 5%]
He glanced back at her. She was stealing a look at him from beneath her lashes and immediately found something fascinating about the pavement when she caught him looking.
Kyle tucked the number into his pocket, got into the Jaguar, and let the new car smell hit him like a reset button. Clean leather and possibility. He sat for a moment just breathing it in.
The documents were exactly where the system said they'd be — manila envelope on the passenger seat, contents already bearing his name on every signature line. JPD Agency Group. Beverly Hills address. All of it legal, official, and inexplicably his.
He pulled out into traffic.
-
The agency occupied a modest but well-positioned space in Beverly Hills — the kind of building that suggested former ambition. Kyle found it without difficulty, parked, and sat for a moment taking in the exterior.
Inside, things were considerably less composed.
"—half-decent gig in years! This agency can eat a—"
A woman's voice, sharp and carrying, cut through the lobby the moment Kyle opened the door. He paused in the entrance.
The shouting was directed at another woman — mid-twenties, clipboard under her arm, expression so neutral it had clearly been cultivated through extensive practice. She had the particular stillness of someone very capable who had simply decided not to spend energy on a situation that didn't deserve it. Her bearing was striking — composed and direct, with the kind of presence that took up exactly the right amount of space in a room.
This was clearly someone who ran things.
The woman doing the screaming was continuing at full volume, apparently building toward a conclusion about natural talent that she hadn't been asked for.
The composed woman — whose name, Kyle would shortly discover, was Isabella — was rescued from responding by a younger employee appearing at her elbow, practically vibrating.
"Miss Isabella." The employee — Carly, her lanyard read — held up her phone with both hands. "I have great news."
Isabella's eyes moved to the screen. Something changed in her face — the neutrality cracked, just briefly, giving way to something that looked like relief so acute it almost resembled pain. She took the phone from Carly's hands.
"Someone purchased the agency's shares," she said quietly. "All of them."
"We're saved, boss," Carly confirmed.
The screaming woman, apparently feeling she'd been ignored long enough, escalated.
Isabella turned toward her slowly. There was something different in her posture now — a loosening, the particular ease of a person who has just realized they no longer need to tolerate something.
"I'm afraid," Isabella said, her voice measured and completely calm, "that we won't be able to continue working together. Your agency fees will be refunded in full. I'd suggest you see yourself out."
A pause.
"Or I'll do it for you."
The woman left. The lobby exhaled. Carly looked like she might applaud.
Isabella straightened, smoothed the front of her jacket, and turned toward the door — where Kyle was still standing, documents in hand, trying to decide whether to announce himself.
Their eyes met.
She looked at him the way people look at someone they've been expecting, even when they didn't know they were expecting anyone.
"You must be the new owner," Isabella said.
It wasn't a question.