The day's business went on. Night approached, and the Amanda's was filled again. The executive customers had their quick dinners and takeout, tipping the now recognizable waiter better.
Syril soon got discharged and headed home.
Our young, attractive waiter had something bugging him.The mission kept tugging his mind, and his head kept creating 'obscene' pictures.
"Relax now, boy. You don't wanna kill yourself with thoughts before ya get your rewards, do ya?" Raja's mocking voice slid in his head, disrupting the thoughts.
Syril momentarily lost focus and shouted; "How?! How can I do it?! I don't even have a girlfriend!"
He shyly covered his mouth with his hands, but it was too late... passers-by had heard him clearly, and they instinctively avoided him. Especially the ladies.
To worsen things, Raja laughed wildly, his mockery instantly transforming Syril's embarrassment to anger.
Syril stormed off annoyingly—which only made him look more crazy.
His glance soon fell on the dark alley, his lovely shortcut. He need not be told twice. He avoided the alley like a plague.
'Who knows what else they prepared?' He had thought.
...
Syril soon got home, the pressure of the day's activities still weighing him down.
He undressed himself and prepared for a hot bath.
On reaching the bathroom, he glanced at his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror and almost shouted at the figure appearing in the mirror.
"What?! I... is th-this me?!" Syril marveled.
Truly, he hadn't looked into the mirror earlier that morning—he was in a haste for Amanda's that he forgot to check. Not that he was someone who was self-obsessed... I mean, who doesn't look into the mirror after a bath?
He glanced at his now sharper face, his hands slowly tracing the now refined abs and muscles.
His hands went down to his groin, raising the flaccid meat dangling.
"Holy moly!" He exclaimed.
His dick was still flabby, but he couldn't deny the increase in size. Still, he wasn't contented.
He gently stroked his shaft in attempt to erect it. The meat obeyed, rising like a flag pole.
The shaft stood hard and even gained an increase in size, standing roughly between eight or nine inches.
"Raja, you really did a good job," Syril couldn't help but commend, his hands still wrapped around his monster.
"You're welcome. You should start putting these things to use!" Raja jabbed again.
Syril rolled his eyes before visualizing the mission tab in his head. The screen instantly popped out.
[Mission: Disvirgin yourself.]
[Reward: New Ability, New Special Skill, New Ability Skill.]
[Countdown: 53 hours, 41 minutes, 34 seconds.]
"I really must find a way." Syril muttered as his eyes scanned the words displayed.
"You know, you have a lot in your arsenal to do that now. You saw the way those bitches were looking at you, right?" Raja spoke.
"Yes, I saw it. Are you sure they were really interested in me in that way?" Syril replied, still unsure about the whole thing.
"Well, maybe not all of them. The Charm skill might be more effective on some. It all depends on the person's mental strength. With your Charm skill and your improved looks, you're sure to bag one." Raja explained.
"Okay, how am I supposed to know one? I mean, it's not written on their forehead, is it?" Syril's frustrated voice echoed.
"That's your work. It's part of the test. You can't just expect me to do everything." Raja drawled, his tone completely devoid of emotions.
Syril slapped his forehead irritatedly before he proceeded with his bath.
Whilst taking his bath, his mind pondered about the school prom holding in two days time. He knew it was pointless to be there, but he couldn't let the words of others ruin his fun.
He had decided to appear, observe, eat, and leave. Since the prom would hold later in the night, it won't affect his work. He'd only ask Amanda to grant him an early discharge.
He hastily took his bath and went to his father's closet and picked one of his old man's suits. Although a little bit saggy, it'd do. He prepared all he needed that night and took his rest.
The next morning, Syril rose in preparation for another work day. He donned his regular white shirt and black pants and left for Amanda's.
The day's business went just like yesterday's—long stares and huge tips were given to Syril.
Few minutes to the end of Syril's shift, a figure entered. It appeared to be a lady.
She stood by the entrance for a couple of seconds before she moved. Her eyes took in the setting before her long legs moved.
Her presence was immediately felt by the present customers.
Whispers quickly erupted in the sleek building. Even customers from the upper floors silently peeked, their own whispers immediately adding to the noise.
"Whoa, isn't that the Vancouvers' heiress?"
"Who? The Flemdale High beauty?"
"Yeah, that's Amy Vancouver."
"Man, I'll do anything to get her into my family."
"The Winchesters? You're kidding. Everyone knows the Vancouvers and Houstons have something going on."
"Yeah, they're business partners, and I think they arranged a marriage for their kins."
"Hmph! They'll do better with the Flemdales. Why settle for Houstons?"
"I heard news about their crumbling empire."
"Must have something to do with those filthy Grimlocks."
The murmurings went round and round the buzzing café, making her the talk of the town.
The young girl seemed to care less, as she already found a seat and prepared to order something.
Her blonde hair flowed gently as she sat, her jade eyes scanning the menu list. She crossed her long legs majestically, her thick thighs lapping each other.
Her blue flowing gown did nothing to hide her beauty. It covered most of her body, but couldn't hide the shape.
Her hourglass shape revealed daring, proportionate curves and busts. She was your typical modern model. A dream made real.
But that wasn't why the Vancouvers were famously known among the affluents. No, their family was known for having one of the greatest superpowers in the world, and running a multi-billion business empire that was globally recognized.
In essence, getting all of those reactions was no shocker to her.
Syril soon appeared before her to take her orders.
Surely, it'd look weird to take one's classmate's orders, but Syril cared less. He was accustomed to it. He had taken several orders from their principal, and even his wealthy juniors to give a fuck about shame.
Syril moved with practical fluidity.
"Good day, ma. I'd like to take your orders," he said formally, giving the professional smile he had mastered over the years.
"Syril, you don't need to do that. I always tell you," Amy replied, her smile threatening to break the walls of Syril's composure.
"Well, I have to be professional. You have to get used to it." He instantly replied.
"If you say so. Croissant and Strawberry Milk Shake, please," she declared before ticking on the menu list and handing it over.
Syril took it and was back in no time with her orders.
"Wow, that was... fast," she commended with genuine smile.
"Practice makes perfect," Syril again, replied professionally.
She moved to her purse and brought out some bills. She handed it sheepishly, not wanting to give a jerky impression.
Syril took the money and was surprised to notice a white paper neatly folded in the cash.
He gave Amy a short look, who in turn winked under the pretense of adjusting her flowing hair.
He wanted to object, but something told him to at least check the content.
He went back to the counter and stylishly checked the paper.
It read: "Hi, Syril. Please, I'd like to talk to you after your shift. No need for alarm. I'm with no guards and I have a hoodie with me. I'll be waiting. Yours sincerely, Amy."
Syril scoffed to himself as he trashed the paper. Truly, he had never had a problem with the damsel... if anything, she treated him the same way she treated others.
However, would he wanna see someone deeply connected to his enemy? Definitely not.
Who knows, they could use her as a means to give him another beating. He definitely wouldn't wanna take that chance.
Once the clock hit 8:30PM, Syril told his goodbye to his boss and left, completely ignoring the young girl's message.
He adjusted his shirt and started striding along the busy walkway when a voice suddenly called him.
He paused, almost bumping into a passer-by. When he turned, a neon light flashed on his face, revealing his scrunched face.
"You're quite predictable. I just knew you'd disregard my message," said Amy as she approached him in a black hoodie, just like she had said.
"What do you want?" Syril didn't even pretend to hide his anger.
Her voice softened, dropped to a low, almost melancholic voice. "What have I done, Syril?"
"Oh, please... spare me the acts, Amy. Is this another plot of Oliver and his cohorts?" Syril accused, his voice still laced with anger.
A flash of anger passed her face before she regained her composure and feigned a smile. "That's why I wanna talk to you."
Curiosity immediately washed over Syril, but he immediately dismissed it. He felt it could be some sort of trickery.
"I want us to have the discussion somewhere safe. Away from prying eyes. Maybe your place?"
---------------------------------------------------------
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