Nacrene City called itself the City of Arts, where trends begin, and it wore the title like a badge pinned to its chest. From a distance, the skyline was dominated not by towers but by long, rectangular warehouse-style buildings, brick and steel with tall paneled windows that caught the late afternoon light. Most of them had been converted into galleries, studios, fashion houses, or "creative spaces," though the bones of industry were still obvious. Loading docks had become café patios. Old freight doors were painted over with murals that changed every season. It felt curated, almost aggressively so.
The streets were crowded at nearly every hour. Designers, models, critics, and tourists moved in loose flocks, draped in whatever the city had decided was relevant that week, layered fabrics in clashing colors, asymmetrical cuts, hats that served no practical function. They walked with the confidence of people who believed they were being admired. Alex watched them pass and couldn't help thinking most of them just looked silly. It was hard to tell whether the outfits were statements or a desperate attempt at being the next trend.
At the heart of the city stood the Normal type Gym, operated by Lenora. Officially, it symbolized balance and adaptability, traits of the Normal type. Unofficially, it was one of three pillars guarding the city. On opposite ends stood auxiliary Gyms specializing in Grass and Flying types, positioned to deter threats from the surrounding wildlands and skies. Together, the three formed a defensive triangle. Nacrene protected its culture as fiercely as it marketed it.
But the shine wore thin in the alleys between those warehouses. In the narrow crevices where sunlight barely reached, there were artists no gallery would claim. Homeless men and women hunched over cracked canvases, fingers stained with cheap paint, trying to capture visions only they could see. The colors were often bold and frantic, sometimes brilliant. More often, they were smeared and unfinished. The Veins, a local drug trafficking gang, kept them supplied with enough drugs to keep the visions coming. Inspiration on credit. In a city that prided itself on where trends begin, even desperation had been repackaged as a process.
As expected, Alex and Rhea, who preferred functionality and practicality over fashion, were stared at like a pair of walking travesties. They were gawked at, judged, and found wanting by professionals, passersby, locals, and even the homeless. It was obvious they had no intention of blending in with the trends or putting any effort into their outfits, not that either of them cared about other people's opinions.
"Hey, since we're already here, maybe we can find a tailor who can make something fancy for you," Rhea said as they walked through the city.
"I thought you needed to make powerful new materials first," Alex replied.
"I already kind of have a few Champion ranked options lying around. I just need a professional's help with the final design and to pick out natural colors, since dyeing it would reveal the material once it's damaged."
"It's up to you," Alex said. "We're not going to start hunting until tomorrow. Today's just for canvassing the area. It's already getting late, after all."
"Sweet. Let's go check out their fanciest places."
Thus, with Rotom's guidance, they were led to the most expensive clothing stores in the city and were promptly told they weren't taking custom orders. It turned out the high-end boutiques guarded their designers' privacy and refused to let just anyone commission custom work.
Next, she tried going online to request their more exclusive services, but as expected, the waitlists stretched on for months or even years for the top designers. As a result, Rhea was forced to lower her standards from the elite establishments to local shops that had not yet secured major corporate contracts.
These were places that, at most, had a modest storefront selling their own handmade clothing, with few if any advertising sponsorships or brand deals. Unfortunately, these shops came with their own set of problems.
"Sorry, we don't do custom designs. Ours are already the best you'll find in the city. You might want to try less relevant stores."
"Yeah, no… we don't serve people who don't appreciate art here, so if you don't mind," the clerk said, flicking her hand to shoo them away.
"Sorry, we can't work with materials like these," another clerk in a different store said as she examined Rhea's razor-thin metallic fabrics. "They'd slice our looms apart with the slightest pressure. We'd love to help, but we just aren't equipped with the right tools."
And so, their endeavor ended in disappointment.
"What does a girl have to do to find a proper high-tech tailor around here?" Rhea exclaimed as she and Alex sat in a restaurant having dinner.
"I'm pretty sure anyone who can pull something like this off is already working for those high-tech companies," Alex said, taking a bite of his medium-rare steak. "I mean, you can't exactly expect them to just open a store in Nacrene City if they can work with fabrics like the ones you've made. Even the outfit I'm wearing came through my mom's contacts with the Jennys and Devon Corp."
Rhea sighed heavily. "You're right. I don't know what I was expecting. I guess I set the bar too high for a place that's supposed to be the City of Arts."
"Oh, honey, I cannot let that insult slide," a feminine male voice called out from the table behind them.
Rhea turned and was met with a sharply dressed man adorned in tasteful jewelry. He was unmistakably gay, yet presented himself in a professionally tailored, perfectly fitted suit that impressed even Alex.
As for his company, three strikingly beautiful women sat with him, each wearing a dress that, in Alex's view, surpassed most of the designs he had seen in the city. Their gowns were elegant and understated, tailored in a way that highlighted each woman's curves without looking excessive or forced. It was a stark contrast over the loud, attention-seeking fashion they had seen throughout the city.
"The name's Marcel, but you can call me Marcy," he introduced himself.
"Rhea. And this is Alex."
"Well… aren't you a tall drink of water," he said, eyeing Alex briefly before turning his attention to Rhea. "Now, you mentioned something about high-tech fashion?"
Never one to pass up an opportunity, Rhea pulled out samples of the fabrics she had engineered from the metals at her disposal. There were several variants, some with high tensile strength, others with elemental or psychic resistance, and a range of additional properties. Most importantly, all of them were rated at Champion rank, meaning that when woven together, they could easily stop standard ballistic rounds.
"My, my… what extraordinary materials," Marcy said, carefully running his fingers over the samples. "No wonder you're throwing shade at my city. These are some of the finest textiles I've ever encountered."
"Thanks," Rhea replied. "I made them myself. My man's a bit of a hoarder, you see."
"The best kind, if these are as strong as I think they are."
"Oh, they are," Rhea said, proudly. "You won't find anything like them, even in the top labs in the region."
"You go, girl. Now, let's talk about our transaction," Marcy said. "I'll design something with these on commission, as long as you supply me with enough material to make a few pieces for myself and keep the line open for future orders. How does that sound?"
Rhea gave him a measured look and had to admit he had taste. Alex would look good in a suit cut like his. And it wasn't as if they had better options.
"Deal."
"Wonderful. Why don't we head over to my little shop later and start drafting something together?"
"Okay."
They finished dinner while ironing out the specifics of their arrangement. Alex mostly tuned them out, focusing instead on assessing Marcy. The man was clearly capable and carried a confident professionalism, yet he also seemed comfortable handling high-tech materials. That combination wasn't common in this city, so Alex dug a little deeper with Rotom's help and quickly found Marcy's name circulating on the black market.
He was a well-known independent armorer who did contract work for the Underworld, the sort of professional whose reputation was built on protecting clients without compromising their image. Even Team Dominion counted among his regular customers.
Alex didn't mind, though. Marcy clearly had the skills to handle the materials and craft something extraordinary, combining technical expertise with artistic sense. It didn't matter to him who Marcy worked with normally, whether elite clients, cold-blooded killers, or Team Dominion. What truly mattered was that his professionalism extended to Alex as well.
If Marcy could produce pieces that met Rhea's standards and were both functional and stylish, then both sides stood to benefit. Their collaboration wasn't about loyalty or reputation. It was about results, and in that regard, it was a perfect fit.
Honestly, Alex considered himself lucky to have met Marcy in this restaurant. Apparently, he was a very difficult man to track down. He only met the most connected clients to secure rare materials that had not even been released to the market.
In that sense, Marcy was equally fortunate to have met Rhea, considering she was among the top inventors in her field of engineering and material science.
Now that Alex thought about it, the restaurant they were eating at was one of the most expensive in the city, so perhaps it wasn't entirely luck that had brought them together.
In any case, tomorrow Rhea would be busy working on her little project, while Alex would finally start hunting down the gang of drug dealers in the city, which, to Rhea's relief, was simply more leg work she could avoid.
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