The night of the reunion arrived with a cruel kind of inevitability.
Sue City shimmered under neon lights, the heart of its wealth pulsing in the east where skyscrapers clawed at the sky and luxury hotels glowed like palaces. For most, tonight was a celebration of nostalgia and success. For Jackim, it was a battlefield.
He stood in front of a cracked mirror in his tiny room, tugging at the collar of his only decent shirt—a plain white button-down, its fabric thinned by too many washes. His jeans were clean but faded, and his sneakers bore scuffs that refused to vanish no matter how much he scrubbed. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a face carved in sharp lines and eyes that could have belonged to a prince—but his clothes betrayed him.
A prince dressed as a pauper.
Kelvin barged in, chubby face glowing with excitement. He wore a too-tight blue suit, his belly stretching the buttons, but his grin was wide. "Bro! Eh, look at you. You clean up nice."
Jackim gave a dry laugh. "I look like a waiter in a cheap bar."
"Relax," Kelvin clapped him on the back. "We're going for fun. Besides, who cares what they think? You're still you."
But Jackim knew better. In this city, appearances were currency. And his wallet was empty—at least, empty to their eyes. The System's secrets burned in his chest, but he wasn't ready to unleash them. Not yet. Tonight, he would walk into that hotel as the man they thought he was: broke, forgotten.
They took a crowded matatu downtown, its blaring music rattling the windows, the smell of sweat and cigarettes thick in the air. Kelvin cracked jokes the whole ride, but Jackim stared out the window, lost in thought. He could already imagine the laughter, the whispers, Sandra's perfume.
The hotel rose before them like a monument to everything he had been denied—The Grand Acacia, a glass fortress dripping in gold light, guarded by valets in black suits. Outside, a parade of luxury cars stretched across the driveway: a silver Bentley, a white Mercedes G-Wagon, a Maybach with tinted windows. Their engines purred softly as if mocking the matatu that had just dropped him off.
Jackim and Kelvin stepped onto the red-carpeted entrance. Heads turned instantly. Women in glittering gowns, men in tailored tuxedos, former classmates glowing in success—all eyes fell on the tall figure in the plain shirt and scuffed sneakers.
The whispers began.
"Is that… Jackim?"
"No way. He actually came?"
"Still broke, by the look of him."
Laughter rippled through the crowd like poison.
Kelvin straightened, puffing his chest. "Ignore them," he muttered.
But the humiliation settled over Jackim like smoke. He walked steady, his long strides unhurried, his dark eyes unreadable. He had learned long ago that silence was armor.
Inside, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers. A buffet stretched with silver trays of shrimp, steak, and wine glasses filled with golden liquid. Music floated from a live band. Laughter and chatter rose, bouncing off polished marble floors.
And then she appeared.
Sandra.
She was as beautiful as the wound he remembered. Tall, curves wrapped in a red silk gown that clung to her like sin, her braids falling in a cascade over bare shoulders. A diamond bracelet glittered at her wrist. Her lips curved in that same smile—the smile that once made his knees weak, the same smile that had torn his heart apart.
She wasn't alone.
Bryan walked beside her, his arm draped over her possessively. His suit was midnight black, his watch a Rolex that flashed under the lights. His hair was slicked back, his smirk wide as he spotted Jackim.
"Well, well," Bryan's voice carried across the room. "If it isn't our class charity case. You made it!"
The crowd tittered. Sandra's eyes slid over Jackim slowly, lingering just long enough to flash disdain.
"Jackim," she said, her voice sweet but poisoned. "It's been years. You… haven't changed much."
Her gaze flicked to his shirt, his shoes. Mockery lit her face. "Still the same old Jackim."
Kelvin bristled. "At least he's not a clown flaunting daddy's money."
Laughter erupted, but this time aimed at Kelvin. Bryan chuckled and sipped his champagne.
Jackim said nothing. His tall frame was steady, his jaw tight. He didn't rise to their bait. Not yet.
The night wore on. Ex-classmates bragged about jobs, promotions, startups, cars, vacations. One flaunted a photo of his penthouse view. Another boasted about flying first class to Dubai. Every brag was a dagger twisting deeper.
Sandra leaned into Bryan, her voice loud enough for Jackim to hear. "Remember when Jackim used to borrow coins for lunch? Imagine coming here still like that."
Her laughter was a slap.
The humiliation was thick, suffocating. Jackim excused himself and stepped out onto the balcony, the city lights sprawling beneath him. The night air was sharp, cold. His hands clenched the railing until his knuckles whitened.
Inside his head, the voice stirred.
[New Task Generated.]
[Task: Brag that you own a limited-edition car.]
[Reward: Rolls Royce Phantom – customized.]
Jackim's breath caught. His pulse thundered.
He turned his head, eyes narrowing. Inside the ballroom, Bryan had gathered a crowd, showing off the keys to his Bentley. Sandra clung to his arm, laughing like a queen.
Jackim's lips curved slowly.
If the System wanted him to brag, then tonight, he would.
Tonight, he would deliver his first true slap in the face.