The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Ethan's modest apartment, casting a golden haze over the cluttered space that had been his home for the past few years. Nova Prime was awakening fully now—the distant hum of early commuter traffic building to a symphony, mag-lev trains whistling as they accelerated toward the city center, and the aromatic blend of breakfast vendors rising from the streets below. Freshly baked synthetic pastries, steaming coffee infused with energy boosters, and grilled proteins sizzling on portable grills. The megacity's rhythm was relentless, a constant reminder of ambition and hustle, but today, for Ethan Voss, it felt like background music to his personal triumph.
He stood in front of the cracked bathroom mirror one last time, adjusting the collar of his old shirt—now comically tight across his broadened shoulders and chest. The fabric strained, threatening to split at the seams, a testament to the Apex Genome Elixir's transformative power. His new body moved with an effortless grace, every motion fluid and powerful, like a predator in human form. A faint smile played on his lips as he ran a hand through his thicker hair, marveling at the reflection. This wasn't vanity; it was awe at the rebirth he'd undergone overnight.
Hunger satisfied from his god-level culinary creation, bank account bloated with half a billion credits in unfrozen royalties, and skills integrated seamlessly—Ethan felt invincible. But the pull of the remaining rewards was irresistible. The Vortex Thunderbolt waited downstairs, a beast of engineering parked incongruously in the rundown public lot of this outer-fringe complex. And beyond that, the Apex Pinnacle Towers penthouse—his new domain, a symbol of the pinnacle he'd clawed his way toward.
"No point delaying," he muttered to himself, grabbing the sleek key fob from the desk. It vibrated subtly in his palm as he approached, syncing instinctively with his biometrics—a soft chime confirming ownership. Share certificates and property deeds tucked safely into a drawer for now; he'd deal with formalities later. Today was for experiencing the shift in reality.
Stepping out of the apartment, Ethan locked the door with a finality that surprised him. This place had been a sanctuary of grind—endless nights typing away, fueled by cheap stimulants and determination. It represented the old him: struggling traverser, hidden genius waiting for activation. He wouldn't miss it. Not with what lay ahead.
The hallway was dim and worn, fluorescent lights flickering, walls scuffed from years of indifferent tenants. Elevator down—creaky and slow, smelling faintly of old takeout. As it descended, Ethan's mind wandered to his family. Parents still in their modest home on the city's mid-ring suburbs, proud of their "prodigy son" who graduated top of his class but chose the uncertain path of full-time writing. His younger sister, Elena—spirited, always teasing him about his "hermit lifestyle." They had no idea yet. Half a billion credits could change everything for them: better home, education, security. But he'd reveal it carefully, in person. No rushing.
Ground floor dinged open to the lobby—basic, with a dozing security guard behind a counter and mailboxes overflowing with ads. Ethan nodded politely as he passed, stepping out into the morning bustle.
The public parking zone was a chaotic sprawl: battered commuter vehicles, delivery drones charging at stations, a few mid-range hover-cars belonging to more affluent neighbors. But dominating the center, impossibly out of place amid the mundane, stood the Vortex Thunderbolt.
Ethan stopped dead, breath catching.
It was magnificent—a low-slung masterpiece of aerodynamic design, bodywork in matte obsidian black with subtle crimson accents that caught the sunlight like veins of fire. Aggressive lines swept from the sharp nose to the flared rear, adaptive spoilers subtly adjusted even at rest. Wheels massive, forged from lightweight alloys, tires grippy for any terrain. Tinted glass canopy, doors gull-wing style for dramatic entry. Holographic badges projected the limited-edition emblem, confirming top configuration: enhanced power core, luxury interior, full autonomous capabilities if desired.
But Ethan preferred manual—god-level driving mastery hummed in his veins, eager.
Passersby had already gathered subtly: a few early workers snapping discreet photos on their phones, whispering. "Is that a Thunderbolt? Here? Must be some tycoon's visitor." "Limited edition—I've only seen them in holovids."
Ethan approached, key fob raised. The vehicle responded instantly—lights flashing in welcome, doors lifting upward with a hydraulic whisper. A faint, invigorating scent of premium leather and advanced composites wafted out.
Sliding into the driver's seat was like entering another world. Interior bespoke: seats molded in adaptive memory foam wrapped in hand-stitched Alcantara, dashboard a seamless holographic array, central console intuitive touch and voice controls. Ambient lighting shifted to a calming blue as he settled, systems booting with a deep, throaty rumble that vibrated through his perfected body.
"Welcome, Owner Ethan Voss," the AI voice purred—smooth, feminine, customizable. "All systems optimal. Destination?"
"Not yet," he replied, voice steady despite the thrill. Hands on the wheel—ergonomic perfection, grips fitting like extensions of his arms. God-level skills flooded awareness: every nuance of throttle response, brake modulation, weight transfer in corners. He could feel the vehicle's soul, a beast ready to unleash.
Ignition. The power core hummed to life, a low growl building to a symphony. Ethan eased out of the spot, mindful of gawkers, and navigated the complex exit. Once on the main road—wide boulevards feeding into Nova Prime's arterial highways—he accelerated gently.
The response was instantaneous. Power surged smoothly, pinning him back as speed climbed effortlessly. Zero to highway limits in seconds, handling precise as a scalpel. He merged into traffic, weaving through denser flows with ease—anticipating gaps, judging distances instinctively.
Wind rushed past as he opened it up on a clearer stretch, the roar exhilarating. Nova Prime blurred: skyscrapers towering, river glimpses sparkling, pedestrian bridges alive with morning commuters. Sensory amplification from the elixir heightened everything—the vibration feedback through the seat, scent of fresh air through vents, visual clarity picking out details miles ahead.
"This... this is freedom," Ethan thought, grin widening. In his previous life, vehicles were utilitarian—crowded public transport or cheap used cars. Here, post-graduation frugality meant basic rideshares. Now? Mastery over a supercar that turned roads into playgrounds.
Traffic thickened nearing the central districts—hover-lanes stacking vertically, billboards hawking Celestial Fiction Hub's latest hits (ironically, several featuring his pseudonyms). Ethan cruised comfortably, autonomous assist optional but declined. He wanted the control.
Destination locked: Apex Pinnacle Towers. GPS projected holographically, guiding through premium riverfront avenues. The area transformed—streets cleaner, architecture grander, vehicles exclusively luxury. Security drones patrolled discreetly, greenery lining medians with imported trees blooming vibrantly.
The towers loomed ahead: twin spires of curved glass and steel, connected by skybridges, base surrounded by manicured parks and fountain plazas. Entrance gated, biometric scanners and armed concierge. Ethan approached the visitor lane—though as owner, no need.
Scanner beeped approval from the key fob sync. Gates parted smoothly. Underground parking reserved—his spot pre-allocated, elevated platform for the Thunderbolt. He parked flawlessly, engine purring down to silence.
Elevator up—private access code from deeds activated via phone app materialized overnight. Ascending rapidly, ears popping slightly from altitude gain.
Doors opened directly into the penthouse foyer.
Ethan stepped out... and paused, overwhelmed.
The space was vast, open-concept elegance. Floor-to-ceiling smart-glass walls offered 360-degree views: Azure River glittering below, Nova Prime's skyline sprawling endlessly, distant mountains hazy on the horizon. Natural light flooded in, controllable tints ready.
Floors heated marble veined with gold, transitioning to plush carpets in living areas. Furniture minimalist luxury: sectional sofas in premium fabrics, art pieces holographic and static from renowned Aurorian artists. Kitchen a chef's dream—island massive, appliances top-tier (his culinary skills itching). Multiple bedrooms, master suite palatial with king bed, walk-in wardrobes empty awaiting customization, en-suite bath featuring infinity tub overlooking the city.
Upper level: sky garden accessed via spiral stairs—exotic plants thriving under climate control, infinity pool edge blending seamlessly with the view, outdoor lounge with fire pits and bar.
Private gym equipped fully: weights, cardio, recovery pods. Office space panoramic, perfect for future writing or empire-building. Even a home theater and meditation room.
Everything pristine, AI housekeeper dormant awaiting activation.
Ethan wandered slowly, touching surfaces, absorbing. This wasn't just a home; it was a statement. From cramped apartment to this—in one night.
Phone synced automatically—systems recognizing him as owner. Alerts: concierge welcome package en route, customization options available.
He stood at the glass wall, hands pressed against it, gazing down at the river traffic.
"System," he thought. "What's next? Any new tasks?"
"Host, the novice phase is complete. Main system unlocked. Future rewards based on spending, investments, and achievements as Supreme Tycoon. Current balance allows vast potential."
Ethan nodded. Family visit soon. New wardrobe—old clothes obsolete. Perhaps explore Celestial Fiction Hub control discreetly.
But for now, he sank into a sofa, the city at his feet.
Life's peak wasn't the end—it was the launchpad.
(Word count: approximately ----)