Inside a lavish looking restaurant, where waiters were walking here and there with very respectful looks, looking extremely, extremely professional. The exterior of the hotel and the waiters' appearance showed just how lavish this hotel actually was, giving an obvious idea of how fucking expensive it was going to be.
The restaurant was full. Each table had couples or families sitting. The mood was set. People were laughing and talking. Even the people sitting there, just by their manners and dressing sense, anyone could see they were rich as hell. Whoever comes here has deep pockets.
All were blending perfectly with this restaurant too. As for what wasn't?
Well, in the very middle of the restaurant, a man of 18 or maybe 19 years old sat there, at a two-person table, sitting alone. He just melancholically stared at the candle flame sitting in the very middle of the table. Yeah, a candlelight dinner, and whoever it was supposed to be with hadn't come, making him sit there alone.
His name was Arlo Rodrigo, just turned 19 this month. He had deep black hair and deep black eyes. And currently he was sitting there alone, kind of depressed about this situation. Not to say he didn't even match with this environment. The way he was looking or what he was wearing… yeah, the clothes he was wearing, it seemed like he did put effort into it and gave thought that he was coming on a date today. But even with those efforts, it didn't match with this rich environment. He looked out of place, which actually was true since he in no way could afford such an out-and-out restaurant. It was obvious to him it would take him months of hard-working pay to pay for one meal in here, if not more actually.
As for even being aware of that, what he was doing here? Yeah, sure, he came on a date. But an expensive restaurant wasn't needed. Well, he had needed to, because of one reason.
Which he was actually looking at in front of him, in the air. The thing which only he could see, no one else. He had tried it out, and yeah, only he could see it. A system. Yeah, that system which appears in usual novels, manhuas, manhwas, and even some animes. He had watched, read, and knew very much about it. Like obviously, who wouldn't know what a system is? It's the dream of like half the world's smart-brain population.
Today, when he was just doing nothing and sitting in his university dorm room, this system panel appeared in front of him. And yeah this is the reason for him to appear here.
As for what this system is? It's called the cashback system. The money you spend, double or that amount you get back instantly. Yeah, that simple. Like an unlimited money glitch in real life. Well, there's some catch. The money only spent on women will get cashed back.
Like double the cashback, whoever the woman is, any woman. But for more, it depends on her favorability.
Ten points of favorability towards him, it'll be 4 times.
Twenty points, it'll be 6 times the cashback.
Thirty points, it'll be 8 times.
And then at 100 percent favorability, it'll be 100 times the rebate cashback.
Yup. That's what the system told him.
As for did he believe it?
Around seventy percent. Not fully. But enough to take a risk like this.
The system panel floating in front of him wasn't some vague imagination. It was clear, structured and very responsive.. Like when he moves, it adjusts with his vision. When he blinked, it remained steady. When he reached toward it, his fingers passed through light, yet the interface reacted. And just in case he hadn't finally lost his mind and started hallucinating, he tested it properly. He tried showing it to others and yeah no one saw anything. That alone gave him a strange, unsettling reassurance.. As for why he doesn't know.
But what truly pushed his belief from doubt into something real was the binding gift pack.
Ten thousand dollars.
Not numbers on a fake glowing blue screen but.. Real money.
His phone had vibrated with a bank notification. He remembered staring at it, frozen. He refreshed the app. Logged out. Logged back in. Checked transaction history again and again. The amount was there. Clean deposit. No suspicious sender. No explanation. Just ten thousand dollars sitting in his account as if it had always belonged there.
That was when he swallowed and thought, This might actually be real.
And that was the reason he came here.
Even though it sounded ridiculous. Even though it looked like some fantasy nonsense. Infinite money? In real life? Could that even be possible? And even if it was… why him?
He's not that lucky. There's no way the universe suddenly decided to bless him.
But seventy percent belief was enough to test it.
And to test it, he needed a woman.
The problem was simple: he had none close to him. No girlfriend. No female best friend. Not even a casual acquaintance he could comfortably say, "Hey, want to go shopping?" without it sounding strange. He had even half-jokingly asked his friends if he could take their mothers or sisters shopping for a "social experiment."
And Obiously those stingey bitches didn't agreed.
More like said..
"Get the hell out."
One of them actually even threw a slipper at him.
So yeah here he was, forced to download some random online meeting app and set up his first blind date ever, all just to confirm whether this cashback system was real. If it worked, that seventy percent doubt would become absolute certainty. And then he would celebrate. He didn't even know how yet. But he would.
Except right now, nothing felt worth celebrating.
He had been sitting there for over forty-three minutes now, waiting for his blind date to show up. It was his first time ever trying one of those online meeting apps, and this was the result.. disappointment.
Honestly, he's feeling fucked up. Like, what the hell does this even mean? Being late 5 or 6 minutes fine, that can happen. But over 40 minutes? Whoever that person is, they definitely don't seem to be taking him seriously.
He was a boiling-blood dude, after all. This is that age phase where a guy's emotional, psychological, and hormonal systems are all messing with him at once. It's the phase where he's the most insecure and confused. Being treated like this would just trigger him. Most likely, he'll remember this shit for weeks and punch walls here and there whenever it suddenly pops into his head.
Even though right now, he's just calmly sitting there, trying to act cool, showing nothing at all. As if he's all fine. But only he knows how hard he's trying to keep it together.
First, the judgmental gazes coming from the diners around him young people, old people, middle-aged people. Looking at him with their always colorful and different gazes. Some pity. Some humor. Some judgmental. Or whatever. Even the waiters do it. Literally every five minutes that pass, he feels gazes coming at him from all directions. As if people are just waiting to see how long he'll sit there.
Like he's still waiting? Wow.
But anyway, it was his first ever blind date. He wasn't really sure about it. Is it even fine to stand up and leave? Or should he wait for the person? Obviously, he's a young kid. He doesn't know much yet about how dating works and all that.
He was still inexperienced. Dating culture, social expectations, unspoken rules he hadn't mastered any of it.
So he stayed.
Because from his perspective, waiting was what he was supposed to do.
Not that he had any other option for now.
Anyway, he wasn't the only person in the restaurant who seemed to be in that situation. Looking to the side.. just to the right of his table he could see a beautiful German woman sitting alone too. She seemed to be waiting for her partner as well. In fact, she had been sitting there even before he arrived, so he assumed that was the case. She had a candlelight setup on her table too he could see the candle flickering softly.
At least he's not the only one getting stood up tonight.
And that gave him a strange, quiet comfort.
As he finally looked down at his plate and finished the last bite of the dish he had ordered.
To be honest, he didn't even know what it was.
The menu had been full of unfamiliar names. Fancy, foreign terms he couldn't pronounce. In mild panic, he had simply chosen the cheapest item listed.
Thirty-nine dollars.
For the cheapest dish..
When it arrived, beautifully plated with colorful sauce drizzled artistically and vegetables arranged like abstract art, he almost laughed internally.
It was salad.
Just fucking salad.
Leaves. Decorative slices. Cherry tomatoes. Some dressing he couldn't identify.
It tasted fine. Fresh. Light.
But still.
He paid thirty-nine fucking dollars to eat grass.
He swallowed the final bite, placed the fork down carefully, and leaned back in his chair.
Anyways, Arlo slowly lowered his gaze toward the thin black book lying on the table, the one the waiter had handed him a few minutes ago with a professional smile. Obviously… the bill.
He hesitated for half a second before opening it, almost as if delaying the damage would somehow reduce it.
It didn't.
Two hundred and thirty-nine dollars. He stared at the number longer than necessary. Two hundred of that was just for reserving the table. Two hundred fucking dollars simply for occupying space in this polished, golden prison of wealth.
He exhaled slowly through his nose. The remaining amount came from the so-called "meal" he had eaten and the taxes that followed. For a moment, irritation flickered in his chest. But he couldn't even be properly angry. Realistically speaking, he had occupied a table in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city for over forty minutes without ordering anything significant. In a place like this, tables rotated money. Time literally equaled profit. So many potential customers could have sat here instead of him. From a business perspective… they deserved the charge.
"Fair enough," he muttered internally, sighing and shaking his head slightly. Embarrassment pressed down on him again. Was this enough humiliation for one night? Should he just pay, stand up, and leave quietly before this turned into something worse?
Just as he was about to make that decision, just as he began mentally preparing himself to close this chapter and walk out with whatever dignity he had left, the sharp rhythm of hurried heels echoed against the polished floor. Fast. Confident. Approaching his table.
He slowly looked up.
And yeah… lucky him.
She was finally here.
"Ohhh, I'm late! You won't believe me, but it's all because of bad luck," the woman said breathlessly, though not in a messy way more like rehearsed urgency. A pleasant, expensive fragrance reached him before her full presence did. She placed her handbag gently on the table, yet her words came quickly, smoothly. "I was ready to leave, completely ready, and then I realized I forgot to put on perfume. So I had to go out and buy one. And you know how it is.. shopping always takes time."
She sat down gracefully while speaking, adjusting herself with natural elegance. There was no awkwardness in her movements. No apology heavy enough to feel guilty. Her explanation flowed so effortlessly that it almost sounded reasonable.
"And that's why I'm late," she finished with a small smile, tilting her head slightly. "Obviously, I can't come to a date without giving my best, right? That wouldn't be fair to my partner for tonight."
She nodded toward him gently, as if the entire inconvenience had been done for his benefit.
Arlo just stared at her for a second.
A Russian woman. That was his first thought. The accent confirmed it. Soft but clear. Her long blonde hair framed her face perfectly. Her skin had that pale, almost snow-like smoothness. She wore a sky-blue dress that fit her figure elegantly, not overly flashy but undeniably attractive. Everything about her the way she carried herself, the way she smelled, the confidence in her posture screamed high value. In his mind, he couldn't help rating her instinctively.
Looks? Ten out of ten.
Fragrance? Ten out of ten.
Voice? Ten out of ten.
Figure? Ten out of ten.
Confidence? Definitely ten.
Even the way she sat down composed, assured felt like a solid ten.
In simple words… completely out of his league.
She looked around his age. Maybe a year older at most. But her presence felt more mature, more socially polished.
While he was absorbing all that, he was also processing her explanation. The ease with which she redirected the blame was impressive. She had turned being forty-three minutes late into an act of consideration for him. That alone made an exaggerated expression flash across his face. He almost looked genuinely offended. And he couldn't hide it. He wasn't trained in social masking yet. His face was transparent emotions readable like an open book. Classic young guy. No filter.
At the same time, while he was openly checking her out, she was doing the same just far more subtly.
Once seated, she calmly studied him. Same age range. That was good. From his clothes, he didn't look rich not at all. His hair was black and decently cut not styled by some high-end salon of anything either. His eyes were deep black.. Like fine..
He wasn't ugly. Definitely not. Not overly handsome either. Somewhere above average. Not stunning, but good. Good enough. "It could work," she thought quietly to herself.
And she had noticed his expression. Obiously she did. The slight offense. The irritation he tried to hide. It didn't escape her. She was aware she had been late. Very aware. But admitting fault now? No. She had already given her explanation. There was no need to revisit it. After all, she hadn't meant it. Things just… happened. And she got late.
At least that was how she framed it in her own mind.
Meanwhile, Arlo sat there, still slightly stunned by her presence, slightly irritated by her excuse, and slightly overwhelmed by the sudden shift from lonely humiliation to sitting across from a woman who felt far beyond his usual world.
The candle between them flickered.
And for the first time that evening, the empty chair across from him was no longer empty.
"So what's your name? I'm Anna Dmitrievna Petrova. Nice to meet you."
She said it smoothly, almost musically. As she settled fully into her chair, she extended her hand toward him in greeting graceful, confident, palm open. There was still excitement in her eyes about the date, a light spark as if she expected this evening to go well. At the same time, she was clearly trying to soften the atmosphere. From his earlier expression, she had sensed tension. He looked like someone barely holding something in. And honestly… it amused her slightly. The way his face betrayed irritation so openly was almost funny to her.
But Arlo didn't take her hand.
Instead, without even glancing at it, he calmly reached into his wallet. He pulled out a stack of bills three hundred dollars and placed them inside the black server book that had been resting on the table. He closed it with a light, controlled tap.
"I'm Arlo. Nice to meet you too," he said evenly. "And we're done here."
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