Logan stood frozen in the middle of the park, staring at the sleek, black Lamborghini that had just materialized before his eyes. Its paint gleamed under the midday sun, the polished curves catching the light like a jewel on display. Just moments ago, he had been sitting on a park bench, listening to the mechanical yet oddly warm voice of the system explaining the potential of the mystery boxes.
The first had dropped ten million dollars into his bank account with a cheerful ding!
The second had given him this.
He ran his hand over the cold, perfect surface of the car's hood. "This… this is real," he whispered, half in disbelief. The scent of new leather wafted from the slightly open door, teasing his senses.
The system's voice echoed in his head.
> [Host, remember: The mystery box is not just a gamble—it's an opportunity. Money, skills, vehicles, even… companions. Anything could be inside.]
Logan grinned. "You're telling me I could open one and get a private jet?"
> [Yes.]
"What about a mansion?"
> [Yes.]
"And slaves?" Logan asked, lowering his voice.
> [Indeed. Though in your current world, that term refers to loyal servants bound to you through the system's contract.]
Logan leaned back on the bench, exhaling slowly. Just yesterday, he had been juggling three part-time jobs, scrubbing dishes, stacking boxes, and delivering greasy pizza until his legs ached. Now, with the push of a button, he had more wealth than most people would see in a lifetime.
It was intoxicating.
The system's voice returned.
> [Host, I detect you're in a good mood. But if host want to open a mew box then host must get more points]
He had exactly 0 points left, but his eyes sparkled at the thought of what could come next. "I'll get more points soon… very soon."
He got into the Lamborghini, the leather hugging his body like it was made for him. As he drove out of the park, he caught people staring—heads turning, whispers following him. But he knew it wasn't just the car. It was him. His face, now transformed by the Extreme Beauty Pill, drew more attention than he had ever experienced in his life.
Got it, bro.
Here's how we can add that scene right after Logan drives the Lamborghini out of the park:
---
Logan eased the Lamborghini toward the park exit, the deep purr of the engine drawing heads like moths to a flame. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. A couple of joggers actually slowed down to watch.
"Whoa… is that a Lamborghini?" a teenager muttered, already fishing his phone out to record.
"Damn, that's at least… what? Three hundred grand?" his friend replied, eyes wide.
But then the murmurs shifted.
"Wait… why is he dressed like that?"
Logan, still in his faded jeans, scuffed sneakers, and a hoodie with frayed cuffs, looked like he'd stepped out of a thrift shop clearance bin. The contrast between the battered clothing and the luxury supercar was almost comical.
"Bro looks like he just finished washing dishes and then stole a millionaire's ride," someone whispered, earning a laugh.
A woman standing by the park's coffee stall frowned. "Maybe he's some rich guy's driver?"
"No way," her friend said, shaking his head. "Drivers don't sit in the front seat like they own the car."
A group of kids pointed at him excitedly.
"That's a Huracán, right?"
"Nah, it's an Aventador!"
They argued while snapping pictures, trying to guess the model.
Logan caught the stares, the murmurs, the subtle smirks. Instead of being embarrassed, a slow, confident grin spread across his face. He could feel the system's voice in his mind, almost smug.
"Let them wonder, Soon, the outside will match the inside" Logan said in his mind
He revved the engine once before gliding onto the street, leaving behind a mix of envy, confusion, and awe in his wake.
---
Logan had parked the Lamborghini about two hundred meters away from his house, tucked discreetly behind an abandoned lot. He wasn't ready for the storm of questions that would come if the neighbors caught sight of it. Better to keep it out of sight — for now.
He stood at the edge of the street, staring at the small, weathered house he'd grown up in. The peeling paint, the sagging fence, the faint creak of the front door in the wind… everything here was a memory. Memories of his mother, Memories of her warmth, her quiet strength, and her gentle voice telling him he was meant for something greater.
But she was gone now. And with her, the sense of home had vanished.
Logan's gaze lingered for a moment longer, a heaviness settling in his chest. Then, he made up his mind — he wasn't staying here. This place was a graveyard of the past, and he was done living in it.
Just as he turned to walk back toward the hidden car, a voice called out from the side of the street.
"Yo, Logan! Didn't expect to see you around here."
Logan's expression froze for half a second before he turned. There, leaning lazily against the cracked brick wall of the neighboring house, was Derek Collins.
Derek was eighteen, but his wiry build and smug attitude made him seem like a stray cat always picking fights it couldn't win. He had the kind of smirk that made you want to wipe it off his face — not out of malice, but because it was always there, no matter the situation.
He'd been raised by his single mother, a tired woman who worked two jobs to keep a roof over their heads. His father had been a small-time gangster — the kind who thought tattoos and cheap leather jackets made him dangerous — but he'd abandoned Derek and his mom when Derek was just two years old. Ever since, Derek had taken on a cocky, defensive attitude, acting tougher than he was, perhaps to hide the fact that his life wasn't much better than Logan's.
And for some reason, Derek had always treated Logan as an easy target. Whether it was sarcastic jabs, mocking remarks, or just plain annoyance, Derek seemed to enjoy poking at him.
Today was no different.
Derek's eyes widened when he first saw Logan. For a split second, there was actual shock in them — but it was quickly smothered by his usual smirk.
"Well, well…" Derek drawled, eyeing him from head to toe. "Look at you. What happened, Logan? How much did you spend on plastic surgery? Or…" his grin widened, "how much debt did you put yourself in for that new face?"
Logan raised an eyebrow. "Good to see you too, Derek."
Derek scoffed, stepping closer as if to get a better look. "Seriously though… you used to look like a wet mop. Now you look like some actor. Don't tell me you sold your kidney or something."
Logan stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the younger man. But there was something different this time. The old Logan might've traded a few words or ignored him entirely. The new Logan… was deciding whether Derek was even worth a response.
Before Logan could even open his mouth, Derek's phone started blaring an upbeat ringtone. Derek glanced at the screen, his smirk widening.
"Yo, what's up, bro?" he said into the phone, his voice suddenly taking on that overconfident tone he used when talking to his friends. "Yeah… yeah, I'm free. Alright, I'll come over now."
He glanced at Logan briefly, as if dismissing his existence, then raised his voice toward the house.
"MOM! I won't be back tonight! I'm hanging out with the guys!"
There was no reply from inside, just a faint clatter of dishes — his mother was probably still working in the cramped kitchen.
Logan's eyes flicked to Derek's hand. The phone he was holding wasn't just new — it was one of the latest flagship models, sleek and gleaming in the afternoon sun. Logan knew how much those cost, and it wasn't the kind of thing someone like Derek should've been able to afford.
He also remembered the arguments — loud enough for the whole street to hear — when Derek demanded expensive clothes, shoes, or gadgets. His mother would try to explain, her voice cracking with frustration, that she simply didn't have that kind of money. But Derek never cared.
He loved to show off. That was the kind of person he was. Even if it meant pushing his struggling mother deeper and deeper into debt, he'd chase that fleeting feeling of superiority whenever he flashed something expensive in front of others.
Logan's jaw tightened slightly. Derek wasn't just a brat — he was a brat who didn't realize how much damage he was doing to the only person still trying to take care of him.
As Derek walked off toward the main road, chattering into his phone, Logan stood there quietly for a moment. The Lamborghini was parked just far enough away that Derek wouldn't see it. For now, Logan intended to keep it that way.
---
Logan watched Derek jog off toward the corner, his laughter mixing with the rowdy voices of the boys waiting for him. The new, glossy phone was still fresh in Logan's mind—its reflective screen catching the sunlight like it had something to prove. He shook his head. That kind of thing didn't just appear in Derek's hands without a price, and Logan had a strong feeling he knew who was paying it.
A faint creak pulled his attention toward the small, weathered house next door. The paint was peeling in strips, revealing the tired wood beneath, and the front steps sagged under the weight of time. Standing in the doorway was a woman in her late-thirties . She was the mother of Derek Collins, Her name was Linda Collins. She had given birth to Derek when she was 20 years old. Now she was 38 years old. But her face was still very beautiful and she looked like a 30 year old women
She is a very beautiful woman
She was a women with a huge pair of breast, slender waist and a plump ass. She was a beautiful milf
Logan actually used to masterbate thinking about Linda
"Sorry about Derek," she said with a weary half-smile. "He can be… impulsive."
Logan shook his head slightly. "It's fine, Mrs. Collins."
" Its time for me use the kills the system has granted me" Logan thought in his mind with a perverted grin