For the next two days— Wednesday and Thursday. Drake settled into a routine. He would wake up at 6 AM, make instant coffee with the cheap drip machine he bought, and spend most of his morning analyzing markets with the system's guidance. He made small, safe trades — not as wild as the Helix investment trade—just little trades that were steady enough for him to earn about $400 more to his account.
But he still kept most of his focus on the coming gala event.
The system had provided a new feature for him: [Conversation - Simulator].
Drake turned it on, the system acted like another person and practiced social situations with him. It corrected him whenever he sounded weak or unsure.
[ "You're at a networking event. A venture capitalist asks what you do. How would you respond." ]
"I'm... an investor?" Drake said.
[ "Weak. You are not confident, and your voice sounded unsure. Try again." ]
"I'm an independent investor focused on high-growth opportunities," He said again, straighter this time.
[ "Better. But keep eye contact and talk 15% slower. Speaking slowly shows more confidence." ]
Hour after hour, Drake practiced. How to introduce himself. How to ask questions that showed interest without seeming desperate. How to exit conversations gracefully. The system was a harsh coach that pointed out every small mistake like every time he said "um," and every moment he lost eye contact.
On the fourth day, Drake took a bus downtown and walked past the Harrington Grand Hotel, just to see it with his own eyes. The building was huger than it looked on the website, the wall of the building was covered in marble and shiny brass making it look extremely luxurious. He could see a doorman standing at the front of the hotel wearing a uniform that probably cost more than Drake's house rent. Through the tall glass windows, he saw a massive chandelier hanging above the lobby casting soft, warm light.
His stomach tightened.
He felt like he didn't belong anywhere near this place.
He got to a formal wear rental shop which was located In the rich part of downtown — an area where the coffee shops had fancy Italian names, with their parking meters only accepting Credit cards. Drake had found the shop online. It specialized in renting expensive suits for special events. it was the main reason why he decided to come down town, not because he wants to see the Harrington Grant hotel with his eyes, but because he needed to get something fancy to wear to the tomorrow gala.
When Drake walked into the shop, a small bell rang above the door. Inside, everything looked expensive. Dark wooden shelves, soft warm lights, and tuxedos displayed like museum pieces. Classical music even played quietly from hidden speakers.
A man came out from the back room. He looked around forty years old, with perfectly styled hair and a suit that fit his body so well it looked painted on. His eyes traveled from Drake's old, worn-out sneakers all the way up to his wrinkled jacket in just two seconds. His smile tightened a little, as if he wished someone richer had walked in.
"Welcome to Ashford formal," He said in a tone that suggested Drake had wandered into the wrong shop. "Are you... Looking for something specific?"
"I need a tuxedo for tomorrow night," Drake said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Something fancy for the Apex Elite Gala."
The man's eyebrows rose slightly. "The Apex Elite Gala I see. "His tone showed he didn't think Drake belonged there. " Our rental packages for that level of event start at $400."
Drake felt heat rise in his cheeks but forced himself to maintain eye contact, just like the system thought him—confidence matter more than anything. If you show weakness, people will dismiss you as just another common nobody.
"That's fine," Drake said evenly. "I'd like to see what you have available."
The man—his name tag read"Mr. Jeffrey—studied Drake for one more second, before giving him a slight nod. "Of course. Right this way."
Jeffrey guided him toward a row of midnight-black tuxedos, pulling options with the smooth confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times. Drake tried on four jackets before one finally fit across his shoulders. Throughout the entire time, Jeffrey narrated the process with the kind of advice that sounded useful at first—until you caught the subtle edge beneath it.
"This is Hugo Boss, an excellent choice for first-time formal wear users."
"The cufflinks are included, though I recommend you practice putting them on before tomorrow."
"And do try not to spill anything on the jacket—the cleaning fees can be substantial."
Drake held back from answering any of the small insults. He picked the full package: tuxedo, dress shirt, bow tie, cummerbund, shoes, and cufflinks. When Jeffrey entered everything into the register, the total came to $550.
"That will be $350," he said. We will need a credit card on file for the deposit. "And of course, everything must be returned by Monday morning in the same condition."
Drake handed over his debit card, watching another chunk of his money vanish. He was down to roughly $5,050 plus the system credit and the $400 he made in the past four days now. The pile of money he'd built has already shrinked down.
Jeffrey finished with the payment and handed Drake a long black garment bag. "The gala is quite an event. I hope you... enjoy yourself." Jeffrey said as Drake walked through the door.
***
Back in his apartment, Drake hung the tuxedo on the back of his door and just stared at it. By tomorrow evening, he would be wearing that while walking into a ballroom full of millionaires and powerful people—pretending he belonged in their world.
The system interface activated:
[ Attire Acquired. Next phase— strategic preparation ]
[ Uploading attendees Profiles ]
A list appeared, showing names, photos, and short descriptions of important people expected to be at the gala. Three profiles were highlighted in red:
[ RICHARD HALE — founder and CEO of Hale industries. Tech billionaire worth $4.2 billion. Famous for investing in unusual ideas. Recently showed interest in AI for financial come market.
SENATOR JAMES LAPIS — A three-term senator and current chair of the Financial Services Committee. Holds significant sway in national economic policy circles. Quiet rumors suggest he may be thinking about running for president.
Stacey LAPIS — the senator's 22-year-old daughter. Has an MBA from Wharton. Currently running her own venture capital company, lapis capital. Known for bold investments and identifying future markets early. ]
[ Objective—Make meaningful connection with all threw targets ]
Drake spent the rest of the evening researching all three targets.
He read every article he could find about Richard Hale. How the man rose from a middle-class family to becoming a giant in the tech Industry, His ideas on innovation, and his recent move in the AI space. Drake watched interview after interview, studying how Hale talked, how he moved and how he thinks.
Senator James lapis was trickier. Politicians were trained to say a lot without revealing anything. But Drake found one article from six months ago that mentioned the senator loved vintage cars and worried about weakness in the country's financial regulations.
Why Stacey lapis Was interesting. She'd made headlines two years ago by turning a 5 million inheritance into $50 million with daring investments in cryptocurrency and biotech. She gave speeches about "disruptive patience"—knowing when to wait and when to take action. In every photo, she always looked calm and composed, with dark eyes that seemed to analyze everyone around her.
Drake opened the system's conversation simulator again. realizing the target his dealing with, are really high potential figures.
["You're at the gala. Richard Hale is standing near the bar. How do you approach him?"]
Drake took a deep breath. "Mr Hale, I've been following your work in AI integration. I'm particularly interested in your comments about market prediction."
[ Acceptable opening. But do not start with praise. It signals lower status. Try again ]
"Mr. Hale, Drake said, trying one more time, " I saw your interview last month on AI in financial markets. You mentioned that many models ignore the human psychology element. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts on that."
[ much better, you showed knowledge and invite real conversation. Maintain eye contact. Stand with shoulders back. ]
Drake practiced until his head hurt. One scenario after another. One mistake after another. The system never got tired—it caught everything. Every shaky word, every nervous gesture he made and every time he glanced at the floor.
He practiced his handshake in the old rusty mirror in his apartment—firm but not aggressive, accompanied by eye contact and a slight nod. He also practiced standing with good posture until his back hurt. He practiced speaking more slowly, projecting his voice from his chest instead of his throat.
By midnight, he was exhausted.
[ Progress—social competency + 3 ]
[ Days until event remaining—tomorrow evening ]
Drake sank onto the bare mattress on the floor, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The apartment was quiet except for the metal sound of the old radiator and the distant blur of cars passing by.
In just few hours from now he would transform himself from Drake Wayne—the guy who once delivered pizza and slept on a friend's dirty couch, into someone who would walk into a ballroom full of billionaires...and convince them he is worth their time.
The system interface glowed softly at the edge of his vision:
[ Remember. Confidence comes from preparation. You are ready ]