Chapter 14: THE NONPROFIT GALA
Rachel Kim's nonprofit held a fundraiser on the last Saturday of October.
I found out through a combination of strategic Googling and shameless social media stalking. The event was called "Pages of Hope: An Evening for Literacy," and it promised silent auctions, canapés, and the opportunity to "make a difference in the lives of underserved children."
More importantly, it promised Rachel.
I donated two hundred dollars to the cause—enough to secure a "VIP donor" invitation that could be transferred to a guest. The system helpfully informed me that this counted as a business expense, though I wasn't sure how the IRS would feel about "strategic romantic reconnaissance."
Janet arrived at the community center at 7:15 PM. I watched from across the street, positioned at a bus stop like a man with somewhere to be.
She looked terrified. The confident lawyer who had stared down a divorce and come out stronger was gone, replaced by a woman in a blue dress who kept checking her phone like she was waiting for permission to leave.
I texted her: "She's by the silent auction. Go."
Janet looked at her phone. Looked at the building. Took a breath so deep I could see it from across the street.
She went inside.
I gave it five minutes before following. The VIP donation had come with a plus-one option I hadn't used, but no one questioned a man in a decent jacket walking confidently through the door. I grabbed a glass of wine from a passing server, claimed a position near the coat check, and watched.
The community center had been transformed. White tablecloths. Candles. A live jazz trio playing something that sounded expensive. The silent auction items ranged from spa packages to signed books to a weekend at someone's Hamptons house.
And there, by the auction table, was Rachel Kim.
She was shorter than I'd expected—maybe five-four—with curly dark hair that kept escaping whatever style she'd attempted. She was talking animatedly with an older couple, gesturing with her wine glass, laughing at something they'd said.
Her string reached across the room toward Janet, pulsing with potential.
Janet approached. Hesitated. Almost turned back.
Rachel noticed her. Smiled. Said something welcoming.
And then they were talking.
I couldn't hear the words from this distance, but I could read the body language. Janet gestured too much—a nervous habit I'd noticed during her consultations. Rachel laughed. Not politely, not professionally—genuinely. The kind of laugh that made people nearby look over and smile.
They migrated to a quieter corner. Janet's posture relaxed. Rachel leaned in to hear something Janet was saying over the music.
Their strings brightened. Twisted toward each other. Not intertwined yet, but definitely reaching.
[Destined Pair Meeting Facilitated]
[Janet Reyes ↔ Rachel Kim: First Contact Established]
[+500 EXP]
[Current Status: Level 5 | EXP: 950/2500]
I let myself enjoy the moment. Janet was smiling—really smiling, the way people smile when they've forgotten to be nervous. Rachel kept touching her own hair, a subconscious signal I recognized from a dozen successful matches.
This was working.
My phone buzzed. And buzzed again. And again.
Mike.
"Been two weeks bro. What's the update."
"Is she hot at least."
"Hello?"
"😤😤😤"
I silenced my phone and tried to focus on Janet and Rachel, but the momentum was broken. Mike had been patient—relatively patient, for a twenty-eight-year-old software developer who had paid fifteen hundred dollars for a service I'd barely begun to deliver.
I owed him answers. I owed him a match.
I owed him Brittany Torres.
The thought sat heavy in my stomach. Sixty-one percent compatibility wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either. And the system's note about "high passion, high conflict" felt less like a warning and more like a prophecy.
Across the room, Janet was showing Rachel something on her phone. Rachel was leaning close to see, close enough that their shoulders touched.
At least someone's evening was going well.
I wandered toward the silent auction, partly to maintain cover and partly because I needed something to do with my hands. The items ranged from predictable (wine baskets, restaurant gift cards) to absurd (a "personalized poem written by local artist"). Near the end of the table, I found a basket of fancy soaps—lavender, eucalyptus, something called "mountain morning."
I wrote down a bid. Fifty dollars. The current highest was forty-five.
An hour later, when the auction closed, I'd won seventeen bars of lavender soap.
My apartment was going to smell like a spa. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
[Experience Threshold Reached]
[Level Up: 5 → 6]
[New Ability Unlocked: Dealbreaker Detection (Surface)]
[Dealbreaker Detection: Host can identify surface-level compatibility issues. Warning: Deep dealbreakers require higher skill levels.]
[FP Maximum Increased: 150 → 175]
[Current Status: Level 6 | EXP: 0/3000 | FP: 85/175]
The level-up hit while I was carrying my soap basket to the coat check. A warm pulse through my chest, a moment of clarity that made the strings around me sharpen into focus.
Dealbreaker Detection. The ability to see the surface-level problems that could tank a relationship before it started.
I thought about Brittany Torres. About her chronic lateness and financial instability and Mercury-retrograde-based decision making.
Tomorrow, I'd use this new ability properly. I'd scout her again, document everything, and then I'd have the conversation with Mike that I'd been avoiding.
Tonight, I'd let Janet have her moment.
She and Rachel were exchanging phones now—entering numbers, the universal sign of a successful first meeting. Janet's string was brighter than I'd ever seen it.
Worth it, I thought. This is worth it.
I collected my soap, tipped the coat check girl, and headed home.
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