Ethan walked out of the store with his chest puffed up, feeling like for the first time in his life, he was someone worth looking at. His new jacket gleamed under the sun, and his reflection in the shop windows pulled a satisfied grin out of him.
"Alright, System…" he muttered, a mix of expectation and pride in his voice. "Where's my car?"
[What, you want it to pop up right here in front of everyone like some cheap circus trick? Don't be an idiot. It's parked a block away, in a side alley. Go pick it up.]
Ethan frowned. "An alley? What kind of shady delivery is this?"
[Be grateful I didn't make you sign paperwork like at a dealership. Go on, walk. I don't bite.]
Grumbling, Ethan turned the corner and walked to the alley the system had pointed out. There, under the shadow of an old building, waited the car: a BMW E30, 1990 model, metallic black paint with chrome details, and classic rims that looked freshly polished.
Ethan froze.
"What… what the hell is this?" he muttered, disappointed. "This looks like a junker dragged straight out of a scrapyard!"
[Junker… are you shitting me?]
The system sounded like it was about to burst out laughing.
[Do you even know how much this beauty costs in today's market, you ignorant caveman? We're talking tens of thousands of dollars if you sold it right. This classic is worth more than your pathetic life.]
Ethan stared in disbelief. "Tens of thousands… for this piece of junk that looks like an old taxi?"
[Junk, he says… HAHAHA. You have no clue, champ. With what's in your bank account right now, you couldn't even afford the tires on this car. Look at it—engine flawless, interior restored, the sound purring like a damn tiger. This is a gem, not an Uber.]
Ethan crossed his arms, still raising an eyebrow. "Well… it still looks like a divorced dad car."
[Aha. And yet it's a thousand times better than walking, isn't it? Get in already, I'm sick of your offended hobo face.]
Ethan sighed and walked up to the car. Resting his hand on the hood, he almost expected to feel rust, but instead found a smooth, cold, perfectly waxed surface. The paint gleamed like a mirror.
He stayed silent for a moment.
"…Maybe it's not that bad," he admitted with a snort.
[See? You fall in love easy. Same as with women. Just wait, this car will take you farther than your pathetic fashion sense ever could.]
Ethan rolled his eyes but couldn't stop smiling as he opened the door and sat in the driver's seat.
"Alright, old man. Let's see what you can do."
The engine roared to life with just a turn of the key, a deep, vibrant sound that sent shivers down Ethan's spine.
He drove out of the alley behind the wheel of the black BMW E30, grinning from ear to ear. The roar of the engine echoed through the narrow street, turning heads as pedestrians stopped to watch.
"Hahaha! Now this is living."
[Alert: an unemployed bum has just unlocked fake millionaire mode. Self-esteem level: 999.]
"Fuck you, system." Ethan turned the wheel with one hand, feeling how smoothly the car responded. "This drives like butter. It's… perfect."
[Perfect, he says. Ten minutes ago, you called it a junker. Good thing I actually know cars.]
"Alright, alright…" Ethan stroked the dashboard like the car could feel it. "Sorry for the insult, baby."
The system let out a mocking beep.
[For the record, this classic goes for at least 70,000 dollars at auctions. Even in its current condition, it could hit 120,000. You couldn't afford the tires.]
"Seventy… a hundred and twenty thousand?!" Ethan's eyes nearly popped. "For an old car? You sure you're not confusing it with a Lamborghini?"
[Old… says the caveman. It's a classic, champ. You wouldn't understand. Now shut up and drive before you crash it.]
Ethan slammed the accelerator and the BMW roared. The wind whipped at his face as he hit the wider avenues. For the first time in years, he felt free, powerful… like someone.
Until a thought hit him.
"Uh… wait. I don't have a license."
[Confirmed. You are currently driving a collectible classic illegally. Chance of getting arrested by the next patrol: 47%. Chance of ending up crying in a cell: 100%.]
"Shut up!"
The system clicked its tongue.
[Relax, champ. Just drive slow in the rich areas. Cops there ask how much money you have before arresting you.]
Ethan huffed, but he didn't slow down. If anything, he enjoyed the rush of slicing through the air at full speed.
A few minutes later, he turned onto a glitzy avenue, lined with jewelry stores, boutiques, and cafes where a single coffee probably cost more than his weekly groceries. Among them, one shop stood out with silver letters: "Imperium Style – Hair Couture."
The doors were tinted glass, and two receptionists in sleek black suits greeted each client like they were celebrities.
"Whoa…" Ethan ran a hand through his long, greasy hair, more bird's nest than hairstyle.
As if the system had read his mind, a notification popped up in front of his eyes.
[ACTIVE MISSION: Get Rid of That Hobo Mane]
[Objective: Get a haircut in a decent (or luxury) salon]
[Reward: 10,000 dollars]
Ethan frowned. "Ten grand… for a haircut?"
[Yep. Time to stop looking like Tarzan's long-lost cousin.]
"And how much is a cut in there?"
[Average: 1,000 dollars. The shampoo they use costs more than all your underwear combined.]
"A… thousand… for a haircut?" Ethan almost lost control of the wheel.
[Relax. It's not your money… well, it is, but it'll be reimbursed. Consider this an investment in not looking like a homeless guy with a borrowed car.]
Ethan let out a nervous laugh, steering the car toward the avenue and parking in front of the salon. The BMW gleamed under the sun, and for once, people looked at him with respect instead of disdain.
"Alright then…" he muttered, straightening his new jacket. "Time to stop looking like a bum on wheels."
[Finally, something smart out of your mouth. Go on, champ. Let them trim that jungle off your head.]