As they left the Economics building, the afternoon sun bathed the campus in a golden glow.
Victoria, moving with the natural authority of someone who had always been in charge, headed toward the university parking lot.
“I know a design district downtown.” she announced as a sleek black car pulled up in front of them.
“We can start there.”
She opened the door, and just as she was about to give the driver the address, Max interrupted her with a calm that caught her off guard.
“Sorry, change of plans.” He leaned forward and gave the driver an address in a part of the city Victoria didn’t even know existed.
“Take us to Silversmith Street, please.”
Victoria leaned back against the leather seat, eyeing him with a mix of annoyance and curiosity.
“Where on earth are we going?
Are we shopping at a flea market?” Her tone was sharp and condescending.
Max simply smiled—an enigmatic expression that revealed nothing.
“Patience.
Think of this as a free business lesson.”
The taxi left the wide, modern avenues surrounding the university and entered a labyrinth of narrower, older streets.
Glass buildings gave way to stone facades and wrought-iron balconies.
When the car came to a stop, Victoria looked out the window with evident distrust.
Silversmith Street was cobbled and smelled like history—damp stone and fresh bread from a nearby bakery.
“And how do you know there’s anything worth having around here?” she asked, taking care not to brush her dress against the car door.
“I have a good connection,” Max replied evasively.
“Someone who owed me a favor.”
His mind briefly flashed back to the morning after the World Cup final.
Mr.
Morales, the residence manager, had greeted him with a euphoria bordering on worship.
He had told him, laughing, how he’d won enough to pay for his car repairs and take his wife out for a luxury dinner.
“If you ever need anything, kid—anything at all—just say the word,” he had promised.
Max, thinking fast, had responded: “Actually, I do.
I need to furnish my room, but I’m looking for quality without paying ‘brand-new’ prices.” Morales’s face had lit up.
“My uncle, Old Elias!
He has an antique shop on Silversmith Street.
He’s got real treasures.
Tell him you’re with me.
He’ll treat you right.”
He guided Victoria to an unpretentious shop with a dark wood facade and a hand-carved sign that read: “Morales’ Antiques & Curiosities.”
As they entered, a bell chimed.
The interior was a chaotic but fascinating labyrinth.
The air smelled of beeswax and old paper.
Within the clutter, Victoria’s trained eyes began to spot the gems.
A solid mahogany desk, a pair of leather armchairs with a vintage luster, a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, covered in a fine layer of dust.
Max moved with purpose, ignoring the flashy items and focusing on structural quality and the sturdiness of the joints.
Initially, Victoria kept her distance, as if fearing the dust might contaminate her aura of privilege.
“That mirror,” she whispered, pointing to a piece on the wall.
“The frame is genuine silver.
And that rug is Persian, though it’s dirty.”
A strange synergy formed between them: Max’s pragmatism and Victoria’s expert eye.
They didn’t just pick out the mahogany desk and the oak bookshelf; Victoria insisted on a bed with a carved wooden headboard that, despite a small nick in one corner, was infinitely superior to the one that came with the room.
They added a sturdy leather office chair, despite a discrete scratch, and an elegant brass reading lamp.
An older man with thick glasses and craftsman’s hands emerged from the back room.
It was Elias Morales.
“Good eye, young people,” he said, evaluating their selection.
With a pencil, he scribbled some numbers on a notepad.
“Let’s see…
the desk, the bed, the bookshelf, the chair, and the lamp…
all top quality.
Back in the day, this set brand new wouldn’t have gone for less than $8,000.” He made a dramatic pause.
“But given the age of these pieces, I’ll give you a special price.
$3,500.”
Victoria prepared to watch Max accept.
It was, objectively, a good deal.
But Max smiled.
“Your nephew, Javier, sent me,” he said calmly.
“He told me you’d treat me right.”
Elias’s expression changed completely.
The mask of the shrewd businessman vanished, replaced by genuine warmth.
“So you’re the young football wizard?
Javier hasn’t stopped talking about you!
A real oracle!” He laughed—a raspy, pleasant sound.
“In that case, let’s forget the ‘special price’ and talk about the ‘friend’s price.'”
He went back to his notepad.
“The desk has a slight wobble, but a bit of felt will fix it.
The bed, that dent in the corner…
and the chair, the scratch.
Let’s be honest…” Subtly activating his [Persuasive Voice], Max intervened: “I’m looking for a fair price that leaves us both happy, Elias.
The start of a good business relationship.”
Elias looked at him, nodding slowly, influenced by Max’s reasonable tone and confidence.
“You’re right, son.
A fair deal.” He drew a line through the previous number.
“For the whole lot, for my nephew’s friend…
And I can’t go a penny lower.”
Max extended his hand.
“Deal.”
He processed the transfer on his phone.
His balance, which stood at $5,060 after the investment, now dropped drastically.
[Expense: -$1,800]
[Previous Balance: $5,060]
[Current Balance: $3,260]
He paid, gave the dorm address for delivery, and sealed the agreement with a firm handshake.
Back on the cobbled street, as the sun began to dip, Victoria finally asked the question that was eating at her.
“Why?” she asked, her voice stripped of its usual irony.
“You got an incredible deal, sure.
But you just spent nearly two thousand dollars on second-hand furniture.
You could have bought something new and decent for that.”
Max stopped and looked at her, his expression serious.
“Because this place doesn’t sell furniture, Victoria.
It sells assets.
We just bought a lot of furniture that is worth, conservatively, $6,000 or $7,000.
I paid $1,800.
Do you see the difference?”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“I don’t own my room; I rent it.
It makes no sense to spend money on new furniture that will lose half its value the moment it leaves the store.
These…” he gestured toward the shop, “…I’ll use while I’m here.
And when I leave, I’ll sell them.
And I’ll almost certainly turn a profit on them.
Never buy a liability when you can buy an asset.”
Victoria stood in absolute silence, processing it.
Her brain, accustomed to thinking in terms of brands, status, and luxury, was struggling to assimilate such a raw, pragmatic philosophy.
It wasn’t stinginess; it was pure strategy.
The mentality of someone who builds an empire from the ground up, not someone who inherits it.
In that moment, she felt a completely new kind of respect for him—deeper than what his strange ability to predict the future had inspired.
“I’m hungry,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Her voice was different, softer.
“I know a place.
My treat.”
It wasn’t a queen’s command, nor a player’s proposition.
It was a genuine invitation, as equals.
Max nodded, and they walked off together down the historic street, the dynamic between them now permanently altered.