"What the fuck do you mean the Owner’s Private Lounge is booked? I checked with your staff before coming here. Are you guys playing with me?"
Julian couldn’t have been older than seventeen, yet he spoke to the club manager with the unearned confidence of someone who had never heard the word no. He wore a tailored, unbuttoned silk shirt, and a smirk that screamed second-generation wealth. Behind him trailed eight of his classmates. All heirs to various corporate empires, shipping magnates, and political dynasties. They were loud, already half-drunk on expensive champagne, and looking for trouble.
Arthur, the manager, felt a cold bead of sweat track down his neck. He knew exactly who Julian was: a descendant of the Spawn Summoner Clan, the Reinfields, who practically owned the city’s dungeon board.
"Sir, you should have booked it or at least made a reservation then. One of our Excelsior members has just booked the Owner’s Private Lounge, so unfortunately, it is no longer available. Since your party is already here, perhaps I could arrange one of our presidential suites instead."
"Who the fuck do you think I am?" Julian snapped. "Give the presidential suite to your other member. Today, I’m celebrating contracting my first Spawn, and I’m doing it in the Owner’s Private Lounge."
He pointed toward the corridor leading to the exclusive lounge.
"What are you guys waiting for? Kick the door in and let’s party!"
"Sir, no, you can’t—"
"Yeah!"
"Whoa-ho!"
"Let’s go!"
His friends immediately cheered, their voices echoing through the lobby.
The club employees exchanged nervous glances.
This wasn’t some ordinary rich kid throwing a tantrum. Even though his family was only a branch of the world renowned Reinfield Clan, they practically ran a fifth of the country. Refusing him outright could create serious trouble for the club, but allowing him to force his way into a lounge reserved by another Excelsior member could be just as disastrous.
The staff were caught between two very expensive rocks, but they followed protocol rather than caving to pressure from the unreasonable group.
Under Mabel’s lead, I arrived just in time to catch the commotion.
These were exactly the kind of teenagers I’d only ever seen in teen movies and dramas.
They were beautiful, stylish, and absurdly well-dressed. Every one of them looked like they had stepped straight out of a luxury fashion advertisement, dressed from head to toe in expensive designer brands. The boys were fit and impeccably groomed, while the girls were gorgeous, polished, and sparkling with jewelry.
For a moment, I simply stared.
I’d always fantasized about having a group of friends like this, going out together and doing stupid shit, whenever I watched a good high school drama.
Unfortunately, most of the kids at the schools my alternate self and I had attended were more like genetic lottery rejects. Some were so obese their chairs creaked, some were a few inches shy of being categorised as dwarfs, some wore glasses so large they practically covered half their faces, and some were so skinny that a strong gust of wind could probably carry them away.
It wasn’t exactly a genetic cesspool, but the attractive and physically gifted kids were definitely the exceptions, especially when their poor budget limited their choice of fashion and makeup.
And because the supply of genuinely attractive kids was so limited, the social dynamics within those groups were always skewed. The few who stood out naturally became the center of attention, while everyone else fought for a place somewhere around them.
Looking at the group in front of me, I finally had to admit that those teen dramas weren’t entirely fiction.
However, for reasons I couldn’t explain, my first instinct was to hate them. I shook my head thinking, ’Well, you learn something new about yourself every day.’
We made our way past the group toward the corridor leading to the exclusive lounge. The staff didn’t dare obstruct us, apparently deciding that whatever happened next was above their pay grade.
We were about to head into the corridor when the young man from earlier suddenly stepped in front of us.
"Are you the ones who booked my lounge?" he demanded. "I want it, so you’d better switch to a different one."
Mabel didn’t bother arguing with him. Instead, her sharp gaze locked onto the club manager.
The manager swallowed hard.
He knew exactly who Mabel represented. Smith & Holts was one of the nation’s leading law firms, and judging by the company she was keeping, she wasn’t here for an ordinary brunch. In this part of the city, it was practically impossible not to recognize someone like Mille Miles.
The manager was caught in an increasingly unpleasant predicament. On one side stood a wealthy and powerful young heir surrounded by friends from equally wealthy and powerful families. On the other stood the country’s most prestigious law firms accompanied by the country’s top private bank.
Before the manager could say a word, however, the young man blocking our path suddenly raised the champagne bottle in his hand.
Mabel’s eyes widened. He tipped the bottle over her head. A stream of expensive bubbly cascaded down her hair and face, soaking her clothes as the stunned lobby fell silent.
The young man lowered the empty bottle and stared at her with a smug grin.
"Now, do I have your attention?"