I sprawled out on the carpet, head dangling off the edge, staring at the upside-down ceiling of this insane hotel room. My head was pounding, which I took as a positive sign. Maybe, if I lay here long enough and let the blood pool, I'd get a nosebleed. It felt like the logical next step in what had become a truly bizarre chain of events.
I'd be lying if I said this place wasn't impressive. It was obnoxious, sure—plush carpet, silk sheets, bathroom counters lined with tiny, overpriced bottles of cologne that smelled like a luxury ad. The giant TV was basically the size of a small theater screen. And it was all supposed to make you feel like you were living the high life, like you'd made it. But to me? It was just a neon sign screaming Wrong Guy. Like, who actually lives like this? I felt more out of place than that one time I accidentally walked into the VIP section at a concert.
I shut my eyes tight, ignoring the rising headache. And finally, after what felt like ages, I felt a faint trickle of warm blood sliding down my nose. Perfect. I wiped it off with the back of my hand, "Achievement unlocked: Nervous Breakdown in a Five-Star Suite." Yeah, I was really living the dream.
I stumbled up onto my feet, half-dizzy, and flopped onto the bed. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, my eyes going straight to the bank app. The money was still there. A crazy amount of money. Just…sitting there, waiting to be spent. What a twisted joke. I laughed to myself. Here I was, in some stranger's life, a janitor in a freaking palace, like I was about to be handed an Oscar for Most Out of Place Human Being.
"I am officially the god of madness," I muttered. "A thousand bucks down, and they just let me rent this place." The kind of place people with rich fathers and expensive watches stayed in. The kind of place where people said "darling" instead of "babe" and drank champagne instead of whatever you call those vodka-cranberry things I'd been chugging last night.
A chime snapped me out of my self-pity. I glanced down at my phone, half expecting a text. But who was gonna text me now? A Nigerian prince with a very compelling financial offer?
Nope. Another notification from the "Ascendant Pathway" system.
Task: "Live Like a King"
Spend $50,000 in a Day
Reward: $500,000
I almost dropped my phone right on top of my half broken face. Sure, yeah, no problem. Why not. I'll just go buy myself a fleet of gold-plated Roombas and a private island.
But hey, I could get started, right? I mean, I took one look at my stained, sweat-soaked T-shirt and jeans, and it was clear: this outfit was more of a "drunkard in the street" vibe than "man of wealth and taste." My clothes were still plastered in last night's battle scars—booze, blood, maybe some other mysterious stains best left unidentified. I looked like someone who had wandered in off the street to ask for directions to a pawn shop.
If they wanted me to live like a king, I probably had to look like I belonged here. At least get a shirt that hadn't seen five years of emotional support duty.
I kicked off my old sneakers and took in the hotel bathroom. It was bigger than my entire apartment—scratch that, it was bigger than my apartment and my mom's place back when she was still around. The shower had, like, three different showerheads, all positioned to drench you from every angle. Who even needs that much water? Still, I wasn't going to pass up the chance to scrub off last night's questionable decisions.
I cranked up the shower, and the water pressure felt like a massage. I closed my eyes, just letting the steam clear my head, all the grime of the past day swirling down the drain. A clean slate—or as close as I was going to get, anyway. Afterward, I grabbed one of the fluffy white towels (not sure if it was actual cloud material, but it sure felt like it) and dried off. And then I spotted the shelf of cologne bottles lined up like soldiers on parade. I'd never actually owned cologne before. What did I know? So, I grabbed the fanciest-looking one, sprayed a cloud of it, and walked through. I smelled… expensive.
Now, I didn't have a change of clothes. Still rocking the hoodie and jeans from yesterday, but I figured I could make do for now. So I stuffed the cologne bottle in my hoodie pocket. They wouldn't miss it, right? It's just one tiny bottle in a place that probably had a vault full of the stuff. Plus, old habits die hard.
I strolled out of the hotel, the bellboy eyeing me up and down, probably thinking I was some kind of freeloader. I mean, yeah, technically, he was right, but he didn't have to look so judgmental about it. I shot him a little nod as I left. Nothing to see here, buddy, just a guy with a stolen bottle of cologne and enough cash to buy this entire lobby.
It was mid-morning now, and the sun felt blinding after spending half the day lying half-dazed in my VIP suite. For a second, I had no idea where to go. I mean, I was holding the world's weirdest treasure map, and the "X" was marked at $50,000. That's a lot of zeroes, and I wasn't exactly well-versed in high society spending.
I glanced around, trying to get my bearings, then flagged down a cab. "Take me to the mall," I told the driver. Not the usual flea market or thrift store I haunted, but an actual department store—the kind of place where everything comes in a box and costs more than my rent. Normally, I'd go straight to the clearance section, find something that was at least mostly clean, and cross my fingers that it wouldn't fall apart after a wash. But today, I had a "mission."
The cab dropped me off in front of the mall, and I stepped into the biggest, most air-conditioned department store I'd ever seen. My footsteps echoed off the polished marble floors as I wandered aimlessly, catching glimpses of a hundred different items I'd never actually dared to look at before. A clerk gave me a suspicious look, probably trying to decide if I was about to commit a crime. Little did he know my "crime" was spending more money than I'd ever earned in a month on whatever fancy stuff rich people buy. I ignored him, squinting around like a kid lost in Disneyland.
Eventually, I spotted a rack of plain T-shirts. Not the cheap three-packs I was used to, but the premium, brand-name stuff, the kind of shirt that costs as much as a week's groceries. I grabbed one—black, plain, no logo—and checked the tag. Forty bucks for a plain tee? Absurd. But I threw it over my shoulder anyway, not about to walk away from my "mission" just because a shirt cost the price of dinner.
I took it to the fitting room, half-expecting it to feel like every other shirt I'd ever tried on. But… oh man. The moment it touched my skin, I understood the hype. It was soft. Really soft. Not that stiff, scratchy stuff I was used to, the kind that had me scratching my arms all day. No, this was… luxury. I smoothed it over my chest, staring at myself in the mirror.
For once, I didn't look like I'd just rolled out of bed. I looked… comfortable. Presentable. Maybe even a little stylish? I laughed, realizing I could buy seven of these—one for every day of the week—and never have to worry about pulling on a worn-out, stretched-out old shirt again.
I didn't stop there. I bought a couple more shirts, each softer than the last, in every color they had. Then I grabbed a pair of jeans that actually fit, and a pair of shoes that weren't scuffed beyond recognition. When I reached the checkout counter, the clerk rang everything up with this faint look of disbelief. Maybe she didn't think I'd actually pay for it all. But when I handed her my card, she swiped it, and that beautiful, blessed approved beeped.
Walking out of there, shopping bags swinging from my hands, I felt lighter. Better. Like I could take on the world—or at least, the rest of this insane, extravagant "mission."