My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 5: Decisions

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Armani," the female sales associate said, offering a slight bow as Liam entered the store.

The sleek interior sparkled beneath gentle illumination. The atmosphere carried fragrances of perfume, extravagance, and understated poise.

Liam spoke without pause. "Please bring me some outfits, footwear, and essential accessories. I prefer something straightforward. My limit is $30,000."

The associate's eyebrows rose subtly, her trained smile remaining intact. "Certainly. Kindly come with me, sir."

She pivoted and guided him to a secluded lounge area, reserved for patrons of notable standing.

***

Within, Liam settled into a soft, ivory armchair, browsing his device while he waited. His attention drifted away from feeds or clips. Instead, it lingered on what lay ahead.

He possessed a system now—a enigmatic force vowing to elevate him to unparalleled strength and fortune. Truth be told, he harbored no intentions of pursuing lofty goals. Not immediately.

Over the last four years, as peers his age reveled and fantasized, Liam drowned in endless shifts and grueling tasks. He toiled amid illness, endured starvation for rest, and merely survived rather than thrived. Each dollar gained slipped away on expenses, debts, and the burdens his parents had discarded upon him carelessly.

At last, he could draw breath.

At last, he could truly exist.

And for the moment, that sufficed.

If the system aims to forge me into a powerhouse, so be it. But right now... I'm savoring this journey. For the first time, I'll allow ease to flow into my days.

His reverie broke as the associate reappeared, her arms laden with carefully picked items. With expert poise, she arranged the garments, shoes, and add-ons.

"These selections fit your budget and preferences. Please share your thoughts."

Liam examined the orderly display—custom-fitted suits, upscale casual attire, artisanal leather footwear, timepieces, straps. All in subdued shades. Sharp lines. No ostentation, yet each piece radiated affluence.

"I'll purchase everything," he declared.

"Of course. I'll handle the wrapping and the payment device."

Moments later, with bags clutched, Liam exited the shop. He unlocked his crimson Maserati GranTurismo, flung the bags onto the adjacent seat, and eased into the driver's position. The supple hide embraced him like royalty. He ignited the motor and headed back to his luxury apartment in Palm Ville Estate.

***

Returning to the penthouse, Liam headed directly to his sleeping quarters. He set the purchase bags on the mattress, shed his current attire, and entered the tiled lavatory.

Hot streams cascaded upon him, cleansing far beyond grime. It seemed to scour away every harsh recollection, every lingering debt, every slight, every declaration that he'd never succeed.

Following the soak, he slipped into a fresh ensemble—a deep blue button-up shirt secured into pale gray trousers, matched with polished ebony leather boots and a coordinating strap. He selected a plain silver timepiece to finish it off.

Facing the towering mirror near the wardrobe, he halted.

The image staring back nearly jolted him.

At eighteen, his cropped black locks were tidily swept aside. His features weren't strikingly attractive, but they held a refined, spotless quality. His sea-blue gaze, once dimmed by fatigue, now gleamed with clarity and vigor.

His frame remained lean and weary, though transformation loomed near.

Regarding the fresh wardrobe? It clung ideally, accentuating his slender build with exactness. He appeared sophisticated, prosperous, and competent.

It proved difficult to accept he was identical to the fellow who'd, only a day prior, scrubbed plates and endured shouts from patrons.

"It's true what they say," Liam murmured. "Clothes really do maketh the man."

He collected his outdated garments—frayed, ripped, and soiled—and discarded them into the bin.

He refused to revert to that self.

Nevermore.

***

Liam entered the lounge area, intending to recline on the couch and view a film. As he stretched for the controller, his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the display.

It showed his previous employer—the very individual who'd dismissed him earlier that day.

Liam regarded the contact briefly, then hit the lock and set the device screen-down on the seat. He had no desire for any justification or barb the fellow might unleash.

Rather, he browsed the video choices and selected an arbitrary thriller. The resounding shots and blasts from the display oddly calmed him.

Time slipped by. The sun sank past the skyline. The urban vista twinkled via the high-rise panes.

When Liam switched off the screen, night had deepened beyond 9 p.m. He retrieved his phone once more and inspected it—seven unanswered rings and three texts, all from his old superior.

He accessed the notes. Predictably, they blended apologies with subtle blames.

"We can't process your severance now. Business has been terrible. Especially after what happened with that woman. She's threatened legal action."

"You shouldn't have said what you did. You know the rules. Don't make this harder than it already is."

Liam let out a wry laugh.

He hadn't anticipated getting the funds regardless, but the manner in which the man contorted events to pin blame on him still stirred his ire.

Nearly twelve months laboring beneath that spiteful despot. Constantly treading carefully. Frequently seeing wages slashed over trivial "violations." Perpetually facing termination threats as if a blade dangled above.

A sour reminiscence emerged—his manager once slashing his earnings in half over a patron's gripe that his grin wasn't "warm enough."

Liam clenched the device firmly.

He breathed in.

Breathed out.

And flung the phone back onto the couch.

Release it, he urged inwardly. He merits none of your rage anymore.

If he pursued vengeance against all who'd exploited or trodden upon him, his days would waste away pursuing phantoms.

That wasn't existence.

That formed another cage.

Yet concerning his parents?

Forgiveness eluded him entirely.

Not presently. Not in eternity.

---

The following dawn, Liam arose invigorated. Rays of sun flooded the penthouse via the expansive glazed walls.

The system's routine check-in remained absent, yet Liam eagerly awaited the forthcoming prize.

After a swift rinse, he donned yet another novel set—crisp white trainers, narrow black denim, a snug gray collared top, and a fresh ebony hide billfold in his rear pouch.

He aimed to gather provisions today. It could seem peculiar to others—why prepare meals when delivery sufficed? Yet Liam had long yearned to prepare in a splendid galley, unlike the tight, risky nook he'd formerly leased.

The lift descended steadily, quietly. Serenity enveloped him.

However, when the doors parted, he froze at the sight of a figure positioned right outside.

A known visage.

Belonging to Stacy.