It was a fantastic morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping like they'd just signed a music label deal, and Esha? She was humming along like a Disney princess in her opening number.
The reason for her good mood? Alana was moving in.
It wasn't just about finally having her best friend under the same luxury roof. Esha had done the math: Alana was a phenomenal chef, and Esha was tired of chewing through her soul every time she ate her own cooking—or worse, the $20 sad excuse of takeout that looked like regret in a box.
If Alana cooked, Esha could subtract rent. It was, in her humble opinion, a win-win. Or at least a win-Esha.
So, determined to make the apartment feel like a proper home, she decided to do something she hadn't done since childhood.
Buy groceries.
Her building, a luxury tower nestled among D City's elite, had everything within reach—concierge, spa, gym, a rooftop café that charged extra for air, and yes, a boutique grocery store. Fancy, convenient, and criminally overpriced.
Stepping into it felt like being a deer in designer headlights. Esha winced at the price tags like they were personal attacks. Avocados: ₹900/kg. Organic quinoa that looked suspiciously like birdseed: ₹1,400. Tomatoes: probably harvested by unicorns.
But she braved it. For food. For Alana. For survival.
Just as she was trying to convince herself that cabbage was worth sacrificing her future financial stability, she noticed him.
A man so handsome, the air around him shimmered with what could only be described as divine lighting. He wore casual clothes, but they did not wear him. His dark hair fell in artful waves, his brooding gray eyes scanned the store like he was hunting threats (or overpriced yogurt), and his posture screamed "I own three yachts but don't talk about it."
Esha nearly dropped a can of beans.
"System," she hissed under her breath. "If he wore one of the outfits I replicated, I'd get full marks. My ideas aren't the problem—you are!"
"Host, please refrain from projecting your low engagement onto me," the System replied with the voice of a smug librarian. "Human beings are visual creatures. It's not my fault you lack visual appeal for the top-tier demographic."
"You're such a know-it-all. It's like having an older sibling who never shuts up."
"Thank you."
She kept muttering complaints, not realizing the Adonis with the eight-pack had actually noticed her.
He was Xavier Salazar.
The youngest of the Salazars.
Leo's mysterious little uncle.
And the very same person who'd gifted her $100,000.
Since childhood, Xavier had known he was good-looking—and he was used to the attention that followed him. But today, when he felt someone watching him, he was surprised by what he saw.
There was a girl. Eyes wide, face stunned—not with desire or calculation, but with pure admiration.
He was used to schemers. Opportunists. People who always wanted something. But this girl... looked like she was just wondering whether his abs had abs.
Then, he realized—this was the girl who had saved Leo.
His curiosity grew.
At first, when he'd heard the story of her rescuing his nephew, he had been suspicious. But his family had reassured him—she was clean. Just happened to be there at the right time.
Now, watching her argue with herself over soap prices and wince while swiping her card like she was donating a kidney... he was convinced.
She wasn't smart enough to scheme her way into the Salazar circle.
Which made her... interesting.
Esha, unaware that she'd just been tagged as "interesting" by one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, sulked her way back home, dramatically cradling the grocery bag like it was her last possession on Earth.
"Why is good food so expensive..." she whined, dragging her feet.
Then, the system chimed.
System Alert: "Congratulations! Like Points received. Hidden task completed."
"Hidden task? What hidden task?!"
System: "A high-potential character liked your outfit. You are rewarded with the skill: Level Two Replication—two outfits per day now unlocked."
"...System, can you please identify the 'hidden boss' so I can conveniently bump into him again whenever I have a mission?"
System: "No. Due to Host's procrastinating habits, System will no longer identify potential characters unless higher levels are achieved."
Esha scowled.
Her system had more attitude than her high school Chemistry teacher.
"Fine. Whatever. I'm going to go force Alana to cook me something spicy to burn off my frustration."
⸻
When Alana arrived, she came not with a suitcase, but with suitcases. Plural.
Two men from the moving company struggled behind her, mumbling about her "entire closet, kitchen, and personality being in these bags." Alana just smiled sweetly.
"I didn't pack. My mom did. She thought if I lingered too long, I'd cry and change my mind."
"Did you?" Esha asked.
"Nope. But she cried enough for both of us."
Alana's relationship with her parents was complicated. Her mother was a soft-spoken chaos engine, and her father was a corporate typhoon with a heart two sizes too small.
Lucas, her brother at sixteen, had cheered her departure like it was a festival.
"Enjoy homelessness, sis!" he'd yelled.
"Enjoy it yourself in two years!" she'd replied smugly, flipping her hair and walking out like a drama queen.
Despite the banter, Alana loved her family. She just didn't love living under the same roof as them and their twenty-two rules for 'post-college independence.'
Esha had arranged for a luxury moving service. It was her first time using it too.
She and Alana stood frozen in awe as a small army of workers, directed by a butler named Domo, set up Alana's entire room in under an hour.
"Wow," Alana whispered.
"Is this what being rich feels like?" Esha said. "No sweat? No arguments about where the lamp goes? Just perfection delivered like a pizza?"
"A five-star pizza, yes."
Even her own room had been "upgraded" by the service. The workers casually fluffed her pillows, reorganized her closet, and—wait for it—color-coded her sock drawer.
Ping!
System Alert: "Like Points increasing rapidly."
System Alert: "Source: Elderly women from Home Services Department. Multiple compliments received."
Apparently, the older ladies had taken a liking to her outfit.
One grandma had even said, "You look just like my granddaughter—only better dressed."
Esha had thanked her politely.
And then Like Points exploded.
"Why are you grinning like that?" Alana asked, a little creeped out.
"I just realized," Esha said, eyes shining, "I might be mildly famous... in the grandma community."
⸻
Later that evening, as they sat down for their first "home-cooked" dinner in their luxury apartment (thanks to Alana's divine cooking), Esha opened her System panel to test out her new Level 2 Replication.
She picked two outfits.
The first was a playful casual combo—oversized hoodie with minimalist joggers and pristine sneakers. The second was an elegant ensemble—flowy satin top with wide-leg trousers and sleek ankle boots.
Both appeared in a shimmer of light.
Ping! "You have unlocked Passive Skill: Situational Glamour – Your outfit subtly adjusts to enhance your presence based on the setting."
"WHAT?! I have magical clothes now?!"
"Correct."
"Alana. ALANA. I think I just became Sailor Moon but make it fashion."
"You're delirious. Eat more pasta."
⸻
Meanwhile, at the Salazar mansion...
Xavier was lounging in the family's sleek home theater, watching security footage not because he was nosy—well, not only because of that—but because Ethan had insisted.
"You're obsessed," Ethan deadpanned from the couch beside him.
"I am not. I'm intrigued. Big difference."
"You rewatched the grocery store scene five times."
"She looked like she was sacrificing her firstborn to buy cabbage. That's comedy."
Ethan rolled his eyes. "You really gave her that money?"
"She saved your son's life."
"But you don't even trust me with your car keys."
"Exactly. She's more trustworthy."
Ethan threw a popcorn kernel at him.
But Xavier, lounging with his drink, watched the feed of Esha and Alana laughing in their apartment, and for a flicker of a moment, he smiled.
"Interesting," he said again, this time softer.