Ethan made his way through the crowded streets of Novan City, weaving between people with practiced care. His eyes flicked between the towering skyscrapers above and the endless sea of movement around him.
The city was alive in every sense—loud, fast, and full of energy. It buzzed with car horns, snippets of conversation, and the distant beat of street performers. Some found it inspiring. Others found it overwhelming. Ethan was somewhere in between.
It was a far cry from the quiet streets of Edgewater where he grew up. Back there, mornings were calm, slow, and predictable. Here, everything moved like it was trying to outrun the clock.
He looked around, still adjusting to the pace. "So many people," he murmured, not really expecting anyone to hear him.
There was a mix of wonder and tension in his voice. Being in the heart of the city wasn't something he did often, and it showed.
Novan City had a strange effect on people. For some, it drained every ounce of energy. For others, it lit a fire.
Today, Ethan felt the spark.
The city's rhythm matched the beat of his own thoughts—quick, focused, alive. This wasn't a day for part-time shifts or aimless walks through old neighborhoods.
Today was different.
He had a goal.
He was searching for the first office space for Nova Tech.
This wasn't just about ticking off another mission. It was the foundation of something much bigger, the first real step toward building an empire he hadn't meant to build… but kind of did anyway.
All thanks to the system, of course.
Still, if he was going to do this, he couldn't afford to go halfway. There was no point in being modest. Not when he had the means or to be exact, wealth.
'I need something impressive,' Ethan thought, shifting to avoid a group of tourists who had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures of yet another skyscraper.
'Money isn't the problem, so why go cheap?' He grinned at the thought.
He tugged at the zipper of his university-issued tracksuit. It wasn't flashy, not even close. But it was comfortable, and, for now, he believed that was enough.
At least, that's what he thought.
Ethan didn't care much about looks today. He believed this wasn't about appearances, it was about making progress. But in his comfortable university tracksuit, he had no idea he was about to make a rather awkward first impression.
He glanced around the busy street, scanning signs and storefronts for the name he remembered from last night's research, Skyline Estates.
It had an expensive ring to it.
The reviews were glowing. Premium properties, five-star service, and a long list of elite clients. Exactly the kind of place he needed to kickstart Nova Tech.
'But... why is it so hard to find?'
This part of Novan City felt like a maze. Glittering buildings lined every block, with mirrored glass bouncing sunlight into his eyes. Crowds pushed past in every direction, while traffic blared nonstop around him.
Everything looked the same—sharp edges, polished windows, busy sidewalks.
"Where is it…" he muttered, glancing down at his phone again.
The map said he was close, but the streets disagreed. Even with GPS, the city made him feel like a lost tourist.
And to make things worse, his tracksuit was starting to trap the heat. The morning sun was unforgiving, turning breathable fabric into a full-body sweat trap.
Then, finally, his eyes locked onto a clean silver sign across the street.
"Skyline Estates," Ethan read the name out loud with a small sigh of relief.
The building was tall, sleek, and completely out of place compared to the tiny apartment he still called home. Glass panels shimmered from top to bottom, and the lobby inside looked like it cost more than his entire college tuition.
Ethan straightened his back and took a breath.
"Alright," he said under his breath. "Let's see what you have for me."
He stepped into the building, the first real step toward building Nova Tech. He was stepping into a world where professionals spoke with confidence, wore sharp suits, and made big decisions.
Ethan, however, was wearing a university tracksuit and carrying nothing but a backpack with a folder of neatly prepared documents.
"Not exactly the look of a corporate tycoon," he muttered to himself with a wry smile, adjusting the strap of his backpack.
But appearances were part of the plan. Well, not for this plan. He had deliberately dressed down, believing it would help him blend in and avoid attracting undue attention.
After all, buying an office space in cash wasn't exactly something people did every day.
He had even rehearsed a strategy to tip the salesperson discreetly—more of a "token of appreciation," as people liked to call it—to ensure they stayed quiet about the transaction.
In his mind, this plan was foolproof.
Ethan could already picture the sleek and spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Novan City.
The kind of place where brilliant ideas were born, deals were struck, and success was inevitable. Nova Tech deserved nothing less.
The lobby of Skyline Estate was every bit as grand as he'd imagined, with polished marble floors that seemed to glow, glass walls that let in streams of natural light, and a quiet sophistication that whispered exclusivity.
The agents sat at their desks, perfectly groomed and immersed in their tasks—some typing away, others engaged in hushed conversations over their phones.
Ethan paused, expecting someone to assist him, perhaps a polite receptionist or an eager agent ready to assist.
He waited.
And waited.
Nobody approached.
He cleared his throat and stepped further into the lobby, the faint squeak of his sneakers echoing against the spotless floor.
Still, no one looked up.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
'That's odd,' he thought, glancing around. 'I don't think they will just ignore everyone who walks in.'
But as the minutes dragged on, the answer became glaringly obvious.
They weren't ignoring everyone—just him. His casual tracksuit, practical and unassuming, had betrayed him.
In a place where appearances were currency, he might as well have been invisible.
Ethan leaned against a pillar, watching the agents from across the lobby. They weren't subtle—side glances, quiet smirks, and whispered comments gave them away.
It wasn't hard to figure out what they were thinking. He was some kid who was lost and out of place.
Irritation bubbled up, mixed with a sting of wounded pride. His plan to blend in had worked too well—so well that he'd completely faded into the background.
'Nice thinking, Ethan,' he thought, shaking his head.
He tried to laugh it off, but it still stung to be dismissed so easily.
Then again, he couldn't blame them. Showing up dressed like he'd just left the gym probably wasn't the smartest choice.
"Fifteen minutes," he muttered, checking his watch. "Fifteen minutes, and not a single 'Can I help you?' was said."
He sighed deeply, straightened his back, and pushed himself off the pillar. If they weren't going to take him seriously, he'd just have to change that. But for now, he couldn't help but smile at the irony.
"Plan perfectly backfired," he muttered, his voice tinged with humor and determination as he prepared to turn the situation in his favor.
Ethan shifted on his feet, glancing down briefly at his tracksuit as if it had betrayed him.
'Well, this the first and major mistake,' he thought ruefully.
He should have known better. Yesterday, for his meeting with David, he'd dressed the part—polished, professional, and perfectly presentable.
Why hadn't it crossed his mind to do the same today?
After all, he had purchased several sleek outfits just for occasions like this. Yet here he was.
'My fault. But, since I'm here already, let's make it count and settle this quickly.'
Across the room, Ethan caught a snippet of conversation between two agents—a woman with sharp, angular features and a man whose smug expression could have been sculpted out of pure arrogance.
Their low laughter wasn't aimed at anyone in particular, but it stung all the same. Their sidelong glances at him felt like little needles of mockery.
'They clearly think I don't belong here,' Ethan realized, frustration simmering just beneath his calm exterior.
It was obvious they had no intention of assisting him, dismissing him outright as someone unworthy of their time.
'But really, would it hurt them to just humor me for a moment?'
To be fair, Ethan had logic on his side—or so he thought. He'd read countless stories about billionaires who dressed in simple, unassuming clothes, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
But there was a critical flaw in his reasoning; none of those billionaires wore university tracksuits to meetings. And even their "plain" outfits often cost more than the average car.
Ethan wasn't about to slink away just because a couple of agents underestimated him. He hadn't come this far to be turned away by a pair of judgmental stares.
Who knew if the perfect office space—or even an entire building—could be waiting for him here. He couldn't let a few condescending agents stand in the way of that.
With resolve building in his chest, Ethan approached the nearest desk. The woman sitting there didn't even glance up, her attention fully consumed by her phone.
"Excuse me," Ethan said, his tone calm but firm. "I'm here to inquire about office spaces—or perhaps a building."
The woman's head lifted, her expression languid as she finally deigned to look at him. Her eyes flicked over him with deliberate slowness, lingering on the tracksuit as a faint, amused sneer curled at her lips.
"Make it clear, please," she said, her voice dripping with skepticism. "Office space, or a building? And… are you sure you're in the right place?"
Ethan felt a spark of irritation but kept his cool. "Yes, I'm sure," he replied firmly.
The woman's eyebrows raised slightly in surprise before she exchanged a quick, amused glance with her colleague. Her smirk widened as if to say, Can you believe this?
"Just so you know," she said, leaning back casually, "we deal in luxury properties. These aren't your standard office spaces—they're expensive."
"I'm aware," Ethan replied coolly. "That's precisely why I'm here."
Her eyebrow arched ever so slightly at his calm retort. "Oh really? And what kind of space are you looking for? Something modest? A single room, perhaps?"
Ethan allowed a faint smile to curve his lips.
"Actually, I'm looking for a premium office space," he said, pausing briefly. "Though, if you've got an entire building available, that would be even better."
Her smirk flickered, then quickly returned as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand with mock interest.
"You're an intern, huh?" she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. "Sending an intern for something like this? That's a bit… unusual, wouldn't you say?"
Her colleague, who had been listening in with barely disguised amusement, chuckled. "Right? What kind of company sends an intern like him to scope out office space?"
"An intern?" Ethan was stunned to hear that.
The man paused, but that did not mean that he was reflecting on his words. In fact, he came up with many brutal remarks. "Go check the social media. The cheap agents might have what you're looking for."
Ethan felt a flicker of irritation but swallowed it down. This was, after all, partly his fault. He'd chosen this outfit. He'd walked in looking exactly like the stereotype they were treating him as. Losing his temper wouldn't solve anything.
Instead, he straightened his shoulders and flashed a calm, polite smile. "Actually," he said, with just a hint of measured confidence, "I'm not an intern."
The woman tilted her head, feigning curiosity. "Oh?"
Ethan held her gaze, his voice steady as he delivered the final blow.
"I own the company."