Judged by Appearance

Ethan wove through the crowded streets of Novan City, his gaze shifting between the towering skyscrapers and the constant flow of people.

The city pulsed with life, a mix of inspiration and chaos depending on your mood—or how much coffee you'd had.

Car horns blared, fragments of conversations floated past, and street performers added their own flair to the noise. It was a stark contrast to the calm of Edgewater's quiet suburbs, but this was Novan City in all its vibrant, relentless energy.

"So many people…" Ethan murmured under his breath, a mixture of awe and slight trepidation in his tone. It wasn't every day he plunged into the city's heart, and it showed.

Novan City had a way of invigorating some while utterly exhausting others. For Ethan, however, today felt oddly energizing. The liveliness matched his determination.

This wasn't a day for a part-time shift at the bookstore or a leisurely stroll through familiar neighborhoods. No, today marked something far more important.

Today, he was searching for the perfect office space for NovaTech Innovations.

This wasn't merely about ticking off a mission requirement. It was the foundation of something monumental—the first real step toward the empire he... accidentally envisioned. Well, it was all because of the system.

Still, if he was going to do this, it had to be nothing short of grand. Mediocrity wasn't an option.

'I need something impressive,' Ethan mused, sidestepping a group of tourists who had paused mid-sidewalk to take pictures of yet another gleaming skyscraper. 'Money isn't the issue, so why settle for less?'

He tugged at the zipper of his university-issued navy blue tracksuit, the kind handed out during orientation. It wasn't exactly a statement piece, but it was practical and comfortable—qualities he found reassuring.

Perfect attire, or so he thought. Only later did he learn that he had a lot more to learn about how the world worked.

However, he believed today wasn't about appearances. Today was about action. And in that comfortable yet unassuming outfit, Ethan unknowingly set himself up for what would undoubtedly be an awkward first impression.

His gaze flickered from street corner to street corner, scanning for the property agency he'd read about online the night before. Skyline Estates—a name that radiated exclusivity.

The reviews were glowing; high-end properties, unparalleled service, and an impressive portfolio to match. It sounded like exactly what he needed.

He couldn't quite understand why finding the place was proving so difficult.

This part of Novan City felt like a maze—glittering storefronts, throngs of pedestrians, and streets jammed with honking cars.

Every corner seemed identical, with towering glass buildings reflecting the sunlight in sharp, blinding bursts that only added to the confusion.

"Where is it?" Ethan muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. He had used his phone's map to locate the place.

Still, it turned out that even modern technology couldn't account for the city's maze-like nature—or Ethan's distinct lack of navigational prowess.

To make things worse, his tracksuit was quickly turning into a portable sauna under the unforgiving morning sun.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Ethan spotted a sleek sign high on a building across the street.

"Skyline Estates," he read aloud, relief washing over him.

The building stood tall and gleaming, its glass exterior catching the sunlight. It looked exactly like the kind of place where wealth and ambition met.

Ethan took a deep breath. "Alright, Skyline Estates," he muttered. "Let's see what deal we can make."

This was it—the first real step toward building NovaTech. 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 he 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. NovaTech deserved nothing less.

Yet, as the glass doors of Skyline Estates loomed closer, a quiet doubt crept into his mind.

'What if the system just… disappears?' His fear was that if he was in the middle of a transaction or anything, then the system would be gone, just like that.

The thought hit him like a rogue wave. The system had been the foundation for everything he was building.

What if it vanished, leaving him with nothing but dreams he could no longer afford? His steps faltered for a moment, but he shook his head firmly.

"No," he whispered under his breath. "It's given me missions. It's not going anywhere."

With that reassurance, Ethan stepped inside Skyline Estates, the soft hum of luxury enveloping him.

The lobby 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 acknowledge 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. 'Do they 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: Some kid who's 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 going, 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—and soon. 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.

'All right,' he thought, straightening his posture, 'it was time to try my luck.'

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? 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.

"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 someone like him to scope out office space?"

He 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."