Alex blinked. Once. Twice.
He was sitting in the truck, hands still gripping the steering wheel. But outside the windshield, everything had changed.
A tall iron tower rose in the distance, its latticed structure unmistakable even in the fading afternoon light.
"The Eiffel Tower?" His voice ca out flat, disbelieving.
June’s voice had a playful lilt to it. Like this was all so fun adventure instead of whatever nightmare he’d been dragged into.
Alex looked around. They were parked in a narrow alleyway between two old buildings. Brick walls on either side, trash bins near a back door. Empty. No one had seen a truck materialize out of thin air.
"We’re actually in Paris." He said it out loud, trying to make it real. "Like, Paris, France. Paris."
Alex sat there for a mont, staring at the tower in the distance. Yesterday he’d been sitting in his cubicle, staring at spreadsheets. Now he was in France. Teleported. By a system that lived in his head.
’This is my life now.’
The thought settled over him like a weight.
"Explore." Alex let out a tired laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Why not."
What else was he supposed to do? Sit in the truck and spiral?
"I’ll need a place to stay." He rubbed his face. "If there’s so big gala happening tonight, hotels are probably booked up."
The truck’s engine started on its own. Alex’s hands tightened on the wheel.
"A little warning next ti."
He pulled out of the alley slowly, rging into actual Parisian traffic. Cars honked. A motorcycle zipped past. Everything felt too normal for how surreal this was.
As he drove, Alex caught glimpses of the truck’s reflection in shop windows and car mirrors. Instead of the massive vehicle he was sitting in, he saw a sleek black rcedes.
’At least that’s working.’
He wondered if there were others like him. People with systems. People who knew about other worlds. Or was he the only one cursed enough to stumble into this?
’Probably just . That sounds about right.’
Alex followed the directions, his mind elsewhere. Still thinking about the old man. About the blood. About cosmic beings who didn’t care that he’d been defending himself.
The hotel appeared on his right. Grand. Elegant. The kind of place he’d never have stayed at with his own money. Golden letters spelled out the na above the entrance, glinting in the sun.
Alex parked and sat in the truck for a mont, staring at the building.
’Just go inside. Get a room. Don’t think about anything else.’
He climbed out, straightened his new suit, and walked to the entrance.
The automatic doors slid open smoothly. Inside, everything was polished marble and crystal chandeliers. Too clean. Too expensive. The kind of place where everyone could tell he didn’t belong.
A woman behind the concierge desk looked up as he approached. Her uniform was immaculate, burgundy with gold accents. Her smile was professional and empty.
"Bonjour, monsieur. How may I assist you?"
"I need a room." Alex kept his voice even. "For tonight."
"Of course. Let check our availability." Her fingers moved across the keyboard with practiced efficiency.
Alex glanced around while he waited. Velvet couches in a sitting area. An old man playing piano in the corner, sothing classical that Alex didn’t recognize. The air slled like expensive flowers and too much cologne.
He caught a few people looking at him. Quick glances, then away. Judging. Wondering what soone like him was doing in a place like this.
’If they only knew.’
"We have a deluxe suite available, monsieur. With a view of the city."
"I’ll take it."
She led him to the elevator, heels clicking against the marble. The ride up was silent except for soft classical music piped through hidden speakers.
The hallway was carpeted, artwork on the walls. Everything designed to scream wealth and taste.
She stopped at a door, handed him a key card. "Enjoy your stay, monsieur. The concierge desk is available if you need anything."
Alex nodded. She left.
Inside the room, he stopped and just stared.
A king-sized bed dominated the space, covered in more pillows than anyone could possibly need. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of Paris, the Eiffel Tower visible in the distance against the darkening sky.
This room probably cost more per night than his rent.
Alex set the key card on the dresser and walked to the window. He stood there for a while, looking out at a city he’d never planned to visit, wondering what he was supposed to do next.
’Find the target. That’s what the quest said. Crash the gala and find the target.’
He didn’t want to think about what happened after he found them.
His stomach growled, pulling him out of his thoughts. When was the last ti he’d eaten? This morning? Yesterday?
"Might as well eat sothing."
He left the room and took the elevator back down to the ground floor. There was a restaurant attached to the hotel, visible through glass doors off the lobby.
A man in a pristine uniform greeted him at the entrance. "Bonjour, monsieur. Table for one?"
"Yeah."
The dining room was dimd, intimate. Soft conversations from other tables mixed with the clink of silverware on plates. Everyone looked like they belonged here.
Alex was shown to a table by the window. The nu was in French, with small English translations underneath. He scanned it without really reading, the words blurring together.
Escargot. Coq au vin. Bouillabaisse. Crè brûlée.
"I’ll take these." He pointed at random items, not caring what they were.
The only French food he knew was french fries, and even those weren’t actually French. This would be a first.
The food arrived in stages. Small plates, carefully arranged. It looked expensive.
Alex ate chanically, not really tasting it. Around him, other diners used their silverware with practiced precision. He caught a few disapproving glances when he used the wrong fork or held his knife wrong.
He didn’t care.
They weren’t paying for his al. And after everything he’d been through, their judgnt was the least of his problems.
Halfway through the main course, a waitress approached his table. Brunette, slim, her uniform fitted in a way that was probably intentional. Two buttons undone at the top.
"Is everything to your satisfaction, monsieur?"
Her accent was thick, the words flowing together in that way French speakers had. Alex looked up.
And stopped.
She was attractive. Very attractive. He registered that imdiately, which was weird enough. But what was weirder was the sudden urge to say sothing. To engage. To flirt.
’What the hell?’
"It’s fine," he managed. "Thanks."
She smiled, lingering for a mont. Her eyes held his for just a beat too long. "If you need anything else, please let know."
She walked away, and Alex found himself watching her go. Noticing the way she moved. The curve of her hips.
He blinked and looked down at his plate.
’What am I doing?’
This wasn’t him. He’d given up on won years ago. After high school, after college, after enough rejection to kill any hope he’d had. He’d made peace with it. "Riches before bitches," rember?
So why was he suddenly noticing waitresses?
Alex rubbed his face, trying to clear his head. Maybe it was just stress. Everything that had happened was ssing with his brain. That had to be it.
He went back to eating, but the thought lingered. Sothing felt off. Like he wasn’t quite in control of himself.
When the bill ca, he pulled out his card and paid without looking at the total.
His phone buzzed.
[Debit Alert: 2000 dollars]
Alex stared at the screen.
"Two thousand dollars." He said it out loud, his voice hollow. "For food."
"You could have warned ."
Alex pocketed his phone and stood up. He should go back to his room. Get ready for the gala. But his eyes found the waitress again, across the dining room, serving another table.
Before he could think about it, his feet were moving. Walking toward her.
’What are you doing? Stop.’
But he didn’t stop.
She turned as he approached, that sa practiced smile. "Oui, monsieur?"
"Are you free tonight?" The words ca out smooth, confident. "After your shift? I thought maybe we could walk around the city."
The smile on his face felt foreign. Natural, but not his.
Her expression shifted slightly. Calculating. "I’m flattered, monsieur. But I’m afraid I have plans tonight."
"Right." Alex pulled out a napkin, wrote his number on it without thinking. "If you change your mind."
He handed it to her. She took it with a polite nod.
"Perhaps another ti. Enjoy your evening, monsieur."
She walked away. Alex stood there for a mont, then headed back toward the elevator.
In the hallway, he stopped.
’What the hell was that?’
He’d just hit on a waitress. Asked her out. Written his number on a napkin like so kind of smooth operator.
That wasn’t him. He didn’t do that. He’d stopped doing that years ago because it never worked. Because he’d learned his lesson.
So why did he just...?
Alex looked down at his hands. They were steady. No shaking. No nervousness. Like approaching won was sothing he did all the ti.
’The system.’
The thought hit him cold.
He pulled out his phone and opened the system interface. The stats were still there. Strength, Speed, Endurance, Intelligence, Luck.
Charm: 51.
"Charm," he whispered.
It wasn’t just a number. It was changing him. Making him act in ways he normally wouldn’t. Giving him confidence he’d never had.
’I’m not even fully myself anymore.’
The realization settled over him like ice water. The system wasn’t just giving him powers. It was altering who he was. His personality. His behavior. His choices.
And he hadn’t even noticed until now.
Alex stood in the hallway, staring at the screen, wondering what else was changing that he couldn’t see yet.
"Yeah." His voice sounded distant. "Sure."
He went back to his room, but the unease stayed with him. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sa face. Sa tired eyes.
But was it still him looking back?
He didn’t know anymore.
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