The luxury district buzzed with understated elegance, where every building seed dipped in wealth and every passerby oozed curated style. A sleek black car slowed and parked effortlessly in front of one of the crown jewels of the street — Luviton, a global icon in high fashion.
The driver’s door opened.
Rex stepped out, calm and confident, dressed in simple yet tasteful attire that subtly enhanced his sharp features. Even in casual clothes, he radiated the kind of charisma that turned heads
As he pushed open the glass doors of Luviton, a rush of cool air and luxury scent washed over him. The store was pristine, with polished marble floors and elegant lighting that bathed everything in a soft, opulent glow. It wasn’t his first ti seeing a store like this, he had seen plenty of videos in his last life, but it still impressed him how extravagantly fashion could present itself.
A salesgirl near the entrance noticed him imdiately. She froze for half a second, blinking — as if trying to confirm that the breathtaking figure walking in wasn’t so illusion. Then, regaining her composure, she approached with a professional smile, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of astonishnt.
"Welco to Luviton, sir," she said with a warmth that felt more genuine than rehearsed.
Her eyes locked onto him in fascination, not just because he was handso—she saw handso n all the ti. Celebrities, influencers, even billionaire heirs and top superstars ca through those doors regularly. But they were always polished. Styled by top-tier stylists, airbrushed by makeup, dressed in curated pieces, lit perfectly, and then heavily filtered for their social dia profiles.
Standing before her now, however, was a man who had none of those enhancents. And yet, he looked... blindingly handso. So handso that it made her question every standard she’d held until that mont. She swore, with no exaggeration, that he might just be the most handso man she’d ever laid eyes on.
Elsewhere in the boutique, another salesgirl clicked her tongue in envy, regretting not being at the front to greet him first.
Rex gave the greeter a polite nod and a soft smile. "Thank you," he said simply, walking further inside and casually began browsing the n’s section.
As if summoned by so unspoken cue, other staff mbers turned to look — and in monts, a swarm of well-dressed salesgirls ford around him, their professional deanors shifted into sothing more enthusiastic. Their eyes lit up, and they eagerly ushered him toward the latest luxury collection. Before he could even protest, several staff mbers—mostly young won—surrounded him, arms full of outfits.
"Sir, we just received our latest luxury casual collection. Would you like to take a look?"
"Please try this jacket, it would look amazing on you."
"Sir, let show you our latest arrivals."
"No, no, co this way—this collection just ca in from Milan!"
"Would you like to try sothing from our exclusive line? It hasn’t even been advertised yet!"
"Oh my God, his proportions are perfect — are you a model?"
Several salesgirls crowded around him, arms filled with blazers, trousers, button-downs, and coats. So carried shoes. One girl even held up a leather duffle bag and insisted he needed to see how it complented his build.
He was helpless to resist the flood of suggestions.
He chuckled helplessly as they practically dragged him into the fitting rooms. Every ti he erged in a new outfit, their reactions grew louder, more dramatic.
"So handso!"
"He’s a perfect clothes hanger!"
"I swear, if he walked onto a runway right now, Paris Fashion Week would collapse."
Even Rex, who was used to being stared at after his transmigration, found the attention slightly overwhelming. He chuckled good-naturedly, brushing off their complints with modesty.
"No, I’m not a model. Just here for a few casual outfits."
The staff, however, weren’t convinced. They insisted on dressing him in everything—casual, business, semi-formal, and even high-fashion streetwear. One girl practically squealed when he ca out in a fitted black turtleneck and slim-cut gray slacks.
As all of this unfolded, custors in the store paused to watch. Strangely, none seed irritated by the lack of attention from staff. On the contrary, they leaned against shelves and racks, watching the scene unfold with amused smiles. It was like being handed front-row seats to an unexpected fashion show—and Rex was the undisputed star of the runway.
One older lady whispered to her husband, "Forget shopping — this is better than watching TV."
In a surprisingly short ti, Rex had tried on almost every new design available for the season. The staff, now positively glowing with admiration, showed no signs of slowing down.
But Rex?
He was exhausted.
Changing so many tis wasn’t as easy as it looked, and his patience—and stamina—were running thin — it was far more draining than it looked.
anwhile, the salesgirls looked like they could go another round, their eyes still sparkling with excitent.
Clearing his throat, he finally said with a wry smile, "Ladies, I think it’s enough. Look—there aren’t any clothes left."
The group turned to look around—and froze. The n’s section was practically empty. Dozens of empty hangers swung on racks, and entire shelves were bare. A lone tie lay askew on a display table, as if it too had given up.
An imaginary fly buzzed through the air, emphasizing the quiet.
For a few seconds, the staff stared in stunned silence. Then, laughter bubbled up among them, sheepish and embarrassed.
"Ah... sorry, sir. We might have gotten a bit... carried away," one of them said, face red.
"Please—take your ti and choose what you’d like to buy."
Despite their enthusiasm, none of them actually expected him to buy everything. Judging from his casual outfit, he didn’t seem particularly wealthy. It had been enough of a reward to enjoy an impromptu private fashion show starring a living Greek god.
Just as they began tidying up, the entrance bell chid.
A balding middle-aged man waddled into the store. his thinning hair slicked back and pimples dotting his face like angry punctuation. His eyes scanned the room, irritated to find no staff mber greeting him.
He frowned. "Hmph. Is this how a luxury brand treats paying custors?"
His irritation grew as he noticed a noisy crowd gathered at the far end of the store. Curious—and slightly offended—he strutted toward them,His belly — a solid eight-months-pregnant look — bounced with each step.
As he elbowed his way through the crowd, he muttered under his breath, "What’s this circus all about...?"
Then he saw Rex.
Dressed in a designer blazer and trousers that hugged his athletic fra perfectly, Rex was chatting politely with a few staff. The man’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene—At the center of the attention was a young man—Rex—being pampered like royalty, surrounded by fawning staff and custors alike, their voices filled with laughter and admiration.
The man’s blood boiled.
"Ugh," he grunted, jealousy spiking. If there was one thing he hated—besides his own boss at the firm he worked at—it was pretty boys like this. Guys who relied on their face instead of hard work. While n like him — hard working, experienced, a proud elite of the workforce who climbed the ladder step by step— were ignored.
He clenched his teeth.
Unable to hold it in any longer, raising his voice, he spoke with thick sarcasm.
(End of Chapter)
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