As the grand doors to the Royal Suite were opened, the young men behind me froze in place, their expressions caught somewhere between awe and disbelief.
The sheer opulence of the room before us—the soft, golden lights reflecting off crystal chandeliers, the plush furnishings embroidered with elegant patterns, the panoramic city view framed by floor-length velvet drapes—was nothing short of breathtaking.
But it wasn't just the suite that left them speechless.
It was me.
They had been observing me since we met—my posture, my measured steps, the way I carried myself without needing to speak much. I didn't need to boast or explain. And now, as they stood at the threshold of The Royal Suite, that understanding began to settle in.
"The Royal Suite…?" Daniel muttered under his breath, glancing around in disbelief.
"Isn't that reserved for...?" Samuel didn't finish his sentence. He didn't have to.
They were speaking quietly among themselves, their voices hushed with caution. None dared ask me directly, but their sideways glances said it all.
Henry leaned a little closer to Oliver. "What kind of background does this guy have…? That kind of temperament—it's like he was raised into this world."
Oliver gave a small shake of his head. "I don't know… But the way he carries himself… That's not something you pick up overnight."
They had no idea, of course. No clue who I was or how I'd come to be here. And I didn't plan to tell them. I kept my expression calm, composed. My back straight, steps unhurried. I didn't need to force it anymore. After 72 hours of nonstop training, this noble temperament came almost naturally.
I merely nodded once at the usher, acknowledging his gesture to proceed further into the suite. The others followed behind me cautiously, not saying another word.
Their earlier ease had faded. They weren't just amazed—they were uncertain now. Nervous. They knew what this suite meant. The Royal Suite wasn't for celebrities or influencers—it was for the kind of people who could shift markets with a signature. It was for VVIPs with power that didn't need to be flaunted.
And now they were walking into it... behind me.
I said nothing. I let the silence speak, let my steps carry weight.
And in that silence, I could feel it:
They no longer saw a student.
They saw someone else entirely.
I took the seat at the head of the long, polished dining table as the others settled in slowly, each of them still casting careful glances around the room. The staff stood ready at a distance, awaiting the command to begin service.
I looked up, tone calm but firm.
"What would you all like to eat? Since we're dining together, it's only proper we enjoy the meal as such."
The group exchanged looks for a moment—silent, almost hesitant—before Oliver gave a small shake of his head and offered a polite smile.
"We couldn't, Young Master Cedric. This room was reserved under your name. We'll leave it to your preferences."
"Yes," Samuel added with a small bow of his head. "We'd be honored to share whatever you choose."
The others followed suit, each echoing the same sentiment. It wasn't mockery or false flattery. It was respect—the kind men offered to someone clearly above their station. And with every moment, they were more convinced that I was exactly that.
I didn't bother to correct the way they addressed me.
Young Master Cedric.
It rang strangely in my ears at first, but I kept my expression composed and nodded once.
"Very well."
I gestured to the nearby maître d', giving a few simple, confident instructions. The kind of curated fine-dining selection I had learned about in the system's training. I knew what wines paired best, which seasonal dishes held the most prestige, and how to deliver my choices with elegance.
Behind me, I could sense the group murmuring softly again.
"I've never even heard of half those names…" Thomas whispered to Daniel.
"He really might be someone from a major family. Maybe even heir to a private conglomerate."
Despite their hushed tones, I heard every word.
And still, I said nothing—just raised the fine crystal of water to my lips and waited as the world began to see the illusion I had no choice but to make real.
Outwardly, I was calm—shoulders relaxed, posture straight, fingers light against the rim of the glass.
But inside?
Hell.
My eyes drifted over the menu presented before me, each item accompanied by a price that could fund my entire monthly rent—twice. Just the appetizers alone were in the thousands, and the main courses? Tens of thousands. For a plate of food?
'This is fine,' I thought desperately, trying not to let the corner of my eye twitch. 'It's just a test. A very expensive, potentially-bankrupting test.'
Then the system chimed in, its tone as neutral and composed as ever.
[Everything you order here is under the System's jurisdiction. You are not required to pay. Please continue the role as practiced.]
'You couldn't have said that sooner?' I nearly choked on the water I hadn't yet sipped.
[Reminder: You must maintain your composure. The assessment is ongoing. Confidence, grace, and noble temperament.]
Right. Noble.
I took a quiet breath, forcing my fingers not to tremble as I closed the menu with a practiced flick. The staff stood at attention, waiting.
"I'll have the white truffle wagyu entrée for the main," I said smoothly, then added a few of the curated sides the system drilled into me. "Paired with Château Margaux. And for the gentlemen—" I turned toward the group, who all straightened unconsciously, "—the same."
A small smile tugged at the maître d's lips. "An excellent selection, sir."
The others nodded quickly, grateful, silent. I gave a single nod of acknowledgment, all while mentally screaming.
'Please let this end soon.'
But my face? Serene as ever.
As I listed each dish without a hint of hesitation, I could sense the subtle shifts in the group's expressions. They were all smiling politely—elegant, respectful—but behind their composed façades, their minds were clearly spiraling.
The waiter nodded and left with the order, and I leaned back into my chair with refined poise, fingers lightly resting on the armrest as if I'd done this a hundred times.
Across the table, the group of young managers exchanged discreet glances.
Oliver's smile stayed firm, but his eyes betrayed him.
'He didn't even flinch. Is this guy the heir of some hidden royal house? Even my father had to wait three months to get a table here—and not in the Royal Suite.'
Henry exhaled slowly through his nose, maintaining a calm exterior.
'Calm down, Henry. You're the tallest, act like the eldest. But hell, even Grandfather wouldn't spend like this unless it was for a merger dinner.'
Samuel fiddled with his glass, sipping more than speaking.
'That's a hundred thousand dollar wine... He just picked it like it was soda. No shaking hands. No stammer. How the hell?'
Daniel's fingers tapped subtly against his knee beneath the table.
'Deputy manager or not, I wouldn't dare spend company funds like this. Is he testing us? Is this some underground recruitment for the old-money circle?'
Thomas adjusted his pink suit cuff, feigning indifference with a soft grin.
'He really said "that one" to the gold-foiled foie gras like he was picking fries. Damn it, Thomas, don't show the sweat.'
The silence between them was filled with quiet shock.
Five-digit dishes. Six-digit wine. And I hadn't even blinked.
Even for them—heirs of successful companies, used to luxury and polished marble halls—this was on another level. The Royal Suite wasn't just high-end; it was nearly mythical. Reserved only for people with connections to the uppermost elite. Conglomerate heads. Foreign dignitaries. Royals.
And I, someone they had never even heard of before tonight, had not only reserved it but also spent like the bill meant absolutely nothing.
'Maintain the act,' I reminded myself, resisting the urge to gulp. 'Just keep looking like you belong.'
I shifted my gaze calmly between them, offering a courteous smile.
Inside?
I was screaming.