I woke up to sunlight streaming through actual curtains instead of a gap in threadbare fabric. For a moment,
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling that didn't have water stains, in a bed that didn't creak with every movement and was more comfortable than anything he had slept in before yesterday.
It was his second night sleeping here, yet he still had trouble believing it was his home now.
Sometimes he feels scared that he will wake up and the system, this villa, all will turn out to be a dream, and he will find himself still living his original life.
I rolled out of bed and padded to the master bathroom, which was less a bathroom and more a spa that happened to have plumbing. Marble counters, a separate shower and bathtub, one of those fancy rainfall showerheads I'd only ever seen in movies.
I turned on the shower and nearly jumped when hot water came out immediately.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, stepping under the spray. The water felt amazing, like a massage from tiny liquid fingers. I stood there way longer than necessary, just enjoying the sensation of a shower that didn't make me question my life choices.
By the time I finally dragged myself out, I'd probably spent twice as long as usual just standing under the water like an idiot.
Worth it.
I changed into my new clothes, dark jeans, and a comfortable hoodie that didn't have any holes or suspicious stains. Looking in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. Clean, well-dressed, not obviously poor.
Progress.
My stomach reminded me I hadn't bought any groceries yet. The villa's kitchen had appliances and cookware, but the fridge was empty. I needed to fix that, but first, breakfast.
And also, I had a driving test today.
I called a cab through the app, which arrived promptly because, apparently, cabs actually showed up on time in nice neighborhoods. The driver was friendly, didn't give my age a second glance, and drove me to a small diner I'd passed on the way to the mall yesterday.
The diner was one of those classic places with red vinyl booths and a counter with spinning stools. An older waitress with kind eyes handed me a menu as I sat.
"What can I get you, honey?"
I scanned the menu, my eyes catching on the breakfast items listed.
"Pancakes. Stack of three. And a chocolate milkshake."
"What do you want on them?"
"Strawberries and whipped cream"
"Coming right up, dear."
The pancakes arrived golden and fluffy, drowning in whipped cream and strawberries. The milkshake was thick enough to require effort through the straw. I ate slowly, savoring every bite. This was another thing I'd walked past a thousand times, unable to afford.
I was starting to realize just how much of my life had been walking past things I wanted and couldn't have. Now I could have them.
All of them.
The thought was almost overwhelming.
I paid, tipped generously because the waitress had been nice, and called another cab to take me to the driving test center.
The test center was exactly as depressing as government buildings always were. Fluorescent lights, uncomfortable chairs, and the faint smell of bureaucracy mixed with citrus floor cleaner.
My examiner was a middle aged man who looked like he'd given up on life sometime in the previous decade. His name tag said "Gerald" and his expression said, "I've done this ten thousand times and will do it ten thousand more before I die."
"Alex Sinclair?" he asked in a monotone that suggested he'd stopped caring about names or anything work related years ago.
"That's me."
"Follow me to the vehicle."
The test itself was boring in that special way government tests manage to be. Gerald sat in the passenger seat with a clipboard, occasionally grunting directions in the same flat tone. Turn here. Park there. Use your signal. Check your blind spot.
I drove carefully, following every rule I'd learned from the orphanage. Apparently, it was enough.
"You pass," Gerald announced with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a grocery list. "License will arrive by mail within a week. Next."
And that was it. I was officially licensed to drive. Anticlimactic, but effective.
Outside, I opened the ride app again. This time, instead of booking a single trip, I selected the full-day hire option. Expensive, but I needed to do a lot of shopping, and hauling bags on and off buses wasn't appealing.
The driver who arrived was younger than the previous ones, probably early thirties. "Full day hire?"
"Yeah. Multiple stops, mostly shopping. That's okay?"
"Sure thing. Where to first?"
I pulled up my mental list. "Riverside Market, please."
The system had recommended small quantities of high-value items for the first transaction. Build trust, establish the relationship, and don't overwhelm the market. That meant my initial plan of bulk buying and selling salt and sugar was out. Too mundane, and required too much volume.
If I were playing the role of divine merchant, I needed goods that matched that image. Things that would seem magical or impossible to a medieval society, but weren't so advanced they'd cause panic if sold.
Riverside Market was one of those sprawling outdoor affairs with hundreds of stalls ad shops selling everything imaginable. Clothes, accessories, household goods, random knick-knacks that no one needed but everyone bought anyway.
"I'll call you when I'm ready to go," I told the driver.
"Take your time. I'll be in the parking area."
I wandered into the market, letting the chaos wash over me. Vendors called out their wares, people haggled over prices, and the smell of street food mixed with incense and perfume samples.
A stall selling knockoff designer bags. Another with phone cases in every color. Hair accessories, fake jewelry, kitchen gadgets.
Then I saw it. A small shop tucked between two larger shops, selling what looked like souvenirs and decorative items. The window display had various trinkets, but what caught my eye were the mirrors.