Jordan sat cross-legged on his bathroom floor with his phone propped against a stack of CeraVe products that had cost him eighty-three dollars and forty-seven cents at Target. The YouTube video played at half speed because the guy doing the tutorial moved his hands like he was performing surgery on diamonds.

"Alright kings, first step is cleanser. You’re gonna take about a nickel-sized amount and work it into your face using circular motions."

Jordan squeezed the white tube. Way too much product came out. He tried to put some back but it just smeared on his palm instead.

Eighty dollars for this.

He rubbed the cleanser across his face, feeling it foam up under his fingers. The smell was clinical. Medical. Like a hospital had turned into soap. Jordan scrubbed for the full sixty seconds the video recommended, counting silently while the YouTuber explained how most men under-wash their faces, which leads to clogged pores, which leads to acne, which leads to dying alone and unloved.

Okay, the video didn’t say that last part, but it was implied.

Jordan rinsed with lukewarm water the way the instructions demanded, not hot, not cold, because apparently temperature was important when you were trying to stop looking like someone who’d spent two weeks eating pizza in the dark.

He grabbed the towel and patted his face dry. Patted, not rubbed. The video had been very specific about that.

"Step two, kings. Toner. This is where most guys mess up because they skip it entirely."

Jordan looked at the bottle of toner sitting on the bathroom counter next to the moisturizer, the sunscreen, the eye cream, and the lip balm. Five products. He used to just splash water on his face in the morning and call it good.

He poured toner onto a cotton pad and swiped it across his skin. The pad came away slightly gray, which meant there was still dirt on his face even after washing. Gross. He did another pass until the cotton came away clean.

"Now we’re prepping the skin for hydration. Your face is like a sponge, and right now it’s ready to absorb everything you’re about to give it."

The video transitioned to a close-up of the guy’s hands applying moisturizer in upward strokes. Jordan mimicked the motion, feeling the cream sink into his cheeks and forehead. His skin felt different already. Softer, maybe. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking after spending enough money on skincare to buy groceries for a week.

Sunscreen came next. SPF 50 because the video guy had spent three minutes explaining how sun damage was cumulative and irreversible and if Jordan didn’t start protecting his skin now, he’d look like a leather couch by thirty.

Jordan squeezed out two fingers worth of sunscreen and spread it across his face and neck. The white cast made him look like a ghost for about ten seconds before it absorbed. He checked his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

Same face. Same hazel eyes, same sharp jaw that was only visible now that he’d lost some of the puffiness from his terrible diet. Same guy who’d gotten cheated on in a parking lot three weeks ago.

But cleaner, at least.

The video ended with the guy reminding everyone to stay consistent because results took time and discipline. Jordan closed the app and checked his phone.

💝 DAILY QUEST: Path to Becoming Adonis

OBJECTIVES:

[✓] Physical: Log 90 minutes of physical activity

[✓] Hygiene Level 1: Shower using actual soap

[✓] Hygiene Level 2: Brush teeth for a full two minutes. Floss.

[✓] Grooming: Apply basic skincare (Wash. Moisturize. Sunscreen.)

[✗] Social: Speak to three different beauties for two minutes each

Two checkmarks appeared next to the social objective. Two. Not three.

Jordan stared at the screen.

That wasn’t possible.

He’d talked to Calypso for forty-five minutes straight over lunch at The Ivy. They’d had an actual conversation where she dropped her professional mask and he didn’t act like a simp. The System had pinged him multiple times during the meal, tracking attraction increases and rebate calculations. It had definitely registered her as a beauty.

So why didn’t it count?

Jordan opened the quest details and read the fine print at the bottom.

Requirement: Maintain eye contact. Do not apologize for existing. Do not offer to buy them anything.

Do not offer to buy them anything.

Jordan had insisted on paying for lunch. He’d framed it as his treat, not part of the three-thousand-dollar package, but the System apparently didn’t care about his reasoning. An offer was an offer. The moment he’d pulled out his wallet, the conversation had been disqualified.

"Are you kidding me?"

He scrolled through the System’s transaction log. The Ivy lunch showed up with full details. Seventy-three dollars spent, eleven-to-fifteen-percent attraction gain, rebate applied, net loss recorded.

But no quest credit.

Jordan threw his head back and laughed because the alternative was putting his fist through drywall.

The System was teaching him a lesson. Stop buying affection. Stop using money as a substitute for actual personality. The rules were clear, and he’d broken them by reflex.

Fine. Okay. He still had two completed interactions logged from earlier today.

Jordan pulled up the history.

Beauty One: 8:47 AM. Duration: 3 minutes, 42 seconds. Location: Fourth floor hallway.

Beauty Two: 11:23 AM. Duration: 4 minutes, 18 seconds. Location: Salon reception desk.

Jordan froze.

The woman from the salon had been the second beauty. That made sense. She’d been in her mid-twenties, professional, attractive. Jordan had asked about pricing and she’d explained the packages while he tried not to look like he was panicking about his budget.

But the first beauty had been at 8:47 AM in the fourth-floor hallway of his building.

The girl with the baseball cap and the blue hair streaks who’d asked if he’d heard a party last night.

Jordan pulled up his mental image of Calypso walking toward him outside The Ivy. White baseball cap. Black mask. Sunglasses. Black hair with electric blue streaks that were clearly visible even from thirty feet away.

Oh no.

No no no.

Jordan had promised Chloe that if they ran into each other on campus, he’d pretend not to know her. He’d given his word. Made it sound easy.

But they didn’t go to the same campus.

They lived in the same building.

Unit 403. Right next door.

Jordan sat on his bathroom floor with his face covered in sixty-dollar skincare products and processed the reality that his OnlyFans crush was his next-door neighbor. The girl he’d spent two thousand dollars on over six months lived approximately twelve feet away from him, separated by one wall and a hallway.

The System had registered her this morning when she’d stepped out of Unit 403 wearing casual clothes and no mask. Then it had registered her again at lunch when he’d deliberately clicked the registration button outside The Ivy.

But it was the same person.

Chloe Kim. Eighteen years old. Student and content creator. Currently sitting at fifteen-percent attraction after their coffee date.

Currently living next door.

Jordan needed to confirm this before his brain short-circuited entirely.

He could just let it go. Pretend he hadn’t figured it out. Keep his head down and avoid eye contact in the hallway like a normal person who wasn’t obsessed with tracking percentage points on a supernatural phone app.

Or he could knock on Unit 403 right now and ask to borrow sugar like a sitcom character from 1987.

If the person who answered wasn’t Chloe, then he’d just met a new neighbor and could stop spiraling.

If the person who answered was Chloe, then he’d have to deal with the fact that they were living next to each other and pretending otherwise was going to get really complicated really fast.

Jordan stood up. His legs protested from being folded on tile for twenty minutes.

He grabbed his keys off the bathroom counter and walked downstairs to the front door, pausing only to check his reflection one more time. His face looked good. Clean. Put-together. Like someone who might reasonably need to borrow sugar from a neighbor because he’d run out while baking cookies or whatever normal people did with sugar.

Jordan opened his door and stepped into the hallway.

The fourth floor was still quiet. No sounds from the other units. Just the low hum of the building’s ventilation system and the distant echo of traffic four stories below.

Jordan walked three steps to the left and stopped in front of Unit 403.

The door was solid wood painted matte black with a brushed steel number plate. Identical to his own door except for the number and the fact that Chloe Kim might be standing on the other side of it.

Jordan raised his hand and knocked three times.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Nothing.

He waited. Counted to ten. Tried to hear movement inside the apartment but the walls were too thick.

Maybe she wasn’t home. Maybe she’d driven somewhere after leaving The Ivy. Maybe this was all a massive coincidence and the girl from this morning had been someone else entirely.

Footsteps approached from inside. Light, quick steps that got louder as they crossed the apartment.

The lock clicked.

The door opened.

Chloe stood in the doorway wearing the same white crop top and black jeans from lunch, but the mask and sunglasses were gone. Her face was bare, her dark eyes tired but alert. The blue streak in her hair caught the hallway light.

She looked at Jordan.

Jordan looked at her.

Her eyes went wide.

"Hi," Jordan said. "Can I borrow some—"

Chloe slammed the door shut so hard the frame rattled.