Getting a workshop or a place to live in might be the most difficult thing in any world. Other than just having the money, you need a certificate, a permit, and about ten other documents.

Usually, the Kingsleys had people to handle things like this, but those days were over for Luke. Now, he was just another face in the crowd.

As he walked toward the big building with the blue flags, Luke’s mind drifted back to his new Mythic armor. He was still a little annoyed that the Astral Tortoiseling set hadn’t given him powerful abilities, but the same armor gave him a brilliant idea.

He realized that as he leveled up, he was going to be forging a lot of armor. Some of them would be iconic, like the Hell Ape Gauntlet, but a lot of them would be redundant. Luke would eventually have extra pieces just gathering dust in his soul space.

Instead of letting them sit there, Luke could sell them. He could even forge custom sets for others—if they were willing to pay the right price. But to do that, he couldn’t just work out of an alleyway. He needed a base of operations. He needed a shop.

Luke pushed open the glass doors of the Public Holdings Authority. The lobby was spacious and filled with people in suits. As soon as Luke walked in, the room fell quiet.

"Is that him? The ex-Kingsley heir?"

"Yeah, look at his clothes. He looks like he slept in a dumpster."

Luke tried his best not to mind.

"I’d like to inquire about a commercial lease," Luke said to the first staff member.

"Name?" she asked.

"Luke... Luke." He stopped. He wasn’t a Kingsley anymore. "Just Luke."

The lady looked up. Whether she recognized him, Luke couldn’t tell, but she pointed toward a hallway. "Go to Floor 2, Desk 14."

The man at Desk 14 looked at Luke’s request for the "cheapest kiosk spot downtown" and laughed. Then he sent Luke to Floor 4.

It felt like a game where everyone was trying to get rid of him.

Finally, after two hours of walking up and down, and filling out forms, Luke was told he had to see the City Chamberlain.

The sign on the big door said: MARK LEWSON – CITY CHAMBERLAIN.

Luke composed himself before he entered. Mark was sitting behind a desk that was large enough to park a small car behind. He was a round man with a tiny mustache and a nicotine addiction, given the cigarette smell of the office.

But Luke had bigger problems than that because Mark hated the elite. Throughout his career, he had been pushed around by nobles like the Kingsley Family, and he prayed he could one day get back at them.

That said, Luke was an early Christmas gift for the City Chamberlain. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"Well, well, well," Mark said with a malevolent smile. "Look who finally decided to grace my office. I never thought I’d see the day a Kingsley had to come begging to a man like me. Life comes at you fast, doesn’t it?"

"I’m here to rent the kiosk on 4th Street," Luke said, placing his application on the desk. "The one in the warehouse district."

Mark picked up the paper, holding it between two fingers like it was trash. "This spot? It’s a metal box in a neighborhood where people get stabbed daily. Why would you want a dump like that? Are you looking for a cheap place to squat now that you’re homeless?"

"I’m renting it for smithing work," Luke answered firmly.

Mark burst out laughing. "Smithing? In a kiosk? It’s six feet wide, boy! Nobody smiths in a closet. You don’t even have a furnace. You don’t even have a hammer!"

"I have what I need," Luke replied, staying calm. If he lost his cool, Mark would just kick him out, and he’d be sleeping on a park bench. "The law states that if I have the money and a clean record, you’re required to authorize the document."

Mark didn’t fancy his response. More than that, he didn’t like that Luke was strong. He wanted to see Luke break down in tears or beg for a favor, so he spent the next thirty minutes firing Luke with pointless questions just to find a reason to say no.

Where did the money come from? Why aren’t you at the academy? Where are your permits for your "invisible" equipment?

But Luke remained patient. He answered every question flatly, refusing to give the man any satisfaction. Eventually, Mark realized he couldn’t get under Luke’s skin today, so he grumbled and stamped the pass. "Fine. Go ahead and ruin yourself. But if you try skirt tax, I’ll make sure you work in the mines."

Luke snatched up the paper. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Chamberlain."

He went down to the payment window where the clerk counted out 1,540 scrips, a year’s rent for the spot. Afterwards, the clerk handed him a set of keys and a stack of legal documents.

As Luke walked out of the building, he felt a bit of relief. He had a place. But then he realized something else.

"Wait," he thought. "Nobody knows I’m there. I need customers."

He walked over to an open shop that sold advertisements and signs. He wanted to buy a big neon sign or maybe a spot on the city’s radio broadcast. But when the man behind the counter told him the price for a one-week ad, Luke’s jaw hit the floor.

"One grand for a three-second clip?" Luke gasped. "This is daylight robbery."

"Take it or leave it, kid," the man said.

Luke glanced at his remaining money. If he bought the ad, he wouldn’t even be able to afford food for the rest of the month. Imagine having an ongoing commercial while with an empty stomach.

"I’ll leave it," Luke said. "I’ll just rely on word of mouth. Quality speaks for itself, anyway."

Evening approached by the time he reached the warehouse district. Luke stopped in front of a small shop made of metal, wedged between two brick warehouses like an afterthought. It was small, ugly, and cheap.

Stepping inside, Luke flicked on the lightbulb, revealing a room barely enough to stretch his arms out.

With nothing but exhaustion as his companion, Luke sat down on the floor and opened his bag of fries.

He hated to admit it, but Mark was right. He wasn’t just using this as a shop alone. He was using it as a home, too.

*********

Meanwhile, in the Trump Estate.

The manse was bigger than four city blocks, the surrounding fence went for miles, and the gardens were groomed like a maze, a person could get lost in them for a week.

A lustrous limo came to a stop right in front of the entrance, and a guard in royal uniform quickly opened the door. Out stepped a ginger beauty, Scarlett Trump.

As she ascended the steps, the entire household bowed their heads in unison, but Scarlett ignored the deference because she was too accustomed to the routine.

She headed to the third floor, making her way to her father’s private library. In the library, the room was walled by thousands of vintage literature, and behind a desk sat her father, Mr. Trump.

Mr. Trump’s companion was an Ancient–grade Sphinx, with a body made of gold, but the scary thing about it was its changing face. Even as Scarlett arrived, the Sphinx duplicated her beauty.

"Scarlett, my lovely daughter," Mr. Trump praised. "Come in, sit down."

Any father would be proud. Scarlett had been a late bloomer, her situation similar to Luke’s. But unlike Luke, whose late awakening had turned into a disaster, the doctors’ predictions for Scarlett had been correct.

Her delayed breakthrough had resulted in a mythic summoning. She was officially recognized as the zenith of this generation, a triumph that the entire family was ready to celebrate.

Mr. Trump began discussing her new training schedule and the lavish party they were planning to throw in her honor. Before they could finish talking, a red light began flashing on his desk phone. It was a dedicated line.

The screen showed the name: Cedric Kingsley.

Mr. Trump hit the receiver.

"Arnold, my friend," came the Duke’s voice. "I just heard the news from the academy. Mythic summoning... truly extraordinary. The entire Kingsley household shares in your pride today, and we send our finest regards to your daughter."

Near a window, Scarlett remained quiet, her arms crossed as she listened to the exchange.

"Thank you, Cedric," Mr. Trump replied. "She is her father’s daughter."

"Yes, she certainly is," Cedric chuckled. "And speaking of success, I wanted to personally invite you and Scarlett to our main estate this weekend. We’re hosting a celebration for my son, Adrian—he’s officially taking over as the Kingsley heir. I finally cleared out that useless disappointment, Luke, so it’s time to celebrate the right successor."

Mr. Trump didn’t look surprised. "I saw the news reports, Cedric. Congratulations to Adrian."

"Thank you, my friend," Cedric said, smoothly transitioning the conversation. "Now that Adrian is officially stepping into his role as the future Duke, I think it’s time we look at the calendar. When do you think we should set the date for his and Scarlett’s wedding?"

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the library turned on its head. The Sphinx tilted its head to the phone and changed its face into that of a fox. Meanwhile, Mr. Trump’s smile vanished.

"Cedric," he said carefully. "I am canceling the marriage contract between our families."

"What?" Cedric stammered after a moment of silence. "What are you talking about? The contract has been in place for years! Our families must unite!"

"The contract was specifically for Luke," Mr. Trump replied coldly. "I intended for my daughter to marry Luke Kingsley. If Luke is no longer the heir, then I will make another choice for my daughter. I am not going to simply hand Scarlett over to the next option in line as if she were a piece of property."

In the Kingsley estate, Cedric held his phone so tight, it crushed slightly. He couldn’t handle the truth.

Mr. Trump had always respected Luke’s biological mother, Penelope. She had been Cedric’s first wife, and she was an iconic woman of admirable power before she passed away. Luke was the only son of Penelope. Adrian was the son of the stepmother, Roselyn. To Mr. Trump, Adrian didn’t have that biological pedigree that Luke had from his mother’s side. He thought Adrian was just another child with no real depth.

Cedric’s anger boiled over, his fuming audible through the speaker. He was a proud Duke, and nobody ever spoke to him like he was second-best. However, he didn’t dare lash out. Arnold Trump was the President, holding more power than he could ever wield.

"I see," Cedric muttered. "If that is your decision..."

"It is," Mr. Trump said simply. "Have a good evening, Cedric."

Mr. Trump cut the call before the Duke could even finish his sentence, and the room went quiet again.

Mr. Trump let out a sigh and looked up at Scarlett, his face turning normal again, like he hadn’t just destroyed a multi-million contract in seconds. He started talking to his daughter about family legacy, how a true genius doesn’t need to settle for second-rate options, and how her future was completely wide open now.

Scarlett listened to her father’s speech, but her mind was somewhere else because of the conversation.

Deep down, she was glad with his decision because Scarlett had always preferred Luke, even though they hadn’t really gotten to know each other well. There was just something about Luke that felt real, making her ready to form a romantic connection.

However, since Luke was out of the picture and his stepbrother, Adrian rejected, she feared her father would start looking for the next best option.

Derek.

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A/N: Thanks for reading!