Chương 21: Rich Homelessness

Meno stared at the stream end button like it had asked him to delete his future. Viewers were still stacked in the six figures, even with Veyrath down and nothing on-screen except his apartment, his cracked phone, and the maintenance notice. Ending now felt like throwing water on the first real fire his channel had ever caught. Keeping it on felt like walking into a guild meeting with a camera tied to his forehead and a sign that said please sue me. He did not have a portable streaming setup anyway.

Even if he did, he would not have used it. Probably.

"Stream's going off," he said. Chat turned into immediate betrayal. COWARD TAKE US TO THE WIFE MEET don't trust guilds get paid first Meno's eyes caught that number again in Aurelia's text. 25, 000 credits for appearance. Meeting at The Pearl. Downtown Vernova. Private room details on arrival. Do not stream. Try wearing something that was not recently involved in a pillow fight. Meno ended the stream. The apartment went quiet in a way that made the maintenance page feel bigger.

He showered fast, scrubbed the sweat out of his hair, and stood in front of his tiny closet like there might be a hidden stat bonus somewhere between three bad shirts. His finest clothes were a clean white shirt, jeans, and a hoodie without visible stains. The suit hung in the back under a thin plastic cover. Job interview suit. Absolutely not. Putting that on would make the meeting feel like employment, and employment had mechanics he distrusted. Guilds loved obligations. Contracts. Scheduling. Carry funnels.

Content permissions. They would not let him chase rank against their chosen. They would pat him on the head, buy his weird account state, and put him in a box labeled useful idiot. He chose the hoodie. Real classy. Vernova's early morning air carried salt and exhaust when he stepped outside. Downtown glowed ahead, a cluster of glass towers and moving lights rising past the rail lines and older apartment blocks.

The Pearl sat in the center of the rich district beside a circular fountain plaza, a bright needle of a skyscraper he had seen from a distance his whole life and never had a reason to enter. Twenty-five thousand credits. Meno kept doing the math while he walked. Twelve thousand five hundred pizza slices, exactly, if he used the cheap place and did not let toppings scam him. Fifty months of his five-hundred-credit outskirts rent.

Two premium VR rigs at ten thousand each, the kind that did not leave his body sore after every long session, with enough left over to make his current setup look like an apology. Twenty-five thousand just to show up. That meant they wanted something worth far more.

"Don't get excited," he muttered.

"Show-up fee is bait." His stomach answered by remembering steak. The Pearl's entrance faced the fountain. Water climbed in silver arcs under recessed lights, falling around a sculpture of two twisting glass sails. Cars pulled up without engine noise. People stepped out in suits, gowns, and tailored coats that looked like they had never touched public transit. Two huge glass doors opened before he touched them. The atrium inside made him slow down despite himself.

Marble floors spread beneath polished wood walls, with hanging plants arranged like someone had paid an artist to make nature behave. The air smelled faintly of cedar, citrus, and money that had never needed to explain itself. A long reception desk curved under a chandelier of thin gold rings, and people spoke quietly because the room had trained them to. Aurelia couldn't be here yet. Her text said two hours from the call, and only about an hour and a half had passed.

That gave him time to settle, pretend he looked normal, and maybe identify every exit. He sat on a leather sofa in the lobby. A man approached within fifteen seconds.

"May we help you, sir?" Meno looked up. The staff member's suit fit perfectly, and his smile was polite enough to be a threat.

"I'm supposed to have a meeting here with someone called Aurelia."

"Just a second, sir." The man walked to reception, spoke quietly, and returned with the same smile adjusted by one degree.

"Sorry, sir. We have no knowledge of any such meeting. We will have to ask you to leave." There it was. Of course he would get thrown outside to wait on the street like a food delivery driver with the wrong elevator code. Meno felt heat climb up his neck.

"Look," he said, keeping his voice lower than he wanted.

"I don't know her real name. It's a meeting for guilds in Veyrath. You know what that is, right?"

"Of course, sir. Just a second." The staff member went back to reception, murmured with someone, and returned wearing a different smile, warmer only because someone had corrected him professionally.

"Of course. Miss Aureliana Sorell is expected soon. May I bring you a refresher?" Aureliana Sorell. Meno rolled the name around in his head and hated how well it fit her. Sorell. He had heard that surname before. It was on the library by the train station and a scholarship poster at his old school. Bad news in a family crest. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. She was not rich. She was rich-rich. Meno said the only honest thing available.

"I can't afford to drink anything here." The man's smile sharpened into something almost human.

"We can always charge it to Miss Sorell. You are her guest, after all." Guest. For one awful second, Meno heard quest. His face lit up anyway.

"Then can I have a steak-burger with fries and a large blueberry juice?"

"Certainly." A tiny pause.

"Please come with me to the bar." The bar occupied a side room off the atrium, warm and dim, with dark wood shelves holding more bottles than Meno had ever seen in one place. Soft music moved under the low conversation, and the tables were spaced far enough apart for people to pretend privacy existed. Business people in expensive clothes glanced up from breakfast as he passed, then looked away like noticing him had been rude. Meno took a seat.

"Just to confirm," the staff member said, "did you mean a hamburger plus a steak?"

"No." Meno rested his elbows on the table, then remembered the room and moved them off.

"Can you put a steak, medium rare, into a hamburger for me?" The staff member blinked once.

"A bit unusual, but it can be arranged."

"Good. Large juice."

"Blueberry."

"Very large."

"Of course." Meno watched him leave. The bar returned to its expensive hum. A man in a navy suit glanced at him, then at his hoodie, then back to his drink. A woman with a pearl necklace said something soft to her companion and smiled without showing teeth. Meno sat very still and decided that even if the guilds scammed him out of the appearance fee, he had already converted the meeting into food value. The steak-burger arrived fifteen minutes later. It was obscene. Huge bun, glossy and warm.

A real steak cut sat inside, like the kitchen had seen the word burger and decided to show off. Tomato, crisp lettuce, pepper-butter sauce, fries in a little silver basket, and blueberry juice dark and cold in a tall glass. For a few seconds, Meno looked at it the way chat had looked at Epic III dragon materials. Then he ate. He tried to pace himself for maybe two bites. Then hunger took command.

The steak was tender, salted properly, pink in the middle, and hot enough to make him forget every cheap slice of pizza he had defended as food. The bun soaked up juice without collapsing. The sauce cut through the fat. Even the tomato tasted like it had a job. He washed each bite down with blueberry juice, which was sweet, sharp, cold, and probably worth more than his last monthly streaming payment. The waiter gave him a weird look on the next pass, but Meno had already decided shame was cheaper than food.

He finished the burger in five minutes, ordered another, and Aurelia still had not arrived. He took his time with the second one because a poor man could learn when properly motivated. Halfway through, the bar entrance opened and a young man walked in looking like he had been dropped from a completely different building. Mid-twenties. Short-cropped blond hair. Hoop earrings in both ears. White tank top. Sweatpants. Flip-flops.

He moved like somebody who owned enough money, attention, or confidence to treat dress codes as optional. The man looked around until he saw Meno. Then he stopped. His expression sharpened from tired to enraged so fast Meno almost dropped a fry. The man crossed the room in a straight line, sat down across from him, and pointed like he had found the source of the fire.

"It's you, asshole. Veyrath is down because of you." Meno froze mid-bite, then finished it because wasting the bite would be cowardice. The man leaned forward.

"You ignoring me?" Meno chewed, swallowed, took a drink of blueberry juice, and set the glass down.

"You're mistaking me with someone. I'm always told I look like someone famous, but I assure you I am not." The man stared at him. Then laughed once, short and sharp.

"Hah. Good one." He leaned back, anger bleeding into amusement like he had gotten bored of holding it.

"Whatever. I needed rest anyway. Been tracking cooldowns for like ten hours straight." Meno narrowed his eyes.

"Are you from one of the guilds I'm supposed to meet?"

"Nah." The man grabbed one of Meno's fries without asking.

"I'm Honeygrave. You saw my name, right?" Meno looked at him. The leaderboard name connected three seconds late. Rank five, last he checked. Honeygrave. Level 25 then. Probably higher now.

"Never heard of it." Honeygrave grinned.

"Yeah, right."

"What kind of dumb name is PrayerBeadGod anyway?" Honeygrave stole a fry.

"You've got issues, man. And that negative karma catapult trick? Crownfall's dumbasses figured it out right before the server went down. They're coming for you. Soon." Meno kept his face still. Honeygrave stole another fry.

"I'd go too, but we found a crazy dungeon spot in the Melrai Dunes north of Westmarket. Thirty-to-thirty-five range. All debuff, no damage. My class eats those." Meno looked him over again: tank top, sweatpants, flip-flops, hoop earrings, top leaderboard player in the most expensive hotel in Vernova.

"You actually play from here? Are you homeless?" Honeygrave laughed with his mouth full.

"Very funny. The Pearl has VR rooms if you can pay for them. When I'm pushing, I'm not going home to deal with food, laundry, travel, whatever. Room service, rigs downstairs, done."

"That sounds like rich homelessness."

"You haven't used a Pearl VR suite." Meno took another bite of the steak-burger. He had intended to ask cleanly, but the question came out half full.

"What's your class? Is it strong?" Honeygrave looked at him with open delight.

"Oh, you really don't know. Rot Savant. Upgraded from Rot Scholar at thirty." Meno stopped chewing.

"Wait. You can upgrade classes?"

"Cool, right?" Honeygrave leaned on the table.

"You get options based on what you've done. Route, achievements, damage profile, class behavior, maybe hidden flags. Nobody knows the full rules yet. With those Titan achievements people told me about, yours is definitely going to be nuts." Meno swallowed as the math shifted. Class upgrades at thirty changed the ceiling. Again.

"How come you aren't going for Titan?" Honeygrave's expression changed by a fraction. The joking stayed, but something steadier showed under it.

"I can't just leave my party. We're a unit." Meno made a sound. Honeygrave pointed at him.

"Don't make that face. That unit is why I'm up there and you're not."

"I play solo."

"You make no sense, really." Honeygrave shrugged.

"But I get it. Chip on your shoulder. Must prove the world wrong. Been there. Don't miss it." Meno raised his eyebrows over the burger. Honeygrave's smile thinned.

"Oh, you thought I was one of those rich family kids?"

"You're wearing flip-flops in The Pearl."

"I earned this with stream money." Honeygrave leaned back, arms spread.

"Years of chat idiots, theory shows, PvP events, sponsored ladders, all that jazz. Now I'm trying to beat BrineSaint to the top spot, but that guy is a lunatic." Meno paused.

"Lunatic?"

"Yeah." Honeygrave's voice lost its casual edge, turning almost respectful despite itself.

"He never does anything flashy. I played against him in normal MMOs. No dumb risks, no ego checks, no chasing clips. He finds the most boring route in the game, grinds it until his eyes bleed, then keeps going after everyone else starts making mistakes. Total machine." Meno thought of Radiant Aegis. Dungeon exits. Sponsor banners. Calm posture. Honeygrave continued, "His wife is apparently some math expert. She builds the plans for him: routes, XP targets, downtime, sleep, meals, squad rotations. Everything.

Then everyone chasing him gets impatient and starts forcing plays. They blow up, lose time, get banned, tilt. He just follows the spreadsheet and wins by default." Meno looked at his steak-burger, then at Honeygrave.

"I'm definitely going to beat him." Honeygrave laughed hard enough to nearly lose the fry he'd stolen.

"Sure, man. You might beat him by making him lose his mind first. One shutdown and you probably nuked his sleep schedule. I bet you're already on his list. Try not to get banned twice before dinner. Great for everyone."

"It was clever use of game mechanics."

"All exploits are clever use of game mechanics." Honeygrave took another fry and pointed it at him.

"But seriously. Friendly advice. You might not get this yet, so listen once. It's not just money on the line. You make a mess, other people make messes on top of it, and pretty soon that's the whole thing. I'd rather chill, play, win clean enough, and avoid global drama." Meno frowned.

"What does that mean?" Honeygrave stood.

"You figure it out."

"That's not advice. That's loading-screen wisdom."

"Yeah, but I'm tired." Honeygrave stretched his arms over his head.

"Beauty nap before the game comes back up. Nice meeting you. We should do a PvP event sometime. You'd be good content. Try to keep up." Honeygrave offered his hand. Meno looked at it, then shook it with ketchup still on his fingers. Honeygrave glanced down.

"Yikes. Gross, man."

"You stole my fries."

"And survived. See ya." He left the bar in flip-flops and a tank top, threading through the business suits like a sleep-deprived leaderboard ghost. Honeygrave thought the stakes were not just money, which probably meant reputation, power, contracts, maybe investors. Rich people always made money sound smaller than it was. Class upgrades at thirty still sat in the back of Meno's head, changing the ceiling. He took another bite, noticed Aurelia still was not here, and decided that meant there was time for dessert.