Urban System in America
Chapter 178 - 177: Mission: Seraphina’s Number

Chapter 178: Chapter 177: Mission: Seraphina’s Number

But the real question was—what the hell was he supposed to wear?

It was a formal party, obviously. Which meant—black tie, crisp suit, clean lines, polished shoes. The whole damn package.

Rex slowly got up and walked to his wardrobe with a vague sense of hope.

Then opened it.

Paused.

Closed it.

Then opened it again just to make sure it wasn’t a hallucination.

Yeah... no. Still nothing.

Not a single decent piece of formal wear in sight.

T-shirts? Hoodies? A denim jacket he may or may not have stolen from Kaelan?

Sure.

But suits?

Not even the ghost of one.

His gaze wandered toward the far side of the closet—where the old Rex’s formal wear had been tucked away like relics from a forgotten era.

Out of curiosity (and mild desperation), he pulled one out.

Yeah, no.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

The design? Questionable at best.

The size? A disaster.

He held it up to himself and stared at the mirror. The sleeves stopped halfway down his forearms, and the pants looked like they were made for someone who never skipped leg day but also never hit puberty.

Since his "system training" and general lifestyle upgrade, his physique had gone through quite the transformation—subtle, lean muscle tone and just enough height gain to ruin any old clothing plans.

And when it came to suits, fit was everything.

A good suit didn’t just make you look good. It announced you. Framed you. Delivered your presence before you even opened your mouth.

He might’ve worn those cheap off-rack suits in his last life for job interviews or weddings, but that didn’t mean he was clueless.

This was the information age. And like every other self-conscious twenty-something, he had gone down the grooming and style rabbit hole more times than he could count. YouTube had been his digital mentor.

Tailoring, posture, cologne layers, watch etiquette, sock rules—he’d watched it all.

So yeah, he knew exactly how badly those old suits failed the vibe check.

He let out a small sigh, tossing the outdated relic back inside.

"Great," he muttered. "Nothing to wear to Hollywood. How poetic."

Now he had no choice but to fix that... fast.

A name immediately popped into his mind.

Seraphina Marcella.

Now there was a woman who could make suits appear out of thin air—and make you feel like royalty while doing it.

She was the fiercely elegant, borderline terrifying manager of Luvation, the boutique where he’d previously shopped for... well, a lot of things. Designer stuff. Statement pieces. Price tags that made your ancestors weep. But worth every penny.

He hadn’t planned on returning so soon, but desperate times called for fashionable solutions.

Besides, Seraphina had once told him—in that smoky Italian-accented voice of hers—

"Mr. Rex, if you ever need something that whispers wealth but roars style, you call me directly."

He was about to test that offer.

But the problem was he didn’t have Seraphina Marcella’s number.

But then again—getting it wasn’t exactly difficult for someone like him.

Without hesitation, He casually picked up his phone and dialed Victor’s contact.

Ring... Ring...

On the third ring, a tired, sleep-drenched, groggy voice answered.

"...Yeah?"

Victor sounded like he’d been halfway to dreamland already.

"Hi!" He greeted.

But the moment he heard Rex’s voice, the fatigue evaporated like mist under a spotlight.

"Sir! Is everything alright?" He snapped to full alert.

"All good, no need to be nervous, and sorry for disturbing you so late at night." Rex said smoothly, settling deeper into bed. "Just a small favor. I need you to get me a number."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. "Whose number, sir?"

"Seraphina Marcella," Rex said, already hearing Victor shift into full mission mode. "Store manager of Luvation. Rodeo Drive. You know the one."

Even through the phone, he could feel Victor sit up straighter.

Victor didn’t ask why. Didn’t question. Just listened, as always. But the moment Rex said her name—

Victor interrupted, tone sharpening. "Boss, if you’re talking about Miss Seraphina, we already have her complete file. Both of her numbers—professional and personal."

Rex paused, surprised. "Huh? You do?"

Sensing his confusion, Victor offered an explanation before Rex could ask. "After your last visit to her store, we ran a basic background check. Standard protocol."

"Ah," Rex muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah... not surprising."

If they already had Seraphina’s details, it wasn’t a stretch to assume they had files on everyone he’d interacted with—even the brief ones. Probably had cross-referenced data, routines, threat levels... the whole package.

Just how far does their net go...?

And if they had her info... what about all the other people he’d met?

So, he instinctively asked, "And if you have hers... you probably have info on everyone else I’ve met recently, huh?"

He shook the thought off. "Forget it. Doesn’t matter right now. Just send me the number."

Now wasn’t the time to spiral into that rabbit hole.

Besides, this wasn’t some shady surveillance agency—it was a system-granted security company. Handpicked and hardwired to serve and protect him above all else.

He didn’t have to doubt their loyalty.

"On it."

A few hundred meters away, Victor threw off his blanket, sat up. His bare feet hit the cold floor as he moved to the steel-gray reinforced storage case by the corner of his room. It looked less like a tech box and more like a piece of military-grade hardware. With its reinforced plating, biometric lock panels, and subtle warning labels in three languages.

With its reinforced plating, biometric lock panels, and subtle warning labels in three languages,

After entering a complex password, retinal scan, fingerprint, the heavy latches disengaged with a deep mechanical thud.

Inside, nestled like a crown jewel, was a thick, heavily armored laptop—though "laptop" was a generous word. Thick, matte black, and wrapped in a shock-absorbing carbon-titanium shell, it was designed to survive EMPs, cyberattacks, and perhaps the apocalypse.

Secure enough to launch missiles or maybe just check tomorrow’s celebrity gossip, before they even had been published... if you had clearance.

(End of Chapter)