The fashion gala was stuffy; women dressed in high-low dresses stood around the outer hall rimmed with screens. Gen, disguised as Dessy, glanced at her own dress then relaxed her hips so that her weight shifted to one leg. She used the stance to emphasize her legs. As she walked, she swayed her hips.

Everyone else wore boots, which she thought was a bit odd, while she wore stilettos, True Stilettos. Nothing else could make her soft legs stand out more.

She approached the reception desk, which looked like the child of a lectern and a carrel. Skinny and tall, it had high walls blocking the view of the binder laid upon it. The inside shelf was most likely slanted, but Gen couldn’t see it. The desk was situated next to the double doors leading to the gala’s inner chamber, and a surveillance camera was angled down at it to stop people from peeking at the name list.

The fashion gala had been divided into two main sections: an inner, private area for the elite and main guests, and an outer area for the public. The fashion exposition would occur within the inner section, but the other guests could watch it from the public section. The exhibit itself would be broadcast for anyone unable to attend.

“I’m Descending Rook,” Gen said with a smile. It was neither too large nor too small; its size lent itself grace and elegance. Paired with her red lipstick, which matched the crimson part of her dress, it hinted of a mature, respectable woman.

The man’s eyes widened, and from the way he lowered his head to look into his binder, Gen gleaned he was trying his hardest to hide his interest in her. Behind the desk walls, his fingers roved through the pages, wrinkling them with his shaky movements. His eyebrows knit. “I’m sorry, miss. You’re not listed.”

“A mistake, possibly?” She tilted her head and placed a finger to her chin, acting coy. “I don’t mind if you check the digital list. I won’t see it as rude.”

The man blushed. But possibly due to his superior’s orders, he didn’t open his wrist watch nor take out a tablet. He instead skimmed through the binder for a second time. “Not here,” he said.

“Thank you, I’ll contact my date and see what has happened.” She politely nodded then walked to a secluded corner. Gen glanced around herself, and finding no one watching her, she let her face twitch.

That jerk! What did he do?

She pressed a few buttons on her wrist watch and then touched its screen; though clunky, the watch allowed her to ditch Dessy’s phone. She sent a message to Aether, aka Jerky.

Dessy: Hey, it’s Dessy. Gen said you would meet me at the gala’s elite section?

Jerky: Wrong number.

It took all of Gen’s concentration not to crush her watch into a thousand pieces. This was the correct number; she was sure of it. She took a deep breath so that her Dessy guise didn’t reduce to a fuming, inelegant woman. She typed a message for Mind but paused midway, thinking.

She erased the text then straightened her dress and tousled her wig. Returning to the reception desk, she bit her bottom lip and fluttered her lashes. Light tears formed in her eyes. Their size was small enough so that they didn’t drip and ruin her makeup, but they were also large enough so that they glistened.

“He’s ditched me for another woman,” she said as she touched her nose to restrain a fake sniffle. Gen slumped so slightly it was unnoticeable to passersby, but enough to properly position her cleavage for him.

The man’s brows wrinkled, and he leaned. “I’m sorry, miss. There’s nothing I can do.”

She raised her wrist watch and tapped it. “I can pay the entrance fee. How much was it? You can help me can’t you? There must be some guests who have failed to arrive.”

“It’s still early,” the man whispered and leaned further over his desk. His eyes—very quickly—peeped at her breasts. She held back a snort of disdain as he said, “Stay with me for a bit, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Could you repeat that please?” Gen coyly tilted her head in order to position her ear next to his mouth. This also hid her eyes from the surveillance camera; experience had told her one could flummox the door keeper but not the watching AI. If the AI caught her glancing at the name list, she would be reported and questioned. It was neither a matter of privacy nor of security—but of the sanctity of a name.

The elites, in their quest to appear well-versed, loved mashing ideologies from various planets. This one in particular came from Planet Name.

And Gen, despite sharing friendship with Planet Name’s princess, cared nothing for breaking it. Hidden from the AI, she glanced at the list, memorizing the names as soon as her eyes lay upon them. The man hadn’t turned the page, so it still showed the entry of R surnames; and a certain name popped at her. Two in fact.

The man, upon finishing the repeating of his words, asked, “What do you say, miss?”

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As she distanced herself from him, Gen chuckled. “I’ve thought of a fabulous idea. Do you want to know?” She cocked her head as if in tease.

He grinned and gave a curt nod.

She said, “I’ll take my brother’s place. I’m sure he has yet to arrive.”

The man coughed, possibly to hide his sudden awkwardness at his failed attempt to keep her by his side. “I can’t do that.”

“Ascending Rook. Check his name. There’s also my other brother, Generation Rook, but he’s coming with a date. I wouldn’t want to take his place.” Gen lifted her wrist watch. “Look I’ll send Ascending a message, and in the case he arrives without checking his phone—don’t let me start with how often he misplaces it—I’ll give you my number. Will that work?”

His brows raised at the prospect of her number. He quickly checked his books and lifted the small scanner designed to look like a boot. He motioned for her wrist watch. “I’ll register you as him.”

“Perfect! Thank you so much!” Gen smiled. The scanner implanted her identity code, which changed daily for everyone, into the gala’s system. She wasn’t privy of the inner workings of certain technologies, and she judged it by whether it worked or not and if there was an aura-breaker behind the tech. An aura-breaker had invented identity codes.

She slyly handed the receptionist a phone number. Aether’s number. She winked. “Text me in the future, okay?”

He beamed, and she strode to the elite section’s entrance doors. Each step and clicking of her heels held immense pride and happiness.

She had slain three monsters with one bullet. Mind, who frightened her heart with “I <3 you,” would have trouble entering; Aether, who had created difficulties for her, would receive random messages; and the receptionist, whose fate depended on the respectability of his future texts, would fail in his endeavor to flirt with her.

She scanned her watch, and the doors swung open.

Not as stuffy but toxically high-end, the elite section was far more elegant than the public section. The women—still all wearing high-low dresses—increased their level of inventiveness with the designs and colors of their dresses. Some had bell sleeves, other high collars, and a few depicted prints of famous paintings. The men, dressed in either suits or tuxedos, sported the most expensive of aura gauntlets. Ribbon hung from one side of the room to the other, and boxy waiter-droids offered fashion pamphlets. The robots swiveled from guest to guest.

Very colorful. And gaudy.

The central stage stood relatively mute and took up only a small portion of the room. Gen assumed it was for the fashion exhibition, but it didn’t match her expectation of a runway. None of it jutted into the main area. Instead, it rested in a dark corner to keep itself separated from the main, central area.

Not too far from it, Aether instantly caught Gen’s attention. Only he would don a full plate of silver armor, including the helmet, at a fashion gala. He exuded faint wisps of aura that obstructed others from approaching him. Standing so still and alone, he looked akin to a decorative statue.

“Oh! That dress!” a woman gasped. Gen, like most skilled aura-breakers, could sense a person’s gaze, so she turned.

It was Reya, wearing a black and green ombre dress of the same design... It was the dress in Aether’s pictures. No wonder he didn’t want to share it; he had prepared it for Fenri’s sister. To have the gall to offer it to two women, he added new depth to the word “playboy.”

Fenri stood beside Reya, wearing a black tuxedo, green bowtie, and large gauntlet. He had shaved his stubble, and his shoulders and arms rested at a natural angle. He was far more relaxed than his usual self. Was it Reya’s presence? Or did he feel comfortable among the elite? Gen speculated that the two were both born to the high class.

Gen, pretending she didn’t recognize them, smiled. “Good evening. You have fine tastes.”

Reya chuckled and patted her dress’s ruffles, gesturing at the coloring. “Green is my favorite color, but if I had known the dress came in red, we may be wearing the exact same!”

Gen had no idea what flowed through Reya’s head. Maybe the woman liked people with the same interests as her? Gen said, “What do you mean? If I had known it came in green, I would be wearing yours instead.”

“It is gorgeous, isn’t it? I picked it out, and His Highness, Prince Aether, bought it for me.” Reya twisted, swaying the dress’s skirt. Her actions gave her a youthful charm.

So she wanted to brag, thought Gen. She said, “Prince Aether? He gave you the dress? So you must be Reya.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t recognize me?”

“I’m not of the elite.” Gen chuckled. It was a half-lie. Her parents had been elites and Law had married one too, but the three were now dead.

Reya’s statement also affirmed Gen’s speculations that Fenri and Reya were born to high status. And it seemed their status approached the most prestigious end of elite.

“No. I don’t believe you.” Reya shook her head, looking aghast. “You hold yourself like an elite, and trust me, Fenri and I can tell when someone is faking it. Right brother?”

Fenri smiled, and oh, did it look charming. Too bad he didn’t like women. He said, “That’s right.”

“I try.” Gen shrugged, somewhat surprised Reya had flattered her. Many elites discriminated and marginalized the common people.

Wealth had a part to do with it, but it was mainly due to their aura-breakers. The elites were families heavily saturated with them because they had a higher chance of siring aura-breakers than the common person. Aura-breakers had ruled society since aura first awakened and sparked the Dark Era, or the Era of Broken Suns as historians called it.

Some extremist aura-breakers believed the mundane, common person should be enslaved; but it was the job of the Star Lines, such as Aether’s royal family, to stop any signs of physical oppression.

Reya asked, “Do tell. If you’re not an elite, how do you know the designer?”

“I don’t.” A bad taste filled Gen’s mouth in preparation for her following actions. She spun then struck a pose: hands on her hips, chin raised high, and one leg elongated to the side. She suppressed a vomit as she said, “My eldest brother bought it for me. You know him. Ascending Rook.”

She lamented: oh, what I do for Mind and his wretched interests.

“Ascending? As in S?” Reya’s smile dropped. She snorted, her malice tangible enough for Gen to feel. It raised Gen’s hairs, igniting her fighting spirit. Reya growled, “So you’re Descending Rook, Prince Aether’s date.”

“That’s right.” Gen straightened her back, preparing for battle. Reya didn’t discriminate based on status, but she sure had a belly full of vinegar and spite.