[Alright, listen up, Mr. Walkin'-Around-Money. Because you ignored your side quest prep, the system is dropping new quests. Enjoy.]
[New Quest Chain Unlocked: INVESTMENTS.]
[Rule Set Initialized:]
Investments must be physical assets that provide direct, personal benefit.
No selling investments. Period. That's liquidation, not growth.
Companies must be built or bought for long-term gain. No dumping them after a profit spike.
Stock holdings must be active—hands-on involvement required.
Fraud, money laundering (depends on many factors), or enchantment cheating will trigger automatic Wealth Rank deductions and System Penalties.
[In short: Don't be stupid. You're not just playing tycoon. You're playing survival tycoon—with monsters.]
Django scratched his head. "So... I can't just buy a brothel, flip it, and walk away with a bag of silver?"
[Nope. You buy a brothel, you're expected to manage it. And maybe buff its mana wards and put in monster insurance.]
He blinked. "That's... a lot."
[Welcome to business, baby. It's capitalism, but with magic and claws.]
[Alright, moving on. Recommended Investments—because I know your ADHD is stronger than your impulse control.]
"Well shit, thank you, system."
[You're welcome. Don't make me regret this. And call me Bank yeah?]
--- RECOMMENDED INVESTMENTS ---
Asset: Food Truck (Decommissioned but restorable)
Location: Downtown Miami Sector 3
Purchase Cost: $12,000
Est. Upkeep: $1,200/mo
ROI Forecast: Moderate — boost to local Reputation and mobility-based dungeon contracts.
System Note: (Starter-friendly. Smells like grilled profit.)
Asset: Mana-Purifying Spring (Privately Owned, Unmaintained)
Location: North Ridge Expanse, Wild Zone Edge
Purchase Cost: $480,000
Est. Upkeep: $4,500/mo
ROI Forecast: High — can be converted into personal sanctuary or leased to adventurers.
System Note: (Dangerous but lucrative. Also: scenic views.)
Asset: Abandoned Guild Hall (Historic Permit Included)
Location: East Spire District
Purchase Cost: $3,200,000
Est. Upkeep: $15,000/mo
ROI Forecast: Very High — long-term influence, guild formation potential.
System Note: (Big commitment. Bigger payoff. Prestige bait.)
Asset: Arcane Vending Machine Franchise (Pilot Approval Granted)
Location: Flexible Deployment Zones
Cost Per Unit: $65,000
Monthly Overhead: $5,000
ROI Forecast: Low to Mid — passive income, strong in high-traffic magical sectors.
System Note: (Automation is sexy, but don't get lazy.)
[Pick one, rich boy. Or go rogue. Just know: the deeper you invest, the louder the monsters knock. Either way, progress.]
Django considered what Bank just laid out—and it meant absolutely nothing to him.
All those glowing terms and financial breakdowns? Might as well have been written in ancient draconic.
Neither he nor the original Django had ever cared enough to learn what a return on investment actually was. They coasted through every finance or business class on charm, guesswork, or in one case—a hot teacher he may or may not have blackmailed with a mana-video of her side hustle to secure good grades.
"Should've paid attention," he muttered. "But damn, Ms. Elvannis was fine."
That ass was so full, it just bounced up and down like it had its own gravity field. His dick took days to recover from that.
Before doing anything stupid—well, more stupid—Django plopped back onto the bed, pulled a sleek black device from the nightstand, and tapped the crystal-screen.
"Huh. Looks like a phone. Let's see…"
The interface lit up. Sleek, mana-reactive, and eerily familiar.
"Holy shit. Apple exists here? Android as well? And they combined? Damn. And it looks like something straight outta Breath of the Wild."
The logo pulsed: AetherTech: Connected Everywhere.
Django grinned. "Okay, that's sexy."
A few flicks through the world-browser later, he had a crash course in local geography:
Planet: Solivara
Continent: Virelia (shared with three major empires, twenty-eight minor kingdoms, and way too many dungeons)
State/Region: Echelon Heights — ultra-rich capital district, corporate stronghold, home of the Whitmore Estate
He scrolled further, eyes narrowing.
"Political instability, monster hotspots, shady guilds, corrupt noble families…" He grinned. "So, basically Earth—just more honest about being insane."
He leaned back, thumbs tapping idly on the screen, before opening the notepad app and scribbling out a few of his personal rules. Even in a new world, standards were standards.
The Django Code (Drafted & Enforced by Himself):
No one under 17 — no exceptions – This ain't that kind of story. Full stop. Don't fall for jailbait.
Crazy is fine — just keep it entertaining – A little chaos is fun. A lot needs insurance.
No broke energy – Confidence is cool. Clingy desperation? Not so much.
Collect a harem – It's not greed. It's lifestyle branding.
Respect the drip – He doesn't leave his room unless he looks at least 80% fuckable.
No mixing business with booty – Investments are for profit, not pleasure (unless it's mutually profitable).
Consent is king, queen, and non-binary emperor – Always clear. Always mutual. Always smooth.
Cars must have spinning rims – If the wheels don't dance, why even drive?
No bottoming, no sucking – He's a giver, not a kneeler—no judgment—just personal brand. The only dick he is touching is own thank you very much.
Own a female sports team addicted to him, himself, and he – Legacy goals.
Foreplay is mandatory – Always set the mood. Even gods deserve warm-ups.
If she fakes it, she's fired (unless it passes the vibe test) – Honesty in bed is non-negotiable.
Keep a pleasure ledger – Everyone gets theirs—equitable satisfaction = elite game.
No orgies before breakfast – Unless it's the weekend.
Every room in the mansion must be usable for something sexy – Just in case. (Second goal: build an epic crib).
Drink like a gentleman, party like a god – No cheap booze, no hangover regrets.
Food is foreplay too – If she can cook, she's already halfway to the bedroom; if he can cook, same deal. If they can cook, same as the first, not a different verse.
Breeding kinks welcome — but only with consent, clarity, and contraception unless planned – Horny doesn't mean reckless.
No judging the rainbow – LGBTQ+, pan, demi, poly — love who you want, just don't be boring.
Everyone's welcome in the bed—if they pass the vibe check – Gender's not a limit, but bad energy is.
Don't yuck someone else's yum – Unless it breaks Rule 1 or requires a magical hazmat suit.
Django leaned back, proud.
"It's a lifestyle, not a phase. And if they don't like it? They can try to keep up or step aside."
Golden blonde hair styled like he paid someone just to wake him up with a comb. Eyes sharp and ocean-blue, glowing faintly with magic and attitude. Skin a warm, deep brown bronze like it absorbed light just to flex on the room. His jawline could cut mana-steel.
He looked expensive, dangerous, and fun. Silk shirt open halfway down his chest, layered chains enchanted with passive glamours, black slacks tailored to disrespect gravity.
"Goddamn," he said with a wink to himself. "If I saw me on the street, I'd shoot my shot and pray."
Back on Earth, he was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, in the middle of hurricane season. Raised by a single mother who ran a barbershop and taught him three things early: hustle hard, stay pretty, and never let anyone tell you your worth. His father was gone—left, locked up, or lost to the system, depending on which version of the story you caught him on. None of it mattered. Django grew up fast and smart, with a laugh that covered bruises and a grin that made trouble his best friend.
By the time he was fifteen, he had a side hustle for every day of the week—fixing phones, cutting hair, dealing street-bootleg mana batteries to tourists. He was clever, smooth, shameless. The kind of kid who could sell a broken wand to a mage and convince them they were the problem. Women loved him. Men envied him. Teachers tolerated him, barely. He was charismatic, cocky, and allergic to consequences.
College? He finessed his way in. Mostly on forged credentials, blackmail, and a perfectly timed charisma burst. The degree? Technically earned. The grades? A product of extra credit, shady deals, and occasional seduction. He never really cared for the "system," unless it was a way to game it. It was never about power—it was about freedom. Owning your time, your space, your body, and making damn sure no one else controlled it.
"Aight, I'm bored of this," he said, adjusting his collar. He turned, strutting toward the massive golden double doors of his room like he owned the continent. Then paused.
"Alright, Bank," he said aloud, stretching his arms over his head, "I'm feeling spicy. Where do I start?"
[Smart move. Let's not have your first investment blow up because you took a wrong turn into a monster den.]
[Suggested Starting Objective: Visit Investment Location – Food Truck in Downtown Miami Sector 3.]
"Perfect," Django said. "Time to make grilled money."
He headed for the doors—then stopped dead.
"…Wait. Where the hell is Downtown Miami?"
He looked around like the hallway would magically answer him. Spoiler: it didn't.
[Oh, so now you realize you don't know jack about your own city.]
"I was busy being fabulous," Django shot back.
As he scratched his head, trying to figure out if he could teleport or just bribe someone into navigating for him, the door opened.
She stepped in like slow motion was invented just for her.
Voluptuous. Immaculate posture. Skin like caramelized mana. A form-fitting black-and-emerald uniform tailored to tease without trying. Her heels didn't click—they announced. Her silver hair was braided and swept over one shoulder, and her eyes shimmered like mirrored starlight.
"Master Whitmore," she said in a voice smoother than silk in wine. "You appear... lost."
Django blinked, lips parting before he could stop himself.
"…Holy damn. Who are you?"
She bowed ever so slightly, lips curling into a practiced smile.
"Your personal maid. Assigned to assist with logistics, planning, and—" her eyes briefly dipped down, "—anything else you may require."
[Hot damn, I forgot you came with a starter kit.] Bank whistled.
"Yeah," Django muttered, straightening up. "I'm gonna like this place."