Chapter 265: Chapter 265: Seven Beauties and a Funeral for My Afternoon

\[SATORI! JUAN! GET YOUR ASSES OVER TO THE CRIMSON STITCH. NOW. FASHION EMERGENCY OF EPIC PROPORTIONS. REINFORCEMENTS NEEDED!!!!!\]

A photo came with it.

Controlled chaos didn’t begin to describe what I was looking at.

The dressing room area of The Crimson Stitch looked like a warzone. Clothes covered every surface. A rainbow of fabrics draped over chairs, racks, what might have been a fainting couch. In the background, Emi held up two different dresses with a panicked expression. Her blue hair was frizzed with stress. Soomin was attempting to hide behind a clothing rack. Only her wide eyes and the top of her pink head were visible between formal gowns.

What really caught my attention was Akari Miyamoto posing in front of a mirror in something criminally short and tight. Her tan skin and curves were on full display in a cream-colored dress that left very little to imagination. Even through the photo, her energy was predatory.

And in the center of it all was Natalia. She looked regal. And pissed. She held up a sleek black cocktail dress. Her purple eyes were narrowed in that expression I recognized as "one step away from violence." Her posture was rigid with irritation.

My datapad buzzed again. Private message from Natalia this time.

\[Get over here. Carmen is trying to get me to try on something that barely qualifies as a napkin. And why are the Miyamoto twins here? Did you have something to do with this? I know you’re planning something.\]

I showed the public message and photo to Juan. He groaned like someone had just told him he had to run a marathon. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Eyes closed like he was warding off a migraine.

"You’ve got to be kidding me." His voice was full of suffering. "This is my actual nightmare. A room full of clothes and opinions and feelings. So many feelings. I’d rather face the virtual sharks again."

I checked the System clock hovering at the edge of my vision. That subtle blue glow only I could see. 7 hours, 42 minutes remaining on Aphrodite’s quest. Time enough to lay more groundwork. Make more connections. Plant more seeds.

I looked toward The Crimson Stitch, then back at Juan. A slow smile spread across my face.

"Come on," I said, slipping my new purchases into a bag. "The ladies require our expert opinion. And you know what? This is perfect for you to practice your new philosophy. Stand back, look bored, occasionally drop a strategic comment. Minimal effort, maximum impact."

"No part of that sentence was appealing." Juan muttered, but he followed anyway. Resignation was written in every line of his body. "Being the puppet master requires too many strings to pull."

"Then just be a prop. Stand there and look pretty in your new shirt. I’ll handle the rest."

The Crimson Stitch was about a five-minute walk away. As we approached, I mentally prepared for what promised to be a complicated social minefield. Natalia and Akari in the same room was a powder keg waiting for a spark. Throw in Emi’s earnestness, Soomin’s shyness, and whatever wild card Carmen represented, and we had either a disaster or an opportunity.

Probably both.

"Just so we’re clear," Juan said as we reached the boutique’s ornate entrance. His voice dropped so only I could hear. "I’m only here because it’s less effort than arguing with you. Not because I’m buying into your puppet master fantasy."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." I pushed the ruby door open. The gem-like surface was cool under my palm. Unexpectedly smooth. "Though I thought you were all about maximum results with minimum effort now."

"Observing female social dynamics provides zero valuable results," he said dryly, trailing me into the boutique. "It’s like watching a documentary on quantum physics in a language I don’t speak. Incomprehensible and ultimately pointless."

"You might be surprised. Information is power. And women control more than you think."

The interior of The Crimson Stitch was a riot of color and texture. An assault on the senses after the understated elegance of Kingsley’s. Racks of designer clothes lined the walls, organized by color rather than style. Created a rainbow effect that was both artistic and slightly overwhelming. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. They cast dancing patterns of light across the plush crimson carpet. The lighting was carefully set up to make everything look more expensive than it actually was. A subtle enhancement that spoke to the target clientele’s vanity.

The air was thick with competing perfumes and the scent of high-quality fabrics. I could hear snippets of conversation. The rustle of silk and satin. What sounded like a heated debate coming from the back of the store.

And in the center of this retail paradise was a tableau straight out of a battle strategy manual.

Carmen stood like a general at the front of the store. One hand on her hip, the other gesturing at a rack of evening wear. Her navy blazer was unbuttoned, revealing an amount of cleavage that would get her written up if any other faculty members were present.

Beside her, Emi held up two dresses against herself. One was a modest blue number that matched her hair. The other was a much more daring red piece with strategic cutouts. Her expression was genuine distress, as if this decision were as critical as defusing a bomb.

Soomin peered anxiously from behind a display of accessories. Her pink pigtails and wide gradient-blue eyes were the only parts of her clearly visible. She clutched a pale pink dress to her chest like armor. Her knuckles were white with tension.

Ten feet away, forming their own defensive perimeter, stood Isabelle Okoye. Her statuesque frame was draped in a forest-green gown that accentuated her regal bearing. She looked simultaneously bored and amused. A queen observing the antics of her subjects. Her deep red hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves. Her matching burgundy eyes surveyed the scene with detached interest.

She was flanked by Akari Miyamoto and her sister Hikari.

Akari was examining her nails with exaggerated disinterest. Her tan skin and bombshell figure were a stark contrast to the cream-colored dress she’d apparently already decided on. Her long black hair was pulled into a casual updo, emphasizing her slender neck and the dangerous gleam in her emerald eyes.

Hikari, by contrast, looked like an excited puppy. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she pointed at a display of what appeared to be combat-inspired gowns. Her more athletic build was wrapped in a bright orange dress that should have clashed horribly with her complexion but somehow worked. Her enthusiasm was as obvious as her sister’s disinterest.

And in the middle, radiating irritation like a small sun, stood Natalia.

Her arms were crossed over her chest. Her posture was stiff. Her purple eyes locked onto mine the moment I entered, filled with equal parts relief and accusation. She held a black dress in one hand. What looked like Carmen’s more risqué suggestion in the other. A purple number that seemed to consist mostly of strategic strings and hope.

"Finally," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Her voice cut through the ambient chatter of the boutique. "Someone with sense."

The look she gave me contained multitudes. Irritation. Relief. A silent message that I owed her for this torment.

Carmen turned, spotting us with a predatory grin that reminded me of a cat who’d just cornered a particularly juicy mouse. "Perfect timing, boys! We were just debating the merits of satin versus chiffon for evening combat wear. Juan, your analytical mind might help settle this debate."