Urban Harem God: Harem With My Ultimate Copy & Paste System!-Chapter 16: Silvercrest Residence

He thought he was ready for it. Like, yeah, he expected something wild to happen after he checked out with that fat-ass shopping cart.

But real talk? Expecting it and feeling it hit weren't even in the same solar system. Like, bro, dreams and expectations were cute little words that meant jack shit the moment reality smacked you in the face with a million-dollar notification.

Bam!

No warning. Just that sweet, sexy, system chime like the universe moaned in your ear:

"Congratulations, papi." It was like knowing your crush might say yes if you shoot your shot... then she shows up at your door in lingerie holding a pizza and forgiveness. Merde, even his inner hater couldn't cope.

Yeah, expectations? Pfft. That was the PG version. Living in the actual moment where that cash dropped? That was the R-rated director's cut.

"Who the hell was he, huh?" He asked himself as if he wasn't actually talking about himself.

"A broke-ass street kid who used to pray just to keep Wi-Fi on, who got beat down by life—and by his dad like it was some twisted hobby. The same guy who thought a thousand bucks in a bank account was fantasy-level wealth, like, what do you mean money sits in your account and doesn't vanish after two days of "emergency shit" like rent or painkillers? ¿Estás loco?"

"And now, the same poor bastard who got dumped like expired milk just casually spent money—and got a whole million back like some goddamn cashback promotion from Mount Olympus."

Like... are you fucking kidding him?

Hell yeah he froze. Anybody would. Don't lie. Even the toughest gangster would pause, tilt their head, and whisper "yo wtf..." at that moment.

Jayden just stood there like he was buffering in real life.

"I definitely won't freeze if I get a billion," he muttered like a liar he was, "but the first time? Damn, it hits different. That shit really lives up to its name. First time. Like virgin money shock."

He paused. "Although... if I ever got a billion, I don't know if I'd cry, cuss out the heavens for taking this long, or just strip naked and run through the streets yelling 'I AM MONEY!'"

Depende, honestly.

"Might depend on the weather. Or if I'll have a clean underwear then." Either way, he knew he'd say some dumb shit.

But for now? No streaking. He had a package to wait on. Packages, plural. A whole damn convoy of them.

He plopped back down onto the bed, legs stretched out, arms behind his head like he hadn't just casually rewritten his destiny.

The system screen hovered in front of him, glowing all smug and mysterious like "look what I can do, bitch." Jayden gave it a half-smile and swiped through the Harem abilities like he was flipping through a naughty catalog of sins he was legally allowed to commit now.

"Alright, let's see what kind of perverted Pokémon I've turned into."

And just like that, sarcasm locked in, chaos mode activated. If God gave him power, well, God better be ready for the show.

****

The Silvercrest Residence wasn't your average gated community with a couple fancy-ass houses and a grumpy HOA president named Bob.

This place was its own damn kingdom. A whole mini city stacked with skyscrapers, each one screaming money, privilege, and I-don't-pay-taxes energy. Condos? Check. Penthouse apartments with views so high up birds filed complaints? Check. Full-blown mansions casually chilling next to designer townhomes like it was normal? Sí, señor.

And of course, rich people couldn't live somewhere this extra without their own high-end everything. There were private supermarkets where eggs probably cost $30 per dozen just because they're organic and emotionally supported. Cafés that served espresso like it was made from angel tears.

And the gyms? Yeah, plural. Because one gym isn't enough when you've got biceps that cost more to maintain than a Honda Civic.

But one gym building stood out—it wasn't just a gym, it was the gym. Six floors of pure, glittering ego, built like a luxury wellness fortress. The glass walls reflected the sunset like the building was flirting with the sun itself, all golden glows and soft shadows kissing its mirrored skin.

Rich folks filtered in and out—sleek women with sinful curves poured into tight, branded leggings, their bodies moving like temptation wrapped in skin.

Apple Watches sparkled on their wrists, but they weren't just for tracking steps—they were proof that even time wanted to worship them. They walked like they owned gravity, hips swaying with unapologetic heat, lips glossed to ruin and eyes framed with lashes long enough to whisper sins.

Trophy wives? Oh, baby. These weren't just wives—they were walking fantasies in matching yoga sets, bouncing assets defying physics, skin glowing like they bathed in moonlight and coconut oil. They didn't exercise—they performed. Even tying their laces looked like foreplay.

And yeah, the old money heirs were there too, flexing abs carved by stress, protein, and generational wealth. But no one was looking at them. Not when she walked by, or she, or that one in the corner doing squats that could start wars.

This wasn't a gym.

It was a temple. And the goddesses were already putting everyone to shame.

Inside, the reception area had that soft LED lighting that made you feel rich even if your wallet was crying. But tonight, no one gave a single fuck about the aesthetic. All eyes—every single one—were locked on him.

Jayden.

No, the Jayden. A walking sin in gym-ready sweats, skin still warm from the evening breeze, hair somehow always perfectly tousled like a shampoo commercial gone rogue. Even the receptionist forgot how to breathe.

"What a headache," he muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose like it was a burden to be this hot. "Will you please work on me?"

The receptionist straight-up jumped like she'd been tasered.

"R-Right!" she stammered, fingers slapping the keyboard like her nails had suddenly turned into baguettes.

"..."

"..."

From his building he stayed to here in the gym, it was the same goddamn story. Eyes. Everywhere. He could feel them crawling up his neck, down his chest, pausing a little too long below the belt like they were doing divine calculations. Could he blame them? Not really.

"But aren't the rich supposed to be, I dunno... immune to charm and all that seductive aura crap?" he muttered, eyes lazily scanning the drooling stares around him. "Guess even money can't buy resistance when I walk into the room."

He looked like he'd been 3D-printed by God on a day He was feeling freaky. His features? Untraceable. Not American, not Korean, not African, not even alien. Just... divine. Ethereal. Like if Zeus and Aphrodite had a lovechild who got raised by Dior and baptized in highlighter. He wasn't biracial, he was beyond-racial.

"Well, shit, I fell in love with myself too. Can't blame them," Jayden thought, lips twitching in amusement. "Honestly, I'd hit on me."

And it wasn't just looks.

[Aura of Appeal: You passively exude an intoxicating pheromone that makes you appealing and irresistible to the eyes!]

It was passive, unintentional—like breathing. Not dangerous or controlling, not some weird "drink the Kool-Aid" hypnosis. Just pure allure. You'd want him. You'd crave to be in his orbit. You'd stare. Like your brain forgot how social cues worked.

"Your training space will be on the sixth floor!" the receptionist squeaked, handing him a sleek, black membership card like it was a key to the Garden of Eden.

[DING! Earned $300,000 from Copy and Paste!]

Jayden blinked. He had just dropped $30,000 for a lifetime membership—because of course rich people commit to gym contracts like marriages—but boom, the system threw back ten times the amount.

He stared at the card. Fancy as hell. Minimalist design, probably made from recycled star dust or some shit. Thirty grand might've sounded crazy to the average broke soul, but here at Silvercrest? That was baby money. Merde, people probably tipped their dog walkers more.

Jayden just smiled lazily. "Thirty K to make me hotter? Bargain."

He slid the card into his wallet, muscles flexing like they had opinions, and headed toward the elevator.

This gym? It had no idea what kind of menace just walked in.

As for his current balance?