Urban System in America-Chapter 106 - 105: It Is Indeed Good To Be Rich

Soon, the waiter returned, this time carrying a dish concealed beneath a delicate golden dome.

A faint wisp of smoke curled inside, hinting at something warm, fragrant, and mysterious.

"And now, sir," the waiter said with a knowing smile, "one of our proudest creations."

Rex raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

With practiced grace, the waiter lifted the dome— revealing a small porcelain bowl.

Puff Pastry Black Truffle Soup.

The moment the lid was lifted, the room seemed to pause — as if inviting him to take part in a quiet ritual.

As if on cue, the waiter leaned in slightly and said, "Crafted with wild mushrooms, slow-simmered cream, and winter truffle. A favorite of our regulars."

Rex gave a small nod, intrigued.

Then, with care, the waiter carefully broke the top with a spoon, the aroma of black truffle, cream, and wild mushrooms wafted into the air. Steam curled upward like incense in a temple.

He dipped the spoon in and tasted.

The richness hit first—creamy, intense, but not heavy or overpowering. There was something almost spiritual about the truffle flavor, earthy and mysterious, almost sacred, like something that didn’t quite belong to this world. The pastry, dipped in the soup, added a buttery crunch.

He actually paused mid-spoon.

It was... intoxicating.

No wonder people scoured the forests and hunted these fungi like treasure.

He leaned back for a moment, closing his eyes briefly to savor the aftertaste. If the steak was primal pleasure, and the cod was a coastal breeze, then this—this was pure indulgence.

Elegant. Enigmatic. Eternal.

As he rested, the final savory dish arrived: a small Cheese Dessert, something between a savory cheese plate and a pre-dessert course.

A selection of hand-aged cheeses had been artfully paired with roasted figs, a tiny streak of black garlic honey, and a sliver of toasted walnut bread. It wasn’t something he would’ve ordered in his past life—cheese was just "cheese" back then—but he gave it a try.

Each bite revealed new dimensions: the sharpness of the blue cheese offset by the honey, the smooth brie melting into the sweetness of the fig, the crumbly sharp cheddar paired perfectly with the crunch of the walnut.

He chewed slowly, thoughtfully.

There were people out there who lived this way daily. Not just eating well but understanding what they ate. Respecting it. Savoring it.

Finally, the citrus sorbet arrived in a minimalist crystal coupe: soft orange-pink, smooth as velvet.

He tasted it.

Cold, sharp, and refreshing. The perfect end note.

It cleansed his palate and almost reset his senses like a splash of water to the soul.

He finished the sorbet, took a sip of chilled sparkling water the waiter had silently refreshed, and exhaled slowly, like releasing a breath held for years.

The view, the food, the subtle breeze brushing his face—everything in this moment felt perfect and intoxicating.

It was indeed good to be rich.

And at this moment, he couldn’t help but pity those who couldn’t get to taste dishes like this even once in their life, including himself in his past life.

If he had known such delicious food existed, he would’ve worked his ass off to earn the money.

He looked down at the empty plates.

In his past life, he would’ve devoured a cold fast-food meal between shifts, too exhausted to think. But now... he could taste the world, step by step.

The waiter returned with a warm smile. "Was everything to your liking, sir?"

He simply smiled and said, "Perfect."

He leaned back, eyes drifting to the skyline of Los Angeles

A kingdom of glass and ambition.

And now...Suddenly, he somehow wanted a small piece of this kingdom too.

The waiter presented the bill with both hands. It included the cost of the dishes, taxes—of course, there would be taxes, he sighed—and some miscellaneous costs like service charges.

But he still paid the bill without a flicker of hesitation.

The dishes were already expensive enough to feed a small family for a week, but he casually added a 50% tip on top. The waiter’s eyes widened ever so slightly, offering a deeper bow than before, expression warm with unspoken gratitude.

But he didn’t feel even a sliver of regret.

In fact, he felt... satisfied. Deeply, almost spiritually satisfied. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

"If I could eat like this every day and go broke... so be it," he thought with a half-smile.

"Delicious food is one of life’s greatest joys. Why hold back now?"

In his previous life, he had rationed instant noodles and reheated leftovers like they were sacred offerings. But in this life—this second chance—he wasn’t going to deny himself. He would eat. Freely. Joyfully.

Eat everything. From back-alley street stalls in unknown cities to the finest restaurants with months-long waitlists—he would taste everything.

He stood up, patted his comfortably full stomach, and walked out of Celeste Noir feeling like a king descending from his floating palace.

The sun was still high, the golden rays bright but no longer harsh.

He adjusted his watch and resumed his shopping journey.

He hadn’t forgotten that there was still one thing he hadn’t bought yet: shoes.

He visited a few boutiques but left after a glance or two. Too flashy, too loud, or too minimalistic. He wanted something balanced—not over-the-top, yet stylish and versatile, something that could blend effortlessly into different outfits while elevating the whole look.

Eventually, he stepped into a boutique nestled on a quieter street, Solvante Milano.

A rising luxury shoe brand that specialized in modern everyday luxury: timeless, handcrafted Italian shoes designed for comfort and class. Not mainstream yet, but well-loved by stylists and quietly favored by low-key billionaires and elite creatives.

The boutique was sleek and calming inside, with minimalist decor and soft jazz playing in the background. The scent of fresh leather lingered in the air like perfume.

Within twenty minutes, he had selected six to seven pairs:

• Soft matte black leather loafers for formal occasions

• White suede sneakers with subtle gold accents

• Coffee-brown Chelsea boots

• Two-tone Oxford shoes with a sharp silhouette

• Casual slip-ons in grey-tan that matched his relaxed outfits

• A pair of monochrome trainers built for comfort but didn’t compromise on aesthetics

No sales talk, no second-guessing. He tried them, liked them, bought them.

After getting them all packed in sleek boxes, he walked down to a men’s accessory shop just across the street.

LA’s sun was relentless. Sun protection was non-negotiable, especially for someone now walking under the spotlight.

His predecessor already had a decent sunglasses collection, but a few more wouldn’t hurt. He picked up two pairs of black polarized glasses—one with silver frames, another with a matte black finish—and a third one with a vintage tortoiseshell frame, just for contrast.

Before leaving, he stopped by the accessories aisle.

He didn’t like gaudy things. Instead, he went for clean, minimalist pieces that complemented his style:

• A slender black leather bracelet with a steel buckle

• A simple silver ring with a brushed finish

• A rope-chain necklace with a small obsidian pendant, subtle but striking

• A stitched dark brown leather wrist cuff, perfect for layering

"Accessories are the finishing touch," he muttered, slipping the bracelet on and examining it in the mirror. "You can wear the best outfit, but if your accessories are lacking, your whole look crumbles."

The clerk at the counter smiled knowingly. "You have an eye, sir."

He only gave a soft smirk in return and handed over his card.

His bags were starting to pile up—watches, shoes, now accessories—but he felt no exhaustion, just a growing sense of satisfaction. Like a man finally collecting the pieces of the life he was meant to live.

Outside, the sun was still shining brightly, casting glares on the cars parked across the sidewalk.

But just as he was about to return to his car, a breeze blew by.

It carried with it a scent—subtle, magnetic, and unlike anything he had ever smelled before.