As the music softened and a mellow chime echoed through the hall, a steward stepped forward with practiced grace and announced,
"Honored guests, we now begin the offering of birthday gifts to Young Master Oliver Reed. Please proceed in the designated order."
Conversation dwindled to a hush. Guests began forming a line with effortless elegance, each carrying sleek cases, velvet-draped pouches, or ornately wrapped parcels—tokens wrapped in legacy, alliance, and wealth.
The first gifts came from old family allies.
A vintage timepiece from the Aldervale patriarch.
A signed Solstice-era canvas wrapped in storm glass.
A ceremonial dagger, its edge older than most names in the room.
Oliver accepted them all with effortless charm, his thanks polite, his smile practiced—but never cold.
From where I leaned by the lounge archway, I watched it unfold: the smooth choreography of the upper circle. Laughter polished by etiquette. The clink of crystal. Careful words, curated glances. But beneath it all, I could feel it.
The shift.
The anticipation.
They were all waiting—for me.
Samuel stepped up first, handing Oliver a long, lacquered case with a grin.
"For when you finally join us in the wild."
Inside, a hunting knife—sleek, curved, and personally engraved.
Oliver chuckled. "I'll try not to cut myself opening champagne."
Henry followed with a slimmer box. "Something louder," he said with a crooked smile. "Trust me. It suits you."
Platinum cufflinks inside—fire-etched with the Reed insignia. Subtle, but bold.
Then Daniel approached, presenting a deep blue book bound in worn leather. "Rare edition," he said, "annotated by a dead economist no one reads anymore. You'll love it."
Oliver let out a real laugh this time. "You three are terrible gift-givers. And I love you for it."
And then—like a tide turning—the room shifted.
Toward me.
Even the Reeds on the dais angled slightly. Subtle, but unmistakable.
I stepped forward in silence.
The box I carried was matte black, lined in silver. Minimal, unadorned. At its center, a small crest—one I hadn't recognized when the system first handed it over.
I stopped before Oliver and offered it with both hands.
"A small something," I said. "Not extravagant. Just...curious."
He arched a brow but accepted it, fingers brushing the lid.
Inside, resting on midnight velvet, were five keys—each completely distinct. One was obsidian, sharply cut. Another brushed silver, sleek and cold. The third glowed faintly gold. The fourth etched with runes. And the fifth, pure white—rounded, futuristic.
The murmurs were immediate.
"Keys?"
"Are they symbolic?"
"They don't look ceremonial…"
Oliver looked up at me, amused. "This a puzzle or a dare?"
I smiled faintly. "Neither. A choice."
He glanced down again. "Go on. I'm listening."
The moment his fingers brushed the silver key, something chimed—not out loud, but clear in my head.
[Surprise, Cedric! The Mystery Box Edition—Vehicle Bundle! Five hyper-limited, custom-made cars. Each key unlocks only one. Once chosen, the rest vanish.]
'Cars?!' I thought sharply. 'And you didn't think to mention this earlier?'
[And ruin the suspense? You wound me.]
I kept my voice even. "Each key connects to something different. You can choose one. But only one."
He looked back at the keys, expression sharpening. "And the rest?"
"Gone. The moment you choose."
That quiet fell again. The rare kind. Sharp and anticipatory.
Henry leaned toward Samuel. "What the hell kind of gift is that?"
"A bold one," Daniel muttered behind them.
Even Jonathan Reed sat forward slightly, his glass paused midair. Elena tilted her head, eyes locked on the velvet-lined box.
"A choice," she murmured. "Not a gift."
Jonathan nodded. "It's psychological. Clever."
Oliver stared down at the keys, lips parting slightly. "You're serious."
"Entirely."
His fingers hovered over the obsidian one. Then drifted to the gold. Then the white.
I didn't speak again. I didn't need to. The gift wasn't in the keys.
It was in the decision.
[Oh, he's struggling. I love this,] the system whispered gleefully.
Samuel leaned over. "It's like picking your starter class in a game."
"Only this one parks in your garage," Henry replied.
"Probably drives like a jet engine too," Daniel added.
Elena looked at me. "He didn't even say what they are."
"He doesn't know," Jonathan said quietly.
Oliver's hand finally settled on one.
The obsidian key.
He lifted it from the box. "Guess I'll go with this one."
I exhaled quietly.
[Excellent! He's chosen the Midnight Velocity—sleek, black, viciously fast. A hyper-limited edition. Fully bonded to him now. The rest are gone.]
The moment the key left the velvet, the other four shimmered—and vanished.
Gasps echoed through the hall.
Oliver blinked. "Wait. That wasn't just smoke and mirrors?"
I shook my head. "Real enough. You just claimed one of five cars that shouldn't even exist."
He turned the key over in his hand. "This is insane."
"Insanely stylish," I offered.
Laughter rippled through the guests—but this time, it was tinged with awe. The game had changed. The gifts before me felt like tradition. Mine had been something else.
Not just a car. Not just a spectacle.
It was a story. A legend in the making.
And as the murmurs picked up again, as the Reeds exchanged quiet glances, I stood there silently.
Watching.
Because this wasn't about the key Oliver chose.
It was about the moment everyone else realized they hadn't thought to give him a choice at all.
Oliver held the obsidian key delicately between his fingers, turning it over with a look that was equal parts curiosity and disbelief.
The surface caught the chandelier light, throwing back a glint like starlight off polished stone. Around us, the chatter had faded into something more reverent—an unspoken understanding that the rules of gift-giving had just been rewritten.
"Is it... here?" Oliver asked, glancing at me. "Or do I have to summon it like a dragon?"
I gave a soft laugh. "Closer to the second one. But less fire-breathing."
[Actually, it does have adaptive thermal intake boosters,] the system chimed in smugly.
'Let's not terrify him on his birthday,' I thought dryly.
Oliver tilted his head. "So this thing—Midnight... something?"
"Midnight Velocity," I offered. "That's all the system told me. The rest's up to you to discover."
He whistled low, eyes flicking toward the now-empty velvet slots where the other keys had vanished. "One choice... four lost. You really don't believe in backup options, do you?"
I shrugged lightly. "Where's the fun in safety nets?"
He let out a breath, almost a laugh. "Damn, Cedric. You realize this might be the coolest thing I've ever been handed."
I smiled but said nothing. I could feel the eyes still on us—every guest, every family head, even the dais. The Reed matriarch and patriarch exchanged a glance. Elena sat back in her seat with a quiet smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Oliver's expression shifted as he studied the key again, more thoughtfully this time. "You weren't trying to impress anyone, were you?"
"No."
"You weren't trying to outdo anyone, either."
"Not particularly."
"Then why?" he asked, voice lower now, meant only for me.
I looked at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders like the whisper of fate.
"Because someday," I said quietly, "you'll need to choose more than just cars and cufflinks. You'll face real decisions. Heavy ones. I figured... why not give you a warm-up?"
Oliver blinked.
Then—slowly—he smiled. Not the polished one he used for social dances and press photos. This one was quieter. Realer.
"You're impossible," he said. "But I get it."
He closed the box, still holding the key, and looked out over the crowd as if he'd just walked off one stage and onto another.
"Come on," he said. "I want to see it."
I raised a brow. "Now?"
"Absolutely."
[Oooh. Shall I cue the grand reveal?] the system whispered gleefully.
'Just don't blow up the driveway.'
[No promises.]
I gave a slight bow. "As you wish, birthday boy."
Oliver turned to the crowd, raising the key. "Excuse us. My next gift apparently comes with tires."
Laughter broke out—warm and amused. Cameras tilted. Heads turned. But all I focused on was him—Oliver, with that key in hand and something lit behind his eyes.
Wonder. Anticipation.
And for the first time all evening, something close to awe.
We walked toward the grand doors, side by side. The night air awaited.
So did the Midnight Velocity.
---
Outside, the night had cooled just enough for the marble to sigh beneath our footsteps. The estate's front drive stretched out beneath a canopy of soft golden lights, winding toward the distant wrought-iron gates.
A gentle breeze whispered through the trees, but all I could feel was the crackle in the air—the tension of something about to begin.
Oliver stepped beside me, still clutching the obsidian key like it was a relic. "You sure this isn't going to summon a helicopter?"
"Depends on how dramatic you are when you press it," I said dryly.
He gave a breathy laugh and lifted the key. "So I just…?"
"Try it."
He pressed down on the obsidian crest.
At first—nothing.
Then the air shimmered.
Literally shimmered.
Light bent at the edge of the driveway like reality had hiccuped. For a second, I swore I saw veins of silver flicker through the stone, spiderwebbing outward in elegant, angular patterns.
Then came the sound.
A low, resonant hum, like a beast clearing its throat beneath the earth.
The light fractured.
And the Midnight Velocity emerged.
It didn't drive in.
It arrived.
A sleek body of matte black and mirrored chrome, its design so sharp it looked carved from obsidian. Its curves were predatory, futuristic—elegant aggression on four wheels.
The headlights were twin slits of violet light, glowing like the eyes of some nocturnal predator. It didn't purr. It rumbled. Smooth, deep, and arrogant.
Gasps rippled behind us. A few guests had followed, phones raised, unsure if they were filming a car or witnessing the opening scene of a sci-fi film.
Oliver stood frozen. "That's not a car."
"Technically, it is."
"That's a spaceship in disguise."
"Compliments to the system," I said mildly.
[You're welcome!] it chirped.
Oliver approached slowly, reverently, one hand trailing along the body of the Midnight Velocity. The surface shimmered beneath his touch, adjusting subtly—temperature, resistance, even the tint of the windows reacting as if greeting its new owner.
"What does it run on?" he asked.
"Classified."
"Does it fly?"
"Technically… no."
[Yet.]
He stepped back, shaking his head with an incredulous grin. "Cedric. What the hell did you give me?"
I shrugged. "A choice. And apparently, a hyper-intelligent vehicle with a superiority complex."
"It suits me."
The gates ahead groaned open—just a little, as if sensing it too.
A perfect moment.
I watched him step toward the car, key still in hand, the lines of the Midnight Velocity glowing ever so faintly under the stars. This wasn't just a birthday gift anymore.
It was a statement.
One no one at that party would forget.