Chapter 161: A Legend Acknowledging Real Art

I stared at the nine-figure balance for a brief second before slipping the phone back into my tailored jacket with a smooth, quiet satisfaction. Nearly a billion dollars in liquid cash, and we were just getting started.

"Ethan!" a voice hissed from behind the stage curtain.

I turned around to see Benita standing near the runway entrance, waiting for the final designer walk. The entire collection had finished its loop, and the models were lining up for the final bow. But Benita was practically shaking.

She was wearing a custom sample piece from the collection—a fitted, dark-asymmetrical gown with exposed metallic wire work along the shoulder. It was daring and gorgeous, but she looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

"Ethan, oh my god," she whispered frantically, clutching my arm, her knuckles white. "Do I look okay?! Is this too much? What if they hate it? What if they hated the whole thing?!"

I put my hands on her shoulders, grounding her instantly, and looked straight into her eyes.

"Look at me, Benita," I said, my voice smooth and unwavering. "You just set this entire industry on fire. You are more than okay—you’re the star of this night. Now go out there and own it."

She took a shaky, deep breath, squared her shoulders, and pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. That timid panic dissolved in an instant, replaced by raw confidence.

She stepped out onto the runway.

The moment her feet hit the spotlight, the auditorium exploded.

A deafening wall of applause and cheers echoed through the venue. Camera flashes lit up the dark arena like lightning, illuminating the massive crowd standing on their feet.

I leaned casually against the backstage entrance, my eyes scanning the VIP section. Right in the front row, clapping slowly with a rare, genuine look of profound respect on his face, was Mr. S. Rick. The legendary founder of Duvellion was giving a newcomer a standing ovation.

Benita looked back at me over her shoulder mid-walk, a radiant, electric smile breaking across her face.

UncuT hadn’t just arrived. We had just conquered.

She practically floated back through the backstage curtains, her face flushed with adrenaline and her breathing heavy as the roar of the crowd slowly faded behind her.

"Ethan!" she gasped, running straight up to me and grabbing my arms, a breathless laugh escaping her chest. "Oh my god... I actually did it! They were standing! Rick was standing!"

"Yes, you did," I said, a proud, easy smile breaking across my face as I looked down at her. "You stole the entire show, Benita."

"I can’t believe it," she breathed, burying her face in her hands for a brief second, shaking her head in sheer disbelief. "This feels like a dream."

"Enjoy it," I said, leaning in slightly with a sharp, dangerous smirk. "Because this is just the beginning."

As she turned around to join Jean-Luc and the models, who were already popping champagne and shouting in celebration, my phone gave a sharp, heavy vibration against my chest.

I pulled it out and unlocked the screen. The confidential system interface glowed with a intense, new gold hue, replacing the completed ledger with a new system mandate:

[SYSTEM UPGRADE AVAILABLE]

Status: LEVEL UP — GLOBAL STAGING

Target: Benita’s Next Evolution / World Fashion Capital Debut

Current Balance: $950,000,000.00

New Objective: Escalate UncuT from Regional Phenomenon to Global Empire.

Active Multiplier: 100x Cashback Multiplier UNLOCKED for Phase 2

Potential Yield: TBD (Uncapped)

I stared at the gleaming prompt on the screen as the numbers recalibrated. Regional Fashion Week was just the trial run—a warmup match to test her steel. Now, the system was handing us the keys to the global stage: Paris, Milan, New York.

I slipped the phone back into my tailored pocket, watching Benita across the dressing room as she laughed, surrounded by camera flashes and excited shouts.

We had nearly a billion dollars in liquid capital, a brand that just shattered the regional standard, and a 100x multiplier waiting on the world stage.

They thought UncuT was a local sensation. They had no idea we were about to take over the world.

The backstage excitement was still buzzing when the crowd parted, and Mr. S. Rick strode straight into our dressing room. The room went quiet as the titan of Duvellion stopped right in front of us, looking Benita up and down with genuine reverence before turning his gaze to me.

"I have to admit, kid," Rick said, a slight, respectful smile breaking through his stern composure. "I severely underestimated what you were presenting tonight."

He turned toward Benita, his eyes sweeping over the structural, jagged beauty of the sample gown she was still wearing.

"You didn’t just make clothes, young lady," he said softly. "You put soul back on that runway. I haven’t seen raw, unapologetic talent like yours in twenty years."

He shifted back to me, extending a hand with firm, undeniable authority. "I don’t usually do this, Ethan. But I would be genuinely happy to share my network, my resources, and what I know to help build this brand into what it deserves to be."

I shook his hand, keeping my grip firm and my smile cold. "We’d be glad to have you in our corner, Mr. Rick."

Benita just stood there, smiling politely, nodding along like a quiet, respectful kid meeting an old uncle.

After a few more words, Rick gave us a final, approving nod and walked back out toward the VIP reception.

The moment his double-breasted coat vanished past the doorway, Benita let out a huge breath, practically collapsing against my shoulder.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, wiping a fake sweat off her forehead. "Who was that old guy? He sounded super important, so I just kept smiling! Thank God he didn’t hear me say anything stupid."

I couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, shaking my head as I looked at her. Coming from the slums, she had spent her whole life surviving, grinding, and mastering her craft in silence—she didn’t know the names of the old fashion aristocracy or the global legends lounging in Paris penthouses.

"Benita," I said, leaning back against the garment rack with an amused smirk. "That ’old guy’ is S. Rick. The founder of Duvellion."

Her eyes blinked once. Then twice. "The... Duvellion?"

"The living legend," I replied smoothly. "A man whose vintage archive pieces sell for millions, who hasn’t mentored a designer in two decades, and who just told you that your work is the best thing he’s seen in twenty years."

Her mouth dropped open so wide I thought her jaw was going to hit the floor.

"Wait..." she stammered, pointing a shaking finger toward the hallway. "That... he... Duvellion?!"

"Get used to it," I said, tossing my jacket over my arm and giving her a gentle nudge toward the changing room. "Because from here on out, the legends aren’t just going to acknowledge your pieces—they’re going to be competing with them."