[Hold a target’s hand for longer than five minutes without her pulling away]

[Time Limit: 5 Days]

[Reward: 1,000 Credits]

[Ding!]

[You held a target’s hand for more than 15 minutes, an amount of 3,000 credits has been deposited in your System Balance]

The translucent blue screen glowed in the corner of his vision but Wren ignored it completely, swiping it away with a mere thought.

He had a much bigger question pressing on his mind as they walked down the surprisingly vibrant street.

"How did I even miss this place?" Wren asked, looking forward with wide eyes.

Cara still held his hand firmly.

"It’s not exactly your fault, Wren. This place is mostly inactive during the day, completely shut down and dead silent... unless you were actively looking for it, you wouldn’t be aware it existed until the sun goes down."

The Harlow Club stood directly in front of them, looking absolutely massive compared to the surrounding quaint architecture.

Bright, flashing violet and amber lights spilled out of the frosted windows, casting long dancing shadows on the pavement.

He hadn’t been able to see it from the house since it was quite a walk away, tucked into a deeper commercial pocket of the town, but up close, it was certainly flashy.

Above the heavy double doors, a large, buzzing neon sign flickered in glowing letters.

[THE RUSTIC NOIR.]

"The rustic noir?" Wren asked, blinking in pure confusion. "Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron for a country club?"

Cara paused, turning to look at his genuinely perplexed face. A second later, she burst out laughing.

"Sorry, sorry," Cara gasped, taking a deep breath and wiping a stray tear from her eye to stop laughing. "It’s just... your confused face was just cute."

She cleared her throat, regaining her composure, and followed up by explaining.

"But yes, this is the Rustic Noir. It had been here since before I even married Ryan and came to this town. The original owner died years after that, but the Rustic Noir was still kept afloat regardless by the community. As of right now, this is the only place where the townsfolk can drink, socialize, and party to their absolute heart’s content."

"Oh," Wren said, blinking as he took in the buzzing neon sign once more. He tightened his grip on her hand slightly. "Well then, let’s make sure to have some fun in there."

Cara’s eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint.

"Oh, we will have some fun alright." She tilted her head, observing his relaxed posture. "Have you ever actually been to a club before back in Bostara?"

"I had only gone once..." Wren admitted, shrugging his broad shoulders. "But it wasn’t for that long."

’Leah had dragged me over there for some celebration.’ Wren thought with a twitch of his eye. ’But the moment we stepped in, she got hit on so much by the city sleazes that she immediately got annoyed, said we should leave, and dragged me right back out to get street food instead.’

It had been quite a short-lived experience.

"So, are you familiar with club activities, then?"

Wren blinked again.

"Club activities?" he asked, looking completely lost.

Cara let out another delighted laugh.

"Oh, you are such a newbie."

Without another word, she grabbed his hand with both of hers and aggressively dragged him across the paved street, pulling him directly toward the illuminated front of the club.

"Listen closely, Wren..." Cara said as she marched them toward the entrance. "First impressions matter in a place like this."

"First impressions mattered like how?" Wren replied, trying to keep up with her..

However, before she could answer, they were already at the entrance and sitting on a weathered wooden chair right outside the heavy double doors was a middle-aged man holding a thick, polished oak cane resting between his knees.

The man looked up with his eyes crinkling. "Oh my, if it isn’t Cara. It’s been a while since you came here for some drinks."

Cara smiled warmly, her entire demeanor softening. "Life had been quite busy, Old Man Jeff."

Jeff chuckled.

"Even in the busyness of life, my dear, you shouldn’t forget to invigorate yourself with a good drink regardless."

Cara nodded in absolute agreement at the sage advice and then gestured to the tall, blond-haired man standing beside her.

"Old Man Jeff, this is Wren... Wren, this is Old Man Jeff..."

Wren immediately interjected, staring down at the man who clearly barely looked a day over forty-five. "Old Man Jeff doesn’t really look like an old man."

That simple observation made Jeff throw his head back and chuckle heartily.

"That is just my title in the club, son." He stood up from the chair with surprising agility, tapping his cane once against the pavement. "Come on, you two should go in."

Jeff pushed open the heavy wooden doors, and immediately, the three of them entered the buzzing atmosphere of the club.

The moment Jeff stepped fully onto the landing overlooking the dance floor, he raised his cane into the air.

Instantly, the heavy bass from the DJ booth paused completely. The flashing strobe lights froze, and the mass of sweaty dancing people on the floor stopped in their tracks, turning their heads toward the entrance.

Jeff grabbed Wren’s thick wrist, raising Wren’s hand high into the air like a prizefighter who had just won a bout.

"Listen up, Harlow!" Jeff bellowed, his voice echoing off the exposed brick walls. "This here is a new addition to our club! And he is Wren, The Obvious!!"

Immediately, the entire club erupted. Everyone cheered loudly, raising their glasses, hollering, and whistling as if Wren were a returning war hero.

Wren’s left eye twitched violently.

’The Obvious?’ Wren thought, utterly bewildered as Jeff simply dropped his hand, gave him a hearty pat on the back, and casually walked back outside to his chair.

Wren slowly turned his head to Cara, who was grinning from ear to ear.

She shrugged her shoulders innocently. "I told you that first impressions mattered. What I hadn’t said was that they mattered in nicknames."

Wren let out a long, suffering sigh. "And what exactly is your nickname?"

Cara puffed out her chest proudly. "I am Cara the Drunk, because I am the undisputed record holder for the most drinks taken in a single go in this entire establishment."

Wren’s eyes twitched again. "Isn’t that just a fancy, glorified way for you to say that you are a drinking addict?"

Cara vehemently shook her head... thoroughly offended by the accusation but before she could defend her honor, the brief pause in the music ended with the bass dropping back in and people immediately swarmed them.

"Cara!" a burly man shouted over the music. "Someone broke your drinking record!"

Cara’s eyes went wide with absolute shock and horror.

"Who?! Who broke my record?!"

"It was Tofu the Great!" the man replied, laughing. "He is completely new here, a tourist too. He usually comes around 11 PM to start his run!"

Cara’s expression hardened into determination.

"Then I will be staying until that time, then. I am getting my title back tonight."

’Well, that makes it infinitely easier to stay past midnight...’ Wren thought.

That was another system mission effectively down without him even having to try. ’Now, all I have to do is make her laugh three times genuinely, She already laughed twice outside. How hard could one more be?’

"Wren the Obvious!" a high-pitched, feminine voice called out.

Wren looked up from his thoughts.

Two young girls, both wearing tight glittering dresses that left very little to the imagination, pushed their way through the crowd and stopped right in front of him.

"I’m Bella, the Heartbreaker!" the brunette said, striking a pose with her hand on her hip.

"And I’m Roxy, the Menace!" the blonde chimed in, giggling as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "We absolutely loved your nickname, Wren!"

The two girls burst into a fit of giggles, looking him up and down with hungry eyes.

"I didn’t really like it that much, to be honest..." Wren said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh, don’t say that!" Bella purred, stepping a fraction closer.

"It gives you so much character. And speaking of character... I absolutely love your clothes. You look so strong in that." She reached out with her manicured finger lightly tracing the collar of his open flannel. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"Thanks," Wren said, taking a polite half-step back. "It was actually picked out by—"

Before he could finish his sentence and mention Diana, Cara suddenly materialized beside him. Her hand shot out, grabbing his bicep with a vice-like grip.

"Alright, that’s enough of that..." Cara declared, forcefully dragging him out of the small circle.

The two girls immediately whined, saying a synchronized "Aw, man!" before pouting and disappearing back onto the flashing dance floor as the heavy house music resumed its thumping.

"What was that about?" Wren asked, effortlessly matching her brisk pace as she hauled him through the crowd.

"Those were the Whore Twins," Cara said bluntly, not looking back. "If you talk to them for more than two minutes, that means you want to sleep with them. If you are actually interested in prostitutes, you can be free to talk to them, but I’m not standing around to watch."

"I’m not that kind of guy..." Wren said firmly, frowning at the assumption. He looked ahead to where she was pulling him. "Anyway, why are we going to the Bar table?"

Cara smirked while looking back over her shoulder. "Because there is a club activity that you just have to do."

They stopped abruptly in front of the massive bartender’s table.

The bartender had just been wiping down a glass tumbler with a white rag. He was a heavily set, fat middle-aged man wearing a pristine suit with a tall white chef’s hat on his head, even though he clearly was not a chef in any capacity.

The man beamed, setting the glass down.

"Welcome back, Cara the Drunk! And a hearty welcome to Wren the Obvious! What would the two of you like tonight?"

Wren opened his mouth, fully prepared to ask for a simple Coastline Lager to pace himself but Cara violently interrupted him. She slammed a crisp fifty-credit bill onto the wooden counter with a loud smack.

"We want to spin the Rustic Wheel..." Cara demanded.

Wren blinked in surprise as the bartender swiftly scooped the cash into his drawer without a word.

He reached under the counter and hefted up a massive brass wheel, setting it down with a heavy thud.

It was glowing with neon accents and featured dozens of tiny slots, but there were three distinctly highlighted spots that stood out among the rest and those were The Dealer’s Choice, Double Trouble, and King’s Ransom.

"What do all of these mean?" Wren asked, leaning closer to inspect the mechanical contraption.

Cara stepped up beside him, pointing at the board. "Alright, Wren... listen close."

She pointed to the first highlighted section.

"First is The Dealer’s Choice. This is the wildcard spot, If it lands here, you surrender total control to the bartender. He ignores the menu completely and crafts a custom signature cocktail based entirely on your specific vibe, your attire, and your current mood."

She moved her finger to the second section, which glowed a warning red.

"The next is Double Trouble and it locks two people into a shared drinking experience, making it impossible for either of us to leave early without looking like cowards. It’s a two-stage serving: first, a pair of high-intensity awakening shots, instantly followed by an alcoholic shared drink. Landing on this locks the people into the bar for at least twenty solid minutes... It’s not only for couples though but for friends too."

Finally, she tapped the golden section.

"This one here is The King’s Ransom and it’s the rarest sector on the wheel. If you land here, the bartender rings a brass bell, and you get a limitless tab for exactly sixty minutes but the catch is you cannot step away from the bar rail for the entire hour. However, as the King, you can grant one guest a drink every five minutes, effectively making you the absolute center of attention."

Cara stepped back, clapping her hands together with a sharp, decisive smack.

"Enough talking..." Cara said, a wild grin taking over her features. "It’s time to drink."

With a swift, powerful motion, she reached out and aggressively spun the heavy brass wheel.