2: Chapter 2: Top-Tier Ready-to-Wear Clothing Worth 180,000, the Armor of the Visual Class

"Using one million to leverage the persona of a top-tier aristocratic family..."

A flicker of long-lost thrill from a high-stakes game flashed in Shen Du's eyes.

He turned around, his gaze quickly locking onto the full-length mirror on the closet door beside him.

The young man in the mirror had a tall, upright figure and sharp, defined facial features.

Judging solely by his bone structure and those calm, unruffled eyes, he could absolutely command any major situation.

But once the gaze shifted downward, the overwhelming sense of cheapness could no longer be concealed.

A generic brand T-shirt that was washed until it turned pale, with a slightly misshapen collar.

A pair of jeans that had stiffened from years of washing.

On his feet was a pair of old canvas shoes, with the edges peeling and the original white color unrecognizable.

The entire outfit, when added together, wasn't even enough to cover the cost of a single rev of the engines of those sports cars outside the south gate of Huahai University of Finance and Economics.

Shen Du narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze devoid of any embarrassment, filled only with scrutiny.

This was not inferiority.

It was a trader who was accustomed to controlling the overall situation, coldly evaluating this piece of inferior asset in his hands.

There was an old saying in the circle: "It takes three generations to cultivate an aristocrat."

Those true scions of wealthy families, even if they were wearing a white T-shirt and shorts worth a few dozen yuan while eating barbecue on the street.

The confidence and sense of ease, long nurtured by money, privilege, and top-tier resources, were something ordinary people could never imitate.

And this body he was in now, due to years of tight living expenses, exuded a hunger for money down to its very bones.

The crude tailoring of the clothes only magnified this "poverty and awkwardness" infinitely.

If he were to force a display of wealth in front of those second and third-generation scions of the powerful before changing this "skin."

Or greet his roommates who were about to return to school with this current appearance...

Even if he stuck the one million balance from his bank card directly onto his forehead, others would only think he was either crazy.

Or that he had taken out a high-interest loan to pretend to be rich.

Pretending to be a widely recognized second-generation rich kid was never as simple as going to a sales office and throwing money at an apartment.

The system's judgment was definitely not that easy to fool.

Once someone saw through his facade, not only would the mission fail, but that one million would instantly become a noose around his neck.

"If you want to leverage the fulcrum, you must first gild yourself with a golden body."

Shen Du reached out to tidy his somewhat messy hair, his fingertips casually wiping away the dust on the mirror surface.

According to his memory, it was the last day of the National Day holiday.

Chen Fei, Xu Hao, and the others would most likely return to the dormitory with their suitcases before evening.

The time window left for him was very narrow.

He had to completely finish his visual transformation before the first batch of "audience" pushed open this door.

To be able to intimidate even his roommates, who lived with him day and night and knew his background best.

Only then would he have the qualifications to flip the table in the larger vanity fair within the school.

Shen Du did not go to grab that old, faded backpack; he only took two things.

The key, and that Industrial and Commercial Bank of China card linked to the massive sum of one million.

Subsequently, he turned around, opened the dormitory door, and strode out.

The south gate of Huahai University of Finance and Economics was still a scene of decadence.

Several stylish sports cars were parked by the roadside, causing passing ordinary students to look over frequently.

Shen Du did not take the main entrance but quietly left from the secluded north gate, casually hailing a Santana taxi.

"Driver, West Nanjing Road, Plaza 66."

Sitting in the back row, the tone in which Shen Du stated the destination was as calm as if he were returning home.

In his past life as a top-tier trader, he could have drawn the floor plans of Shanghai's top consumption venues with his eyes closed.

Forty minutes later, Shen Du stood on the mirror-like marble floor of Plaza 66.

2010 in Shanghai.

The nouveau riche were still keen on wearing large LV and Gucci logos blatantly on their chests, afraid that others wouldn't know they were wealthy.

But in truly high-end circles, this way of dressing would only become a laughingstock at the bottom of the contempt chain.

Shen Du's goal was very clear.

He walked straight into a top-tier Italian menswear brand store, Bottega Veneta.

The clothes here focused on understated luxury and exquisite tailoring.

There were no conspicuous logos; only those in the know could immediately discern the terrifying value of the fabrics.

The moment he pushed the door open, two sales assistants in black uniforms looked over subconsciously.

When their gaze swept over the washed-out, street-market clothes on Shen Du.

A flash of astonishment clearly appeared in their eyes, and their steps paused instinctively.

In a place like Plaza 66, a customer's attire usually directly determined the enthusiasm of the sales staff's service.

But just as they were preparing to use a polite yet distant "Welcome" to dismiss this poor student who seemed to have walked into the wrong store.

Shen Du's gaze swept over them indifferently.

No awkwardness, no evasion.

And certainly none of the timidity of a poor person looking around nervously when first entering a luxury store.

It was the pure gaze of a superior inspecting their territory, carrying a suffocating sense of ease.

Swept by this gaze, the hair on the senior sales assistant's body stood on end.

The intuition honed from years of serving the wealthy sounded a frantic alarm:

The aura of the young man in front of her could absolutely not be faked just by wearing a few pieces of fake designer brands!

"Sir, is there anything I can do for you..."

The sales assistant immediately put away all contempt, quickly stepped forward, her tone even carrying a hint of awe that she herself hadn't noticed.

"No need for an introduction."

Shen Du interrupted her, his gaze quickly sweeping over the clothing racks, his fingers tapping on a few of the season's new arrivals as if selecting troops:

"This dark gray cashmere coat, that seamless white shirt inside, and those dark-patterned casual trousers."

"Get me a set in my size; I want to wear them out now."

Clean and efficient, without asking for the price or looking at the labels.

"Very well, sir, please wait a moment!"

The sales assistant, shaken by this strong sense of oppression, felt her heart race and immediately put on gloves to retrieve the clothes.

Five minutes later.

When Shen Du pushed open the fitting room door and reappeared in front of the mirror, the air in the entire store seemed to quiet for an instant.

The top-tier dark gray cashmere fabric perfectly conformed to his tall, upright bone structure, accentuating that sharp yet languid temperament to the extreme.

The original sense of cheapness caused by poverty was completely washed away.

All that remained was the composure and nobility that seemed to be cultivated only by century-old aristocratic families, emanating from his very bones.

The current him.

If he walked into any top-tier club in Lujiazui, he would definitely be mistaken for the crown prince of some reclusive tycoon family.

"Charge it, and throw away the old clothes."

Shen Du took out the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China card and handed it over casually.

"Beep—Transaction successful, consumption amount: 186,000 yuan."

As the POS machine spat out the receipt, the system's calm, emotionless notification arrived in his mind as expected:

[Current mission fund balance: 814,000 yuan, disguise progress has been updated.]

Shen Du tucked the bank card into his well-tailored trouser pocket and turned to push open the store door.

The sky outside had already darkened, and the early evening lights of Shanghai reflected in his deep pupils.

Just then, the Nokia in his pocket vibrated.

It was a text message from his roommate Xu Hao: "Brother Shen, where are you?

I just arrived downstairs.

Damn, that grandson Wei Ziang is showing off again in his new Land Rover at the dormitory entrance.

He's even shouting about treating everyone to dinner tonight.

Don't you dare come downstairs right now; he's definitely going to make fun of you again!"

Looking at the words on the screen, a trace of coldness welled up in Shen Du's eyes.

Make fun of me?

He raised his hand to hail a taxi, the dark gray cashmere coat cutting a sharp arc in the night wind.

"Driver, back to the south gate of Huahai University of Finance and Economics."

Hide?

Since the stage had already been set and the audience was in place.

The one-million-yuan drama, tonight, officially begins.