The 90 Billion Devotion System

Chapter Four: Reputation Earned in Flame

Chapter Four: Reputation Earned in Flame

The faint hiss of the bottle opening echoed in Leo Xu's ears like the ominous creak of a dungeon gate, and though the voices around him were vibrant with mockery and mischief, his nerves were wrapped in cold dread.

On the low mahogany table gleamed a foreign liquor with a label he couldn’t recognize, imported from a country whose language he couldn’t read, let alone pronounce. The glass in his hand trembled ever so slightly, betraying the confidence he tried to maintain. The scent wafting from the bottle was rich and sharp, the kind that didn’t merely sting the nose but carried the promise of throat-burning heat and a long night of regret.

He hadn’t come here to drown in liquor or gamble with unconsciousness, especially not in front of the girls from the Academy of Aesthetic Arts, who sat around like painted vipers waiting for their prey to stumble.

He had come to be seen. To be memorable. To build rapport with Shu Rui.

This was not about romance, at least not primarily. This was a test of endurance, of theatre, of social navigation—the kind that a simp’s fund of ten trillion demanded.

“Just one drink?” he offered, his voice lined with cautious politeness.

But retreat was never an option once one stepped into a battlefield.

"Just one drink?" mocked a girl with playful venom. "No way!"

"Three! At least three!" another chimed in, her laughter like the jangle of broken charms.

The chant began—“Three, three, three”—like a spell being cast by a coven of amused witches. Their words held no arcane power, yet their social energy formed its own enchantment, trapping Leo in a web of expectations and performance.

Leo Xu's mind raced. He didn’t know the spellwork behind this liquor, didn’t know if it would disarm his senses or scorch his liver. But he had once memorized an entire incantation circle of theoretical mana constructs during a panic quiz in Rituals and Reagents. This, surely, was simpler.

He sat, not with resignation but with steeled resolve, pouring the first drink as if summoning a spirit. The bottle felt heavier than it should, as if infused with gravity from the onlookers' judgments.

The first glass went down like a mouthful of fire. It didn't merely burn his throat—it clawed its way through, lighting a bonfire in his chest that made his breath hitch and his vision shimmer.

The second felt like swallowing shattered glass, his tongue instantly going numb.

By the third, his head buzzed with the low hum of mana disturbance, the kind that came just before a blackout or a breakthrough.

“Done,” he croaked, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

A girl clapped slowly, sarcastically, “Stylish.”

Leo tried not to cough, breathing through his nose, ignoring the way his lungs protested. He turned inward to check the affection system.

Still at -100.

The number glowed red in his mind’s eye, framed by the digital interface only he could see—clean, futuristic, and cold. His efforts hadn’t moved the needle even a single point.

He chuckled under his breath, the sound strained.

Winning hearts wasn’t a transaction. The fawning devotee system, for all its hyper-wealth, didn't reward performance. It demanded resonance.

A girl leaned in, her eyes gleaming. "So, Leo Xu, have you really moved on from Bella Zhao?"

His gaze remained steady.

“I’ve closed that chapter.”

His voice did not waver, and yet the silence that followed was filled with layered meanings. There was no more longing in him. Only forward momentum.

That forward momentum, apparently, aimed squarely at Shu Rui.

One of the girls narrowed her eyes and giggled, “You’re not seriously aiming for our Queen Shu, are you?”

Leo met the challenge with a dry throat and a hoarse voice. “I just want to be her friend.”

The word 'friend' stretched long in the air, as though wearing a mask everyone saw through.

“Friendship, huh…” The girl gave a mockingly exaggerated nod, clearly unconvinced.

From where she reclined like a goddess in casual repose, Shu Rui spoke for the first time. “Drinking is fine,” she said without turning to face him, “but I’m not interested in you.”

She lifted her glass, her manicured fingers gleaming under the LED light, swirled the liquid slowly, and added: “You’re not my type.”

Her words were not cruel. They were precise.

Leo’s heart thudded, not from hurt but from anticipation. The script was familiar. Denial was the opening act.

He leaned forward just slightly and asked, “Then what type do you prefer?”

Her lips curled into something unreadable. She tilted her head back, throat bared like a queen waiting for a jeweled necklace, and sipped her drink.

Silence.

Then another girl, the informal herald of Shu Rui’s court, chirped up with theatrical exaggeration. “Let’s see… someone not worse than Liang Zhenlun, at least. He drives a second-hand Maserati President. That alone is over 800 thousand, even used!”

Leo blinked.

That was the price of admission?

His inner monologue roared. That car? He could buy ten thousand of them without even scratching the surface of his simp fund. Hell, he could buy the entire factory and rename it to Maserati Shu Rui.

If only the fund could be used on himself.

The girls laughed at their own absurd standards, unaware of the firestorm of numbers raging in Leo’s mind.

He steadied himself.

“Driving an expensive car doesn’t make someone kind,” he said. “As far as I know, Bella Zhao isn’t exactly happy with Liang Zhenlun.”

That struck a nerve—or at least it poked a nest of sarcasm.

“Pfft, Leo,” a girl burst out laughing. “Where’d you hear that? Did Bella cry into your arms? Oh my god, stop—this is comedy gold!”

Another was wiping away tears. “If she’s so unhappy, why hasn’t she dumped him yet?”

Leo didn’t respond. He simply looked back at Shu Rui with a calm expression that somehow looked more composed than it should have after three drinks.

“Leave,” Shu Rui finally said.

It was blunt and clean, the emotional equivalent of being slapped with an icy towel.

He nodded, not out of defeat, but because that, too, was part of the ritual.

At that moment, Luo Peng arrived, eyes darting between the smirking girls and his battle-worn friend. “Leo, everyone’s waiting. Let’s go.”

“I was just having a drink with Shu Rui,” Leo replied smoothly, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t just been socially vivisected.

Luo Peng gave him a look: one part confusion, two parts worry.

Leo stood and turned once more to Shu Rui.

“Would you mind sharing your contact info?”

A beat of silence.

Then laughter. Again.

“You’re still trying?” one of the girls gasped.

“You should go chase Bella Zhao instead,” another quipped. “At least she responded to you once, didn’t she?”

Shu Rui looked away, indifferent.

“I said,” she repeated, “you’re not my type.”

Luo Peng tugged at Leo’s arm. “Let’s go. There’s no point.”

Leo allowed himself to be pulled back, not with shame, but with persistence.

The girls’ voices echoed behind them like the cackling of a judgmental chorus.

“He really lives up to the title. The school’s most famous simp.”

“But why switch from Bella Zhao to Shu Rui?”

“Guess he’s just collecting rejection letters.”

“Better warn Shu Rui. Leo doesn’t give up easy.”

Behind them, Shu Rui finished her wine with a delicate tilt of her wrist, her face unreadable.

She didn’t spare Leo another glance.

Queens never bowed to jesters.

But jesters, if clever, often lasted longer in court than knights.

[To Be Continued...]