Urban System in America

Anyway, after a bit more back-and-forth, trading jabs about who owed who drinks and laughing at pointless stories that didn't really have a punchline, they naturally drifted apart. Rex headed toward his wing, Lucas toward his own department. No long farewells, no sentimental lines. Just a quick slap on the shoulder and a nod. That was the thing about guys: no theatrics required.

Among boys, the bond didn't hinge on greetings or goodbyes. You didn't need to text every day or send "miss u" messages with emojis. You could vanish for months, even years, forget about birthdays and stuff and when you finally crossed paths again, the vibe would snap right back to where it left off. No rust, no awkward icebreakers, just an unspoken agreement that the friendship was still there, untouched.

Rex smirked to himself as he adjusted his collar, still faintly irritated at the lingering memory of lipstick stains. Boys were simple that way, steady like old shoes. Girls, on the other hand… a whole different species.

One missed day, and half of them acted like they'd been abandoned on a desert island. "You didn't text back last night," suddenly turned into friendship on the brink of collapse. He'd seen them fall out because someone didn't reply within an hour, or because someone forgot to wave at the cafeteria. One day inseparable, the next day "who even is she?"

He shook his head at the thought, almost amused. "Imagine losing a best friend just 'cause you missed a lunch," he muttered under his breath, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked.

That was the comfort of brotherhood, he thought, Lucas might end up dating disasters, running from basketball giants, or texting him at 2 a.m. for backup, but the friendship itself? Solid. Low maintenance. Built to last.

Thinking back to Amber and their earlier conversation, Rex still couldn't wrap his head around the strange beauty standards people here seemed to worship. To him, it felt almost upside down. Sure, Amber's body was hot, but compared to Sophie? Forget it. Sophie wasn't just in another league, she was playing an entirely different sport.

That girl had the kind of figure sculpted by the gods themselves... curves in all the right places, a waist that looked like it could cut glass, and a face that didn't just match but elevated it. Hot body and a beautiful face to go with it... double kill. If she ever decided to post that body online, she wouldn't have to worry about food or rent for the rest of her life. She could live comfortably off likes, subscriptions, and brand deals.

In fact, Rex chuckled to himself, those "space-bending species" from his past life... you know, the ones who edited themselves so much they didn't just bend backgrounds, they annihilated them. Doors warped like black holes, tiles stretched like elastic, and innocent furniture got caught in the gravitational pull of their curves.

Those weren't women, they were reality-warping anomalies, so much so that even NASA would struggle to explain their selfies. They would break down crying if they saw Sophie in person. Their precious filters, their contour hacks, all their sneaky editing tricks? Useless. Sophie was the kind of beauty that didn't need filters. The kind that made filters feel insecure.

And all those loud campaigns about "bodies don't matter" and "fat is beautiful"? Please. Rex knew the truth. People could talk all they wanted about confidence, self-love, and beauty at every size, but deep down, if someone handed them Sophie's body on a silver platter, ninety-nine out of a hundred would grab it without a second thought. Human nature didn't change just because hashtags said so.

That said, Rex wasn't picky. He was, as he liked to put it, "a generous man." Slim, athletic, hot, chubby... he appreciated them all in their own ways. Everyone had their charm.

Of course, there was one class he refused to touch with a ten-foot pole: the space destroyers.

These weren't just big girls. They were divine bodies wrapped in gravity and grace, the kind of presence that made you feel like you were sleeping beside a planet. Not in a bad way... more like being cradled by the universe itself.

Better stay away from them, otherwise he wouldn't even know how he died just by sleeping. One moment he'd be lying there peacefully, and next he woke up in heaven with soft clouds, harp music, and a cherub offering him a mimosa.

He shuddered just thinking about it, he had heard stories. A friend of a friend who vanished after a Tinder date, only to be found days later wedged between the mattress coils like fossilized regret. Another guy who claimed he woke up in heaven—literally. Said he saw angels, clouds, the whole thing. Turns out he'd just been compressed so hard during the night that his brain misfired and triggered a near-death hallucination.

The legends grew darker. Beds twisted into Möbius strips. Ceilings warped into spirals. One guy's spine allegedly folded like origami.

No thanks. He valued his life.

Rex didn't hate them. He feared them. Not for who they were, but for what they represented: the collapse of physical law. The end of spatial certainty. Dating one wasn't romance... it was an invitation to cosmic disintegration. A flirtation with gravitational doom.

He'd rather die alone than wake up as a cautionary tale.

Anyway, back to the topic, he wasn't really worried about Lucas. He knew exactly what kind of guy he was. Lucas might look like a big flirt, with eyes that sparkled at every skirt and a dream of tasting all kinds of beauties before he settled down. But at the end of the day, Rex understood him perfectly.

He was cut from the same fabric as most rich family sons… play around while you can, enjoy your golden youth, then eventually pack up the fantasies, head back to the family estate, inherit the business, and marry some virtuous, well-bred girl handpicked by the elders.

It wasn't about desire. It was about duty. That was the unspoken script they were all born into. Unless, of course, you really proved yourself… built your own empire, earned independence, and secured the right to say "no" to family expectations. In that case, you could carve your own path, pick your own woman, live your own way. But such freedom was rare, almost myth-like.

Most never dared. The cost of disobedience was brutal. One wrong step and the entire inheritance disappeared like smoke. Worse, you wouldn't just lose money, you'd lose status, connections, and the invisible safety net that protected you from the world's sharp edges. "Family eviction," Rex thought with a smirk. That phrase sounded casual, but in reality it was exile, a death sentence in their circles.

Lucas knew that as well as Rex did. He wasn't stupid. He could be careless with women, careless with money, careless with his reputation… but not careless enough to gamble the family throne. At the end of the day, he'd play around, drink, flirt, date three girls at once if he felt like it, but he would always circle back to the family orbit, no matter how wide he drifted.

That was the type of guy Lucas was: a peacock with wild feathers, but a leash tied firmly to the ancestral gate.

(End of Chapter)