Urban System in America

He lazily pulled the keys from his pocket, dangling them in front of her. "If you're that obsessed, here. Go take a look, kick the tires if you want."

Sophie didn't bolt for the door, even though she wanted to, because she knew another lecture was about to start soon. Instead, she sat right back down, clutching the keys like she'd just been entrusted with a newborn. Her eyes roamed over the polished metal, the tiny engravings, the smooth, weighty feel in her palm.

"This… this isn't just a car key," she breathed, reverent. "This is art. The craftsmanship, the detail, it deserves to belong to a ferreri. A ferreri SR3, no less. Rex, do you have any idea what people would do just to sit inside that thing?"

She held it up dramatically, and a few guys in the row behind almost fell out of their chairs craning their necks to catch a glimpse.

Rex rested his chin on his hand, looking like a man deeply unimpressed with the fuss. "It's still just a car. Four wheels, an engine, takes you from A to B. Don't overthink it."

"Overthink?" Sophie whipped around to glare at him, clutching the keys to her chest. "Rex, this is my dream car. My future husband's car. The car I've imagined driving down the coast in, hair blowing in the wind, sunglasses on, while everyone else dies of jealousy."

Daisy snorted. "Dream husband? I thought that changed weekly."

"Excuse me," Sophie huffed, "a ferreri SR3 is eternal. Unlike men."

The class around them chuckled, and Rex just shook his head.

Honestly, he thought, glancing at the keyring dangling in her hand, the SR3 isn't even that crazy. Not compared to Regalia. Now that was a machine. This? This is just… nice.

Of course, he didn't say it out loud. If he did, half the room might've strangled him on the spot.

After some time, she sighed dramatically, sliding them across the desk. "But just know, Rex, if I ever go missing one day, you'll find me in the driver's seat of that ferreri."

Rex pocketed them with a smirk. "Noted. I'll check the glove compartment first."

Across the aisle, one guy muttered under his breath, "He's got Sophie praising the keys. Just the damn keys. Meanwhile, my bike lock rusted last week and nobody cared."

Another hissed back, "Forget bikes. At this rate, I'll be lucky if I can afford a bus pass."

The guys in class froze when Sophie casually dropped the word ferreri.

They didn't know the model, SR3 or whatever… who cared? It was a ferreri. That single word was enough to hit them in the chest like a wrecking ball. Even the cheapest one on the market was worth more than what most of their families had saved up in decades. A ferreri wasn't just a car, it was a symbol, a walking billboard that screamed wealth, status, and "I win at life."

The brand alone was enough to hit their fragile hearts. ferreri meant luxury, success, the kind of life most of them would break their backs for decades chasing, and even then, maybe never reach.

And Rex? He dismissed it like it was a secondhand scooter.

The guys could only sit there in painful silence, each reflecting on their own pitiful rides. Several of the guys leaned back, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes, their souls briefly leaving their bodies. They thought about their own rides… rusty bikes who even the thieves wouldn't dislike, cheap scooters that coughed smoke like it had asthma, borrowed family sedans that coughed smoke when pushed past sixty, and could only sigh at the unfairness of the universe.

They sighed as one, united by suffering. Life, it seemed, wasn't fair.

He's tall. He's handsome. He's rich. And now he's got a ferreri? they thought, their teeth grinding in frustration. If I had his face and that car, I wouldn't be single even for a week. Girls would be lining up outside my door like it's a concert ticket sale.

Of course, they could only dream.

The jealous ones stewed in silence, teeth clenched, wishing they could just swap places with him for a week, a day, even a single hour.But not everyone sank into despair. A few clenched their fists under the table, eyes narrowing with newfound resolve.

So what if I wasn't born with his face? one kid thought, gripping his pen tighter. Maybe I don't have his head start. But I've got time. I can grind. I can hustle. I can work hard, make money, and one day I'll drive a ferreri too. Then the girls will flock to me.

Another was already daydreaming, eyes glazed over as he pictured himself cruising down Sunset Boulevard, hair slicked back, sunglasses on, girls hanging off both arms while jealous onlookers screamed his name.

A third went even further, imagining his own "arrival scene" on campus. A roaring red ferreri, doors swinging open in slow motion, students gasping, the beauty trio fainting right into his arms. He was so deep in the fantasy he actually drooled on his notebook.

If he can do it, why not me?

That thought spread like wildfire.

It was a quiet moment, but a ripple of resolve had spread through the classroom.

Rex, of course, was blissfully unaware of the silent pledges being made around him. He didn't know that his casual presence, his offhand dismissal of a ferreri as "just a car," had lit fires in a handful of classmates who suddenly swore to break free from mediocrity. To carve out wealth, buy their own dream cars, and rewrite destinies that once looked painfully ordinary.

Wealth. Cars. Women.

For the first time, a few of them saw that future as possible, because if someone their age could stroll into class with a ferreri, then maybe, just maybe, they could too.

Of course, whether they'd actually achieve that dream or just end up with three maxed-out credit cards and a lifetime of debt was another story. But in their hearts, the fire was lit.

And sometimes, that was the real miracle. Because the most difficult part of chasing success wasn't always the grueling process itself, or some innate talent you were born with, or even the resources at your disposal. No… the thing most people lacked was that spark. That tiny flash of insanity that made you believe the impossible was somehow within reach.

Most people coasted through life without it, buried under routines, excuses, and "maybe laters." They weren't untalented, they weren't unlucky, they were simply unlit candles waiting for someone to flick the match.

And right now, Rex, blissfully unaware, had walked into class holding a flamethrower.

He wasn't teaching them business strategies, he wasn't giving motivational speeches, he wasn't even trying. Yet his very existence, the ferreri keys twirling between his fingers, the offhand way he dismissed luxury as "just a car"... had lit up a dozen dim futures in an instant.

For some, it would burn out by tomorrow, replaced with memes, procrastination, and cup noodles. But for a handful, that fire would smolder. They'd carry it through late-night study sessions, through side hustles, through sleepless years of work. Some would climb high enough to buy their own dream cars and laugh back at this very day.

(End of Chapter)