Esha had finally cracked the code.
If she couldn't be the social butterfly earning likes by flaunting fashion, then she'd simply outsource it. Her secret weapon? Alana—the human equivalent of a fashion vacuum. One peek at the closet full of replicated designer clothes and Alana had transformed overnight from reluctant intern to full-blown corporate Barbie.
At first, Esha's pride took a hit. Watching Alana rack up like points just by walking into her office in a new outfit while Esha couldn't squeeze a single pity like from the system—pain. But Esha was a realist. Pride couldn't feed her. Likes could. So she rolled up her metaphorical sleeves (and actual pajama sleeves) and got to work.
One tweed blazer and wide-leg pant combo later, Alana strutted into her office like she owned the building, unknowingly adding a cool 200 points to Esha's task bar.
Next came a long-sleeved shirt and midi skirt—super hit.
Then, a silk camisole paired with wide-leg trousers and a sharp black blazer—blockbuster hit.
Alana's coworkers were awestruck. "Who's your stylist?" they'd ask.
Alana just shrugged, flipping her hair like a shampoo commercial. "Just a friend," she'd say, as if she didn't have a closet straight out of a Milan fashion week showroom.
Within one week, Esha completed her task.
She was smug. Very smug. Smug enough to do a little celebratory shimmy in front of the mirror. Until the system piped up:
"Congratulations on completing the mission... by outsourcing your incompetency to your far more charismatic roommate."
"...Excuse me?"
"Unlike you, Alana actually has a social presence. And friends. And a life. Must be nice."
Esha considered uninstalling the system. But then the reward dropped: a legitimate identity for her clothes.
Apparently, the system had whipped up a backstory—Esha now had two fictional "senior siblings" from the orphanage who were differently abled and dreamed of starting a fashion line. Esha was just a kind-hearted soul helping them realize it.
"Wow," Esha muttered. "I didn't know you had a degree in emotional manipulation."
"I majored in sob stories, thank you very much."
Still, the story was perfect. Alana had already started asking where the magical closet full of new outfits was coming from. Esha was a terrible liar. The fake entrepreneur story? Bulletproof.
And so, with one sob story and one glam roommate, the Cloth Fairy System had hit its stride.
⸻
One month later, their apartment had become a paradox.
On one side: Alana, the overworked but fabulous corporate minion, flinging her heels off every evening and collapsing on the couch like a wilted daisy in high fashion.
On the other: Esha, the gloriously idle couch potato, scrolling through job listings with zero intention of applying, decked out in silk loungewear and sipping iced matcha like she was sponsored by a lifestyle blog.
Alana often threw fits, declaring she would quit and join Esha's stress-free lifestyle. But then she'd glance at the rent reminder on her phone and sigh dramatically. "Fine. But only because capitalism hasn't crumbled yet."
Esha's closet, meanwhile, had blossomed into a treasure trove. Silk, satin, tweed, linen—name it, she had it. Alana too had stopped pretending she was "just borrowing." She had officially converted into a full-fledged supporter of the "sob-story siblings'" brand.
She even offered suggestions for designs. "We need more pastel workwear," she said one morning, examining herself in a pistachio-green blouse. "Also, can we bring back vintage belts?"
Alana's mother—previously the reigning queen of Practical Fashion—was suspiciously impressed by her daughter's new wardrobe. When she asked where it came from, Alana casually replied, "Wouldn't you like to know?" then changed the subject. Esha, watching from the sidelines, gave her a mental high-five for the revenge.
Alana, being too righteous to take clothes for free, demanded to pay. Esha showed her the production cost the system calculated—fabrics, threads, zippers, labor. Alana blinked at the total.
"Are you sure this isn't hand-sewn by baby alpacas in the Andes?"
"No, but I'm now seriously considering exporting to them," Esha deadpanned.
They even went store-hopping to compare prices. Alana was appalled. Esha was traumatized. She felt like she was doing charity.
Still, they had built something beautiful—an unspoken rhythm of friendship, fashion, and passive-aggressive sarcasm. Until one evening, Alana tossed a bomb mid-popcorn bite.
"So... what are you doing with the third bedroom?"
Esha blinked. "Leaving it to gather dust. Why?"
"I know someone. She's looking for a place. Responsible, clean, doesn't steal spoons."
"...I'm listening."
"She's also rich."
"Approved. She can move in tomorrow."
Alana barely finished texting when a black luxury car pulled up outside.
Out came a woman with the poise of royalty, the face of a K-drama heroine, and the fashion sense of a Vogue cover star. She had eight massive suitcases and a matching travel set that could clothe an army.
"Esha," Alana whispered reverently. "Behold the legend: Evelynn Black."
Esha stared. She was suddenly aware of her hoodie that said "Pajamas all day, every day."
Evelynn didn't just walk—she glided. The woman was a walking Pinterest board.
And then, to make matters more insane, she pulled out a printed contract and paid the entire year's rent upfront.
Esha stared at the money. "Are you sure you're not the landlord here?"
Alana looked betrayed. "I pay in monthly instalments and offer emotional support. This feels personal."
Even more shocking, Evelynn summoned an army of housekeepers who followed her like loyal minions. In less than two hours, the room looked like a luxury hotel suite. There was ambient lighting. There were fluffy slippers. There were matching scented candles.
Esha and Alana stared at each other.
"We're peasants," Esha whispered.
"Mere mortals," Alana agreed.
The system popped up.
"A magnificent beauty, this is the host I truly deserve."
Esha hissed, "As if she'd stoop to dealing with your buggy attitude. Stay in your lane."
Meanwhile, Evelynn calmly finished arranging her bookshelf by color gradient and walked out, looking ethereal even in joggers.
⸻
Evelynn Black was a name. A face. A legend.
She had gone viral two years ago for giving a flawless graduation speech in both French and Korean, wearing a dress and stilettos. Since then, even videos of her eating toast went viral.
People called her "goddess energy." Her followers worshipped her skin routine like scripture.
But life wasn't always roses and retweets. Evelynn had once been just a brilliant student supporting her mother through pharmaceutical school bills. Her first livestream had been a desperate attempt to keep the lights on.
But she had gone from "random girl with a camera" to "beauty icon" overnight. Now, she shared fashion advice, life hacks, and skincare rants with her million-plus followers.
And she was besties with Alana?
Esha was personally offended. "You knew her this whole time?"
Alana shrugged smugly. "She's the pretty girl next door my mom always mentioned."
"You mean the one your mom wanted to adopt because she thought she'd raise the neighborhood's average IQ?!"
Alana just grinned.
Naturally, this led to a wrestling match on the floor.
Evelynn walked out just in time to see Esha and Alana in an intense pillow fight, tangled in a blanket fort gone rogue.
She blinked. "Looks like I'm the responsible adult here."
⸻
Thus began the era of The Three Queens—Esha, the laid-back entrepreneur with an attitude problem; Alana, the reluctant corporate slave with excellent taste; and Evelynn, the flawless influencer who paid rent in full and color-coded her wardrobe.
And the system?
"New plan. Convince the goddess to become the host."
Esha rolled her eyes. "Try it. She'll ghost you in five seconds."
"But she's so powerful... so elegant... so—"
"She eats toast in gold-plated pajamas, and still managed to look cooler than me in my best outfit. I'm not bitter. Just observant."
Still, deep down, Esha was a little smug.
With the goddess next door,she felt things were finally going her way.
Of course, knowing her life, that meant trouble was just around the corner.