CHAPTER 191: CHAPTER 190: DIFFERENT HISTORY

Skaters doing wild flips down at Venice. Kids blasting music from bikes. Street artists painting murals that somehow made brick walls look like museum pieces. Food trucks everywhere. A lady selling bracelets that "repel exes"—he almost bought one just for fun.

People think LA is just red carpets and drama. But nah, it’s also sunshine, chill chaos, and weirdly specific horchata stands on every corner.

Anyway, after walking aimlessly and getting mildly sunburned, he stumbled into a used bookstore that smelled like yellowing pages and coffee no one ever finished. No one greeted him. No curated displays. Just stacks of books piled like an unstable Jenga tower waiting to happen. He liked it instantly.

He drifted between aisles, fingers grazing spines. Self-help, philosophy, politics, economics—then stopped when he saw a thin book tucked awkwardly between two hardcovers like it was hiding.

"The Modern World: A Brief Outlook on Global Power and Influence."

He raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Convenient."

Because hey, if you’re going to fake being sophisticated at a party full of elites, you might as well learn something fancy to say, and there was still so much about this world to learn about.

Paid in cash. The guy at the counter barely looked up from his crossword.

With book in hand, Rex wandered out again, walking until he found what could only be described as a café straight out of a European Instagram post—white brick, ivy crawling up the side, and outdoor tables under little umbrellas. It looked too pretty for its own good.

He sat down anyway.

Ordered an iced Americano from a bored-looking barista with mint-green hair and a lip ring. No judgment. The drink was good.

And there he sat.

Book open. Sunglasses on, coffee in hand, pretending to be one of those thoughtful, mysterious guys in a coming-of-age film.

Occasionally flipping a page. Occasionally just... watching the world do its thing.

"The Modern World: A Brief Outlook on Global Power and Influence."

Page one: something about global economic shifts.

Page two: he had no idea what he just read.

Page three: still no clue, but it sounded smart.

Did he understand it?

Eh. Somewhat. Probably. Maybe.

But at least he looked cool doing it.

The breeze stirred the pages.

The city buzzed around him.

Passersby probably thought he was some off-duty actor or fashion blogger.

By the time the clock crept close to six, Rex had fully sunken into what could only be described as a "learning trance."

The table in front of him? An absolute mess.

There were at least four empty coffee cups—one still half-full and probably ice-cold by now—crumbled napkins, a small graveyard of pastry wrappers, and a half-eaten almond croissant he kept forgetting existed.

And in the center of the chaos: the book.

The Modern World: A Brief Outlook on Global Power and Influence.

What started as a light time-killer somehow turned into a deep dive. At first, he was flipping through lazily, waiting for the caffeine to kick in, eyes half-focused and attention drifting between the pages and the coffee foam. But somewhere around Chapter 3—post-WWII world order shifts—it got good. Like, stay-seated-until-the-last-page kind of good.

Turns out, this world’s history was nothing like the one from his past life. Sure, the big names were the same—America, China, Russia, the usual suspects. But the outcomes? Wildly different. Countries that used to be irrelevant held global sway now. Others that were once superpowers had fizzled out. And the UN?

Not the symbolic, red-tape-ridden mess he remembered.

This one had teeth. Authority. Real enforcement powers.

Sanctions that actually worked.

Peacekeeping missions that didn’t need five different approvals and a miracle.

It was like watching a remix of a song you used to know by heart—same lyrics,but someone else had remixed the entire beat, flipped the chorus, and added a new verse.

And weirdly? He liked this version more.

What fascinated him wasn’t just the differences—it was the implications. This wasn’t just an alternate history, it was a reflection of what could’ve been. Power shifting hands. Economies built on different foundations. Alliances that made actual sense instead of headline drama.

And that fascinated him.

It made him think.

Not just about the world, but about the system, about how he could move within this version of reality.

These weren’t the kind of changes you noticed walking down the street. These were the tectonic-shift type changes. The ones that quietly sculpted the entire world. Politics, influence, economy, war, peace—everything danced to a different rhythm here.

So he read. With gusto.

Every now and then, he paused just to refill his coffee or order something new. A tart. Some cookies. A strange fruit pastry he couldn’t pronounce but still ate like a champ. The staff probably thought he was a reviewer or something. Or just a guy who really, really liked caffeine.

He was halfway through a section on the rise of cultural power blocs when his phone suddenly buzzed.

The screen lit up with one name.

Seraphina Marcella.

He blinked, momentarily dazed, as if yanked out of a dream.

"Oh," he muttered. "Right. The party."

The world snapped back into motion. The buzz of nearby traffic, the clink of dishes, the weight of everything he’d read—all pushed aside as he picked up the phone.

He picked up, already stretching. "Yes, ma’am?"

Her voice came through, cool and clipped.

Are you planning to show up to the party tonight, or should I auction your suit to someone more punctual?"

Rex smirked. "Wow. You sound like you’ve missed me."

"Missed the chaos you bring, maybe," she drawled. "Now please tell me you haven’t forgotten your transformation deadline."

He glanced at the messy table and the fortress of coffee cups in front of him. ".... Of course not. I’ve just been... mentally preparing."

"Mentally preparing?" she echoed, unimpressed.

"With caffeine and a book on global political history. I’m basically overqualified to wear the suit at this point."

A small pause. He could almost picture her pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You’re hopeless. Now snap out of whatever intellectual rabbit hole you’re buried in. Hotel’s prepped. Your suit’s already there. You’ve got just about an hour to drag your caffeinated self over, get changed, and look presentable."

Rex feigned a gasp. "You’re kicking me out of my academic enlightenment for vanity?"

"Just make sure you’re at the hotel by seven. The suit’s there, final adjustments are done, and you’ll need time to change, check the fit, and get groomed. Everything else has been arranged."

"That fast?" he raised a brow, genuinely impressed.

"You’re welcome," she said dryly. "Let’s just say the tailor is currently reconsidering his life choices."

Rex smirked. "I’ll be sure to send him an apology. Maybe with cake. Or a neck massage coupon."

"Are you coming or not?" came Seraphina’s voice — crisp, dry, and on the edge of snapping.

Rex could already picture her pacing somewhere, arms crossed, heel tapping against polished floor.

He chuckled, brushing pastry crumbs from his lap. "Alright, alright. Leaving the books behind. A tragic sacrifice in the name of fashion."

"You’re welcome," she replied. "I even threw in some grooming essentials. On the house."

Then, with a pause and a bit of a smirk in her voice:

"And thank me, for rescuing you from turning into a background NPC," she shot back.

He smirked. "Bold of you to assume I wasn’t the main character already."

There was a beat. "Just don’t be late. And don’t look like you rolled out of a nap."

"Noted, ma’am." He mock-saluted even though she couldn’t see it.

The call ended with a soft click, and Rex glanced one last time at the book.

"Sorry, geopolitics. Hollywood calls."

He slipped it into his bag, downed the rest of his lukewarm coffee in one go, and stepped out into the golden L.A. sunset.

Time to prep.

(End of Chapter)