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Arthur looked in the mirror. Gone was the slouching coder. In his place stood a man who looked like he could negotiate a treaty between warring suns. He tapped his credit chip against the counter without even checking the price.

Arthur stared at the invitation: Galactic Peace Summit – Formal Attire Required. He looked at his closet, which contained three identical hoodies and a pair of cargo pants. He needed a blazer, and he needed it before the shuttle departed at midnight. buy blazer jacket

"The 'Ambassador’s Weight,'" the tailor whispered. "It’s woven with silk and gravity. You won’t just buy a blazer, Mr. Arthur. You’re buying the room." Arthur looked in the mirror

He ducked into "The Alchemist’s Tailor," a shop that smelled of cedar and old magic. The tailor, a man whose glasses had seventeen different lenses, didn’t ask for Arthur’s size. Instead, he asked, "What do you wish to command?" "I just want to look like I belong," Arthur muttered. He tapped his credit chip against the counter

As he walked out, the jacket felt light as a shadow. He didn't just have a new piece of clothing; he had a new spine. The summit was six hours away, and for the first time in his life, Arthur wasn't nervous. He was ready.