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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 tailor pulled a charcoal-grey blazer from a velvet hanger. It looked ordinary, but as Arthur slipped it on, the fabric hummed. The shoulders didn't just fit; they adjusted to his posture, making him stand two inches taller. The lapels were lined with a subtle, iridescent thread that caught the light like a dying star. Arthur looked in the mirror

"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." He tapped his credit chip against the counter