Urban System in America-Chapter 107 - 106: Nocturne 11

But just as he was about to return to his car, a breeze passed by.

It carried a scent—subtle, magnetic, and unlike anything he had ever smelled before.

He stopped.

There was nothing overpowering about it. No sharp alcohol bite or synthetic sweetness—just a haunting, lingering trace of warmth, woodsmoke, and something he couldn’t name.

His gaze drifted down the quiet street.

There it was.

A boutique nestled discreetly between two high-end galleries, almost shy in its presence. Its name was etched in small, silver letters on a matte black signboard:

Maison Silhouet.

No flashy displays. No celebrity endorsements. Just an aura. A quiet confidence, like it knew it didn’t need to shout.

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside.

He didn’t have any plan to buy any perfume or anything, but this scent pulled him in.

Fragrance was something most underestimated. Yet it lingered longer than a smile, whispered louder than a voice. If he was curating an image—voice, walk, wardrobe—then scent mattered.

The interior was warm and dimly lit. The walls were lined with elegant crystal bottles, each distinct in shape, each catching the golden light with an understated gleam. It wasn’t opulent. It was intentional. Like every bottle held a secret.

A middle-aged man emerged from behind a velvet curtain. Tall, silver-haired, with impeccable posture and a face carved by decades of experience. His accent was thickly French, his tone refined.

"Welcome to Maison Silhouet," he said. "What kind of fragrance are you looking for?"

Rex tilted his head slightly. Honestly before stepping in he hadn’t thought anything in particular, he was just attracted by the scent, but now that he is already here, there’s no harm in getting something, so he thought for a moment then said "I’m looking for something rare. Something custom—something no one else wears."

The man gave a faint smile. "Then you do not want a scent, monsieur. You want a signature."

Rex smiled. "Exactly."

The man studied him for a beat, like assessing what type of scent would suit him, Rex waited patiently, after some time, the man began selecting bottles from the shelf, placing them on a black velvet runner.

Notes of bergamot, oud, musk, vetiver... he walked Rex through each blend, each story. Layered and complex. Rex tested several on scent strips and skin, inhaling deeply with every offering. But nothing quite landed. They were good—better than most he had at home, even he ever smelled—but he wanted more. Something that didn’t just smell unique, but felt like him.

He shook his head politely. "Close. But not quite."

The perfumer didn’t flinch, didn’t push. Didn’t try to sell. Instead, he presented some other, but the result was still the same, even Rex was a bit confused, he didn’t know why he just felt that they were missing something, something even he didn’t know about.

The man nodded deeply, then as if thinking of something he hesitated a bit, but in the end, without a word, he stepped into the back and returned with a small, frosted crystal bottle, etched with silver filigree. It gleamed faintly, like something sacred.

"Nocturne 11," he said softly. "One of only 11 ever made. Each one slightly different. A blend altered by moon cycles, rare botanicals, and infused oils. It is not sold—it is reserved. For someone who truly understands what it means to wear something unforgettable."

He placed the bottle gently on a black cloth and gestured.

Rex picked it up, uncapped it slowly, and inhaled.

At first—smoke. Not heavy or oppressive, but velvety. Like incense drifting in a cathedral at midnight.

Then citrus—brief, electric. Like a spark in the dark.

Followed by warmth— resin, dry woods, and something elusive. Not floral. Not earthy. It smelled like memory—of firelight in a dream, or ink on the first page of a story never written.

It didn’t just smell good.

It felt right.

He smiled. "This is it. Wrap it for me."

But just as the perfumer moved, Rex paused. "Actually..."

He brought the bottle to his nose again. A faint line formed between his brows.

Rex furrowed his brow. "It’s incredible," he said. "It’s close. Almost perfect. But... there’s something missing."

The perfumer blinked, caught off guard.

"Pardon?"

Rex met his gaze, then added, "I know I’m no expert. But my sense of smell... it’s sharper than most. I just feel that it is missing something.

The perfumer raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Are you sure? Most find it overwhelming already," he murmured. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Rex didn’t speak and just gently shook his head.

He didn’t quite know how to explain it. But his senses had indeed evolved—sharpened, enhanced by the system. His nose wasn’t like before. He could detect nuance, layers hidden between layers, undertones that others would miss entirely.

He could feel the spaces between notes—the hesitation in a transition, the imbalance in a dry-down.

He gently described what he was sensing—the brief clash between the citrus and the smoky base, how the middle felt slightly hollow, how he imagined a trace of bitter orange peel or a whisper of dried lavender could anchor the transitions better.

The perfumer’s expression slowly shifted from mild confusion to awe.

Curious now, the man leaned closer. "You’re not trained, are you?"

Rex shook his head.

""Incredible. Your language is clumsy, monsieur, but your nose, your perception... it is something else."The perfumer’s eyes glittered.

He leaned back, folding his arms as he regarded Rex with growing respect.

"In my decades of experience, there was only one other with a gift like that—my mistress. The owner of this house. And with her hard work and intuition, She rose like a comet in the world of perfumery. Her intuition... her sensitivity... unmatched."

He regarded Rex with something like reverence. "It’s a pity you are not in this line of work. I could introduce you to her—she rarely takes interest, but for someone like you..."

Rex smiled politely and declined. "I appreciate the offer. But no—I know my limits."

Still, the mention piqued his curiosity. The owner of Maison Silhouet—clearly someone with massive influence in the perfume world. The perfumer didn’t reveal much about her, only that most of the perfumes here were just her experiments.

"She created Nocturne 11?" he asked curiously.

(End of Chapter)