Chapter 2: The System’s Secret Game
Wiping away my tears, I summoned the system for the first time in ages.
"System, I want to go home. Help me give up the mission."
It was crystal clear. With Carter, I’d never succeed.
I was just a donkey chasing his carrot, plodding along.
Instead of staying here, letting him mock and humiliate me, I might as well spend my last two months with my parents.
I pictured my mom’s hands dusted with flour, rolling out cinnamon rolls in our tiny kitchen, my dad’s lopsided smile as he flipped through old photo albums. The ache for home twisted in my chest, sharp and sudden. But the system’s response was a piercing shriek:
"Give up? Are you out of your mind? You’re my star player this round!"
I was confused. "Star player?"
"That’s right! I was counting on you to finish this job so I could retire with a fat bonus! If you quit, how am I supposed to retire?"
"Wait, I don’t get it."
I pulled up the mission panel, double-checking everything.
"Right now, Carter’s affection for me is 60%. How is that first place?"
The system snorted—a sharp, sarcastic little sound. I rolled my eyes.
"Who said rankings are based on affection score? That’s old-school thinking—outdated and unscientific. Every mission has a different starting point; some people start at 90%, others in the negatives. Judging by whether you hit 100% just isn’t fair. That’s why the new generation of systems uses affection fluctuation as the standard. The bigger the swings, the more impact you’ve had."
"And you, my host, your score’s been all over the place, up and down—proof that you’re always on his mind, always making him hesitate. That’s real success!"
…
Wait, what? That’s how it works? I was dumbfounded by the system’s explanation, but I understood the gist.
Because Carter could manipulate my affection score at will, my numbers were all over the place—huge fluctuations.
He was trying to train me, but by accident, he’d helped me hit the system’s new standard, making me the top performer in this batch.
A twist of fate. A lifeline at the edge of despair.
I laughed, just a little—half disbelief, half relief. Seeing my expression soften, the system quickly pressed its advantage:
"Host, for every 1% swing in affection, you earn 1 point. Reach 2,000 points, and you’ve cleared the mission. Hit $100 million cash bonus at 5,000! We split it fifty-fifty!"
"C’mon, you’re so close to the big payday! You’re only 666 points away from 5,000! Are you really going to walk away from this much money?"
I asked carefully:
"So you’re saying I’ve already cleared the mission, and I could go home and be healthy again, but you didn’t tell me?"
The system sounded embarrassed—almost sheepish. I couldn’t help but snort.
"Well, I wanted that bonus too! With your talent, you shot straight to the top of the leaderboard. What system wouldn’t be tempted?"
"Come on, just a little more effort—666 points is nothing for you!"
My chest warmed, excitement surging before I calmed myself:
"Seventy-thirty split. I get seventy, you get thirty. Agree, and I’ll keep going."
"You, you…"
"Think it over. If you hadn’t kept this from me, I’d have gone home already. Why stick around to be treated like this?"
The system stammered, silent for a long moment, then finally gave a fierce nod and let out a dramatic, over-the-top howl—like a cartoon wolf. I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling.
"I, your system, have finally met my match!"













