Arlo woke up with a damned headache.
That kind of headache that feels like a gremlin is inside your skull, smacking pots and pans together while doing jumping jacks.
He groaned and rolled over in bed, only to roll off entirely and smack into the floor.
"Ugh… crap," he muttered, his face buried in the carpet.
A shrill sound erupted from the nightstand.
His phone alarm buzzed aggressively, reading 6:00 AM.
"…But I thought it was 9?" Arlo blinked, confused. "I hate everything."
Still, he forced himself to sit up. Today wasn't a day to sleep in.
No more drinking games, no more college life, no more public rejections that shattered what was left of his manhood.
Today was a new chapter.
The resort awaited.
He turned off the alarm and glanced around the room.
All of his things were already packed. He had handled that the night before, mostly to avoid thinking about Gwen's words echoing through his brain like a cursed ringtone.
Yeah.
Definitely time to go.
He trudged to the bathroom and brushed his teeth while staring at himself in the mirror.
His reflection looked about as energetic as a used mop.
Black hair was a mess.
Eyes sunken.
He could already imagine Gwen saying, "You look unemployed."
Rinse.
Spit.
Shower.
He dressed in his nicest casual combo: white shirt, black jacket, and jeans that didn't have a mysterious ketchup stain.
It honestly looked enough.
Before leaving, he took one last look at his tiny, sad apartment — the cracked paint, the tiny microwave that burned his food, the creaky bed frame.
He didn't feel sentimental.
He felt like he was escaping prison.
Downstairs, the old woman who handled building management waved at him from behind her crossword puzzle.
"Leaving for good?"
"Yeah," Arlo said, handing her the apartment key. "Heading to Valemire."
"Oh! Big move. Good luck with… whatever it is you're doing now. And happy late graduation!"
"Thanks."
She winked. "Go find a rich wife."
"Honestly? That's Plan C."
Outside, the air was cool and brisk. The taxi he had called was already waiting by the curb.
Arlo tossed his duffel in the back, climbed in, and sat quietly as the city of Grey passed by outside his window.
Skyscrapers gave way to factories.
Factories gave way to hills.
Hills to farmlands.
Finally, they reached the Grey City Bus Terminal — a sprawling, disorganized parking lot filled with buses that looked like they hadn't passed inspection since 2009.
He paid the cab driver, grabbed his bag, and walked toward the terminal entrance.
That's when his phone buzzed.
He pulled it out and stared.
Gwen.
Calling?
Arlo's entire body paused, like someone had pressed the pause button on his soul.
Why the hell would she be calling him?
Apologize? Tell him she was kidding? Ask him out after all?
No. That'd be too convenient.
He stared at the screen for a second, then muttered, "Nah. I'm not doing this."
He moved to shove the phone back in his pocket… and the phone slipped from his hand and slammed into the pavement like it owed the ground money.
Crack.
Arlo stared at it in horror.
The screen was shattered beyond recognition. The back popped off. The battery slid across the floor like a disrespected frisbee.
"…Okay, universe," he said, hands on his hips. "I get it. I'm unemployed, heartbroken, and phoneless."
People glanced at him like he'd just lost an argument with the air.
He sighed, picked up the shattered remains, and dropped them into a side pocket of his bag.
Maybe there was a phone repair shop in Valemire. Assuming it wasn't some ghost town by now.
The bus rolled into the lot — a massive, faded-blue vehicle with peeling paint and a sad horn.
Arlo boarded with the grace of a man who had nothing left to lose. There were ten people on a bus that could seat forty.
He claimed two seats: one for him, and one for his baggage and emotional trauma.
As the bus pulled out of the terminal and began its long journey toward Valemire, Arlo leaned his head against the window.
It was going to be a long ride.
Or so he thought.
About thirty minutes in, he blinked groggily… and something strange happened.
Right in front of his face, a glowing blue tab appeared.
Floating.
His eyes widened.
"Whoa… what the hell?"
It blinked rapidly, then displayed text in glowing white letters.
"Hey, what?!"
"Quiet down!"
"Sorry…"
Arlo stared.
'What?!'
Other passengers didn't react. They kept napping or scrolling through their phones.
He waved his hand through the tab. It didn't vanish. It followed him, hovering politely like a ghost with good manners.
'What is this?' he whispered. "Is this a virus? Am I hallucinating? Did I die? Is this about the phone? Gwen's rejection? The fuck is happening?'
More text appeared.
He couldn't even think.
Arlo slapped himself.
A little bit too hard… it hurt.
He winced. 'Okay. I'm definitely not dreaming.'
He read the tab again.
'NTR System?' he thought. 'What does that even stand for—wait. Wait. No. It can't mean that.'
He gulped.
'You don't mean N-T-R as in…'
"…Oh god."
The tab helpfully clarified.
Arlo covered his face.
"This is insane," he muttered. But what other choice did he have? He had read a few webnovels and manhwa in his life but it was very promising to have a reward-based system.
'Booting?' Arlo thought with a gulp but he didn't have any reason to be scared, no this was an opportunity.
The best opportunity he could get in the world.