Ever since that disastrous party, Eric Dane had started acting a little strange.
Very strange.
For example, on Monday in the cafeteria, Shawn was carrying his tray and had just started to walk in Eric's direction when Eric shot up as if his chair had springs, grabbing his barely touched lunch and disappearing into the crowd with an agility comparable to dodging a sniper.
On Tuesday in the library, Shawn just sneezed, and Eric, three rows of bookshelves away, was so startled that he dropped a textbook as thick as a brick, Macroeconomics, on the floor, then fled the scene without looking back.
By Wednesday, when Shawn saw Eric in the hallway and raised his hand for a friendly greeting, Eric reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly spinning around and diving headfirst into the adjacent women's restroom.
"..."
Shawn stood at the entrance to the women's restroom, staring at the pink humanoid icon, lost in thought.
"Is he... constipated lately?" he muttered to himself in all sincerity.
However, he soon put the matter out of his mind. Summer break was just around the corner, and he didn't have time to study the star quarterback's digestive issues. He didn't think much of it; after all, he had more important things to do.
He returned to his dorm, opened his laptop, and began to enthusiastically browse job listings for a summer part-time gig. The light from the screen reflected on his face, shimmering with a desire for freedom and spending money.
"'High-paying position for a pet psychic, must love animals, knowledge of a foreign language is a plus...' Hey, this one sounds pretty good. Maybe I can finally understand what that cat downstairs who always rolls its eyes at me is cursing about," he muttered to himself while casually clicking open his messaging app. Eric's name happened to be online.
Shawn thought for a moment, then his fingers began to type on the keyboard.
"Hey, star quarterback, any earth-shattering plans for the summer?" he sent, a slightly teasing message.
Surprisingly, Eric replied quickly, as if he were also at loose ends. "My parents booked a trip to the Maldives. Family vacation, the kind you can't refuse."
"Whoa, the Maldives!" Shawn sent back a string of exaggerated exclamation points. "Sun, sand, turquoise water... and bikini babes. I'm so jealous, young master. Is this the vacation of a winner in life?"
Eric, on the other end of the screen, seemed to pause for a moment before replying, "Sounds nice... but it'll probably just be swimming, sunbathing, and reading. What about you? What are you doing for the summer? Any plans?"
Seeing Eric's question, Shawn pouted and typed back bluntly: "Me? I'm not as carefree as you. I'm trying hard to find a summer job to save up for next semester's living expenses. I just saw a listing for a 'professional mermaid performer.' The pay is pretty good, but unfortunately, it requires you to provide your own tail, and they might have some opinions about the number of abs I have."
He deliberately used a lighthearted tone, with a bit of self-deprecation and an acceptance of the reality of their different circumstances.
Eric sent back a laughing emoji. "A mermaid? I think you should go for it, you might open up a new market. But... won't working be tough?"
"Tough is a given, but money you earn yourself feels good to spend," Shawn replied, then added half-jokingly, "Besides, what if the place I work at happens to have a branch in the Maldives? Maybe I'll run into you, and you can buy me a juice."
After he sent that message, Eric was silent for a few seconds.
"...Sure, if we really do run into each other," Eric finally replied.
"Haha, just kidding! Enjoy your luxury vacation. I've got to get back to battling with my job sites," Shawn ended the conversation.
He closed the chat window and clicked back on the details for the "mermaid performer" position. Looking at the tempting hourly wage on the screen, he let out a satisfied... calculating smile.
Just as he was about to apply for the pet psychic position, the familiar, PTSD-inducing blue screen, radiating a palpable "I'm pissed off" aura, abruptly unfolded before his eyes.
[Warning: Conquest target 'Eric Dane's' affection level has been stagnant at 60% for 72 hours.] [Mission Progress Evaluation: Extremely unsatisfactory!] [Host is ordered to immediately, right now, this instant, remember your goddamn primary objective! Otherwise, you know the consequences!]
The system's wording seemed considerably more irritable than usual.
Shawn clicked his tongue again and, as if swatting away an annoying fly, tried to minimize the window with his mind. "I know, I know, don't rush me. It's not like the deadline is here yet, is it?"
[Host is reminded that the 'eradication' protocol is not a joke. This system has over a thousand ways to make you disappear from this universe without a trace, so completely that even your own mother won't remember giving birth to such an idiot.]
"Eradicate, eradicate, that's all you ever say," Shawn replied distractedly while continuing to scroll with his mouse, looking for new part-time jobs. "Whoa, 'Professional mermaid performer, must provide your own tail'... this one seems to have some high physical requirements."
The system seemed to be thoroughly enraged by his dismissive attitude. The blue screen began to flicker slightly, emitting an unstable electric hum.
[Host! Do you realize the gravity of this situation?!]
"Relax, relax," Shawn finally, impatiently, tore his attention away from the job site. He leaned back in his chair, hands clas-ped behind his head, and said to the system in his mind with an extremely arrogant tone, "Did you forget something?"
[...?]
"The reward you gave me for the last mission," Shawn's lips began to curl up uncontrollably into a devious smile, "that potion that can make someone 'hopelessly smitten.' I haven't used it yet."
On the system's screen, all the text vanished, leaving only a single, giant question mark.
"What do you think," Shawn's smile grew wider, like a little devil who had just thought of a brilliant prank, "would happen if I were to, say, quietly pour that stuff into Eric's sports drink..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was self-evident.
[...]
"So, what's the rush?" Shawn stretched, sat up straight again, and clicked on the details for the "mermaid performer" position. "This is called strategic planning, understand? I have an ace in the hole. If Plan A doesn't work, I've got Plan B. All you have to do is lie back and wait for my good news."
He looked at the tempting hourly wage on the screen and let out a satisfied, wicked laugh.
At that moment, the system wanted nothing more than to immediately, right now, without a moment's hesitation—
Personally tear apart this smug idiot, Shawn.