Mornings are the worst.
There I was again, staring at my reflection like it had personally offended me. Same cheap shirt. Same crooked tie. Same face that looked like it survived three seasons of corporate torture without camera breaks.
I sighed.
Another day as a Junior Operations Assistant at TitanForge International — the megacorp every business graduate dreams of joining… and I somehow crawled into through a crack in the foundation.
My job title sounds impressive until you realize it basically means:
"Do everything. Get credit for nothing."
I'm underpaid. Horribly.
Like, "two more paychecks and I'll start eating my emotions raw" underpaid.
But it was either this job or move back home and sleep in Mom's storage room between old Christmas decorations and a treadmill nobody's touched since Obama's first term."
Yeah. That fate can stay in hell.
The saddest part?
I actually had good grades. No—great grades. Top 5%. Recommendations. Internships. Extra courses. The whole package.
But life doesn't always reward effort.
Sometimes it rewards… literally anyone else.
Connections.
Confidence.
Charisma.
I have none of those. I have the charm of a wet sponge and the social presence of a faint Wi-Fi signal.
Still, I forced myself out the door and walked toward the massive glass tower of TitanForge International Headquarters.
The damn place looked like it generated money by breathing. Thirty-two floors of power, ambition, and people way more competent than me.
The revolving doors swallowed me in, and I stepped into a lobby so shiny it felt illegal for someone like me to stand in it. Marble floors. Gold accents. A chandelier that probably cost more than my entire existence.
Executives strutted through the place like lions in a nature documentary. Interns buzzed around trying not to get stepped on.
I beeped my badge and headed to the elevator, hoping the universe would grant me five minutes of peace before my daily humiliation began.
Of course, it didn't.
Because standing in front of the elevator were three Marketing angels who looked like they stepped out of a fashion ad.
And me? I froze. Like always.
One of them looked my way and I forgot how breathing worked.
Perfect.
Another ordinary day in the life of Terrence Holt — corporate nobody, social malfunction, and human printer.
And I had no idea it would be my last day as the person I knew.
---
The elevator dinged next to them, but none of them moved. They were too busy chatting, laughing about something I was clearly not meant to hear.
Then one of them turned.
Sasha Haze — twenty-six, Marketing's golden child, daughter of a board member, and the closest thing TitanForge had to a corporate queen bee. If the company were a high school, she'd be the popular girl everyone wanted to impress and feared disappointing.
Perfect hair.
Perfect face.
Perfect smile… until she saw me.
Her entire expression soured like I'd tracked mud into her penthouse.
"Ugh. It's you."
Right. Good morning to me.
My throat tightened the way it always did around attractive women. Or any women. Or anyone remotely confident, honestly.
"Uhm… h-hi, S-Sas—"
She squinted at me like my existence was an inconvenience.
Then she shoved a folder against my chest.
"Print this. Three copies. Stapled. Bring it to my desk."
I blinked. "But… your office is on the other side of the building. And I—I'm actually supposed to—"
She cut me off with a raised brow.
"You doing it or no?"
The two girls beside her exchanged looks, both raising their brows in the exact same judgmental rhythm, like synchronized piranhas. One of them even covered her mouth to hide a smirk.
My brain fired off a thousand possible comebacks, but none of them made it past the choking fog of anxiety in my throat.
Why did I always fold?
Why couldn't I say anything?
Why did her eyes make my brain short-circuit?
I swallowed my pride — what was left of it, anyway — and nodded.
"R-Right away."
The other two girls giggled. Not loudly — just that soft, deadly kind of giggle people use when they think you're too harmless to take offense.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, smirked, then stepped into the elevator and pressed the button.
I took a step forward.
"Wait—can I—"
Sasha lifted a perfectly manicured hand to stop the doors from closing… and stared directly at me. The two girls leaned in slightly, curious, amused, ready to witness another episode of Terrence Holt Gets Publicly Humiliated.
"The elevator? Really?" She scoffed. "That's for staff who actually matter. Try the stairs. It's good cardio."
One of the girls beside her snorted. The other whispered something I couldn't catch, but I caught the glance they gave me. That mix of pity and entertainment.
The doors slid shut in my face, and I just stood there for three full seconds, processing the fact that she had just socially curb-stomped me before 9 a.m.
Why did I take this?
Why did I take all of this?
I didn't know anymore.
All I knew was that I had a folder to print and a staircase that despised me.
And the worst part?
This wasn't even the most humiliating part of my week.
Not even close.
So yeah. I turned away from the elevator like the corporate peasant I was and started climbing.
Sixteen floors. Sixteen unforgiving, fluorescent-lit, soul-crushing floors.
Every step made me wonder why the hell my life turned out like this. I had the grades. The work ethic. The dreams. And yet here I was, climbing stairs like a rejected NPC.
I hated my life. And honestly? I was starting to think my life hated me right back.
And that's when it happened.
Maybe I was too lost in my thoughts.
Maybe the universe wanted to add slapstick comedy to my tragedy.
Maybe everyone really did want to take a hit at Terrence Holt…
My foot slipped. One stupid misstep.
"Wait—"
Gravity said 'lol no'.
I slid, then tumbled, then full-on rolled down the staircase like a poorly animated ragdoll. My head smacked a step. My elbow caught the railing. Something cracked — hopefully the tile, not my skull.
Then nothing.
Just… nothing.
A cold, black void swallowed everything.
No pain. No sound. No Sasha. No humiliation. Just... empty darkness.
Until suddenly, I heard a voice. Smooth. Cold. Too calm.
"Pathetic."
My eyes shot open.
I was no longer on the staircase. I wasn't anywhere recognizable.
I was sitting — or floating? — in a pitch-black expanse, and in front of me was a man in a perfectly tailored black suit, sitting casually on a white chair like he'd been waiting for me.
His face was… normal. Too normal. The kind of face you forget the moment you look away. Except his eyes were sharp, silver, and definitely unsettling.
I croaked, "A-Am I dead or something?"
He smirked. "Sadly, no. Death would imply you accomplished something worth ending."
Wow. Insult speedrun.
"I-I don't… what's happening?"
"What's happening," the man said, crossing his legs, "is that you've hit rock bottom. Again. You've spent twenty-seven years being ignored, dismissed, humiliated… and for what? To climb stairs and get mocked by children in suits?"
"Hey—" I tried to protest.
He raised a hand.
shut up instantly.
"You've wasted your potential. All of it. And yet…" His eyes narrowed, as if scanning my soul. "…you still want more. You want to be seen, loved, respected... desired."
My breath caught.
He wasn't wrong.
He wasn't wrong at all.
I swallowed. "W-what do you want from me?"
"Nothing," he said simply. "What I offer is not a demand. It is an opportunity."
The darkness around us rippled, and glowing letters materialized behind him like floating neon symbols.
[DES – The Desire Effect System]
Initiation Sequence Locked
Awaiting User Consent
My heart froze.
"What… what is that?"
"A chance," the man said. "One chance to become the most desirable mortal on the planet. In influence. In wealth. In charisma. In potential."
I stared at him. At the symbols. At the impossible situation.
"Why me?"
He shrugged. "Because you're pathetic enough to need it… and stubborn enough to use it."
I had no idea what any of it meant. Was this real? A dream? A dying hallucination?
But his next words cut through everything:
"Tell me, Terrence Holt… if you were given the chance to become the best version of yourself — the version the world cannot ignore — would you take it?"
My mouth felt dry. My hands shook. But the answer… I didn't even hesitate.
"…Yes."
The man smiled — unsettling, knowing. "Then rise."
The darkness shattered.
---
I gasped awake.
Light stabbed my eyes. My head throbbed like someone had hit me with a frying pan dipped in regret.
I blinked until the blur faded.
White room. IV in my arm. Hospital smell. Machines beeping beside me.
And then—
Right in front of my vision, floating like a hologram only I could see:
[DES Online]
User: Terrence Holt
Calibrating…
Analyzing Physical State…
Scanning Personality Matrix…
Evaluating Social Profile…
My jaw dropped.
I didn't even get to process it, because the door opened and a nurse walked in.
"Mr. Holt? You're awake. That's good. You took quite a fall."
I tried to respond, but my throat felt like gravel. "Y-yeah… I think I'm okay."
She smiled at me… warmly, actually.
But then I heard something. A whisper. Clear. Sharp. Close.
Yet her lips didn't move.
"Poor guy… he's actually kinda cute up close."
I froze. I stared at her. Her mouth still wasn't moving, but the voice — her voice — echoed again:
"Hope he's not too shaken… I should check his pulse again later."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
No way. No freakin' way.
I wasn't imagining it.
I was hearing her thoughts.
And floating in front of me, the HUD flickered again:
[DES Online. Desire Perception Activated]
My life wasn't just changing.
No. It had already changed.
---
To be continued...