The blue light of the monitor was the only sun Ethan knew. It didn't burn, it didn't judge, and it certainly didn't ask him how his day was going. In the small, cramped apartment on the outskirts of the city, the only sound was the rhythmic clicking of a mechanical keyboard and the faint hum of a cooling fan that had seen better days.
Ethan Thorne was twenty-one, though he felt like he had lived a century within the four walls of his bedroom. His reflection in the darkened screen during loading times revealed a young man with messy dark hair, pale skin from a lack of sunlight, and eyes that held the weary hollowness of someone who preferred digital landscapes over real ones.
He leaned back, the cheap faux-leather chair creaking under his weight. On the desk lay a graveyard of instant ramen cups and half-empty energy drink cans. To anyone else, it was a mess. To Ethan, it was a fortress.
"Just one more quest," he whispered to the empty room. His voice sounded raspy, unused.
He didn't hate people; he was just terrified of the spaces between them. The awkward silences, the subtle judgments in their eyes, the way the world seemed to move at a speed he couldn't quite catch up with. In Aetheria Online, he was a level 90 sorcerer with a guild that relied on him. In the streets of this city, he was just the guy who lowered his head when the cashier asked if he wanted a receipt.
His phone buzzed on the desk, vibrating against the wood. It was a notification from a job-seeking app—another rejection. "Thank you for your interest, Ethan, but we've decided to move forward with candidates whose profiles more closely match..." He didn't finish reading. He didn't need to. He slid the phone away, feeling that familiar, cold knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. The real world was a game he was losing, a campaign where he had invested all his points into 'Intelligence' but zero into 'Charisma' or 'Luck.'
The sun began to set outside, casting long, orange shadows through the grime-streaked window. It was that transitional hour—the time when the world shifted from the bustle of work to the intimacy of the evening. For Ethan, it was just the time to turn on the overhead light and keep grinding.
He reached for a bottle of water, but his hand brushed against a strange, old book he had picked up at a flea market months ago and forgotten. It was leather-bound, nameless, and felt oddly warm to the touch. He shoved it aside to reach his drink, but as his fingers grazed the cover, a faint spark—like static electricity—prickled his skin.
He ignored it. He was too tired for mysteries. He was just a boy waiting for the night to consume the day, unaware that the "game" he was so desperate to escape into was about to find him.
The next morning didn't bring a fresh start; it only brought a headache. Ethan woke up with his face pressed against the cool surface of his desk, the keyboard's pattern imprinted on his cheek. The monitor had gone into sleep mode, leaving the room in a grey, soul-crushing twilight.
He stayed like that for a long time, listening to the muffled sounds of the world outside. A car horn, a distant siren, the muffled laughter of neighbors in the hallway. To Ethan, these were sounds from a different planet.
Why is it so loud today? he thought, pulling his hoodie tighter around his shoulders.
His stomach gave a violent growl, reminding him that a person cannot survive on caffeine and spite alone. He needed groceries. The very thought made his heart rate pick up. Going to the supermarket meant navigating aisles, avoiding eye contact, and—the worst part—the checkout counter.
He stood up slowly, his joints popping. His eyes fell on the leather-bound book from the night before. It was lying open now, though he didn't remember opening it. The pages were blank, a creamy, invitation-like white that seemed to glow slightly in the shadows. He reached out to close it, but his hand hesitated. A strange sensation, like a soft hum in the back of his mind, told him to leave it be.
"Just a book, Ethan. Get it together," he muttered to himself.
He threw on a pair of wrinkled jeans and a black mask—a blessing for someone who wanted to hide half his face. As he stepped out of his apartment, the hallway felt narrower than usual. Every door he passed felt like a lurking observer.
The walk to the local convenience store was a blur of concrete and avoided glances. He kept his eyes fixed on the pavement, counting the cracks to keep his mind busy. One, two, three, four... Inside the store, the fluorescent lights felt aggressive. He moved like a ghost through the aisles, picking up a pack of bread, some eggs, and more ramen. He was heading toward the back when he saw her.
It was the girl who worked the morning shift. He didn't know her name, but he had seen her before. She was vibrant—the complete opposite of him. She was laughing at something on her phone, her bright hair tucked behind an ear.
Ethan froze. His first instinct was to turn around and run, to hide in the frozen food section until she left. But the path was blocked by a restocking cart. He was trapped.
As he stood there, paralyzed by his own social anxiety, a sudden, sharp heat blossomed in his pocket. It wasn't the heat of a phone battery. It felt like a pulse. A heartbeat.
And then, for the first time in his life, the world didn't just feel heavy. It felt... coded.
A faint, translucent flicker appeared in the corner of his vision. It was thin, like a veil of smoke, forming shapes he couldn't yet read. He blinked hard, thinking his eyes were finally giving out from too much screen time. But the flicker remained, hovering right above the girl's head, waiting for him to notice.
Loading... 1%...
Ethan felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. The air in the store suddenly felt thick, charged with a tension he couldn't explain. He hadn't even spoken to her, yet his heart was drumming against his ribs like a trapped bird.
The store felt like it was tilting. Ethan gripped the handle of his plastic basket so hard that the thin wire dug into his palm. The translucent flicker in his vision wasn't a glitch; it was becoming solid. It wasn't just text—it was an intrusion of reality.
[ System Initialization: 15%... 27%... ]
The numbers crawled with agonizing slowness, mimicking the thumping of his heart. The girl behind the counter, oblivious to the metaphysical collapse happening five feet away, began to hum a tune. To Ethan, that hum sounded like a thunderclap. Every small detail was suddenly magnified. He could see the stray threads on her uniform, the faint scent of vanilla perfume battling the sterile smell of the supermarket floor, and the way the dust motes danced in the fluorescent light between them.
He wanted to drop the basket and bolt. His "fight or flight" response had long ago defaulted to "hide," but his legs felt rooted.
[ 64%... ]
Why now? he screamed internally. I just wanted eggs.
He forced himself to move toward the counter. Every step felt like walking through waist-deep water. His social anxiety wasn't just a feeling; it was a physical weight, a suffocating fog that made him want to dissolve into the floor tiles. He reached the counter and placed his items down with trembling hands.
The girl looked up. She had bright, amber eyes that seemed to hold too much light for Ethan to look at directly. "Find everything okay?" she asked, her voice casual, friendly, and utterly terrifying.
Ethan's throat felt like it was filled with sand. "Yeah," he croaked. It was barely a whisper. He stared at the digital clock on the wall, praying for the transaction to end.
[ 100%... Installation Complete. ]
The world didn't explode. There was no chime or fanfare. Instead, a profound silence washed over his mind. The static of his anxiety didn't vanish, but it was suddenly pushed to the background by a voice—not a human voice, but a thought that wasn't his own. It was elegant, velvet-smooth, and carried a weight of ancient authority.
< Welcome, Ethan Thorne. >
Suddenly, the air around the girl shimmered. A floating, semi-transparent panel materialized next to her, visible only to him. It looked like a high-end RPG interface, but the aesthetics were different—soft gold borders, elegant cursive script, and a pulsating rose-quartz glow.
[ TARGET IDENTIFIED ]
Name: Maya Vance
Age: 20
Affinity: 0/100 (Neutral)
State: Bored, slightly tired, curious about the 'weird guy' in the mask.
Objective: Break the silence.
Ethan stared, his breath hitching. Target? Affinity? This wasn't a game. He could feel the reality of it; the panel had a "presence" that made his skin prickle.
< New Quest: The First Spark >
Requirement: Complement the target on something specific.
Time Limit: 60 seconds.
Success Reward: +5 Charisma Points (Permanent), Unlock 'Observation' Skill.
Failure Penalty: -10 Luck Points (7 days), "Social Blunder" debuff (Permanent stutters for 24 hours).
Ethan felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This was his nightmare turned into a literal game. He looked at Maya. She was waiting for him to pay, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the counter.
Forty-five seconds.
His mind raced. Complement her? He hadn't complemented a woman since his mother bought a new coat three years ago. His brain searched for words, but it was like a corrupted hard drive. Your hair? No, creepy. Your eyes? Too much. The way you scan bread? Ridiculous.
"That'll be twelve dollars and forty cents," Maya said, tilting her head. "Are you okay? You look a little... pale."
Twenty seconds.
The System pulse grew stronger, a low vibration in his chest that seemed to synchronize with the ticking of the clock. It wasn't just asking him; it was pulling him. He realized then that the System wasn't a tool he owned. It was a force that was now owning him.
Ethan cleared his throat, the sound loud in the quiet store. He looked at her hair—the way it was tied back with a small, silver clip shaped like a butterfly. It was subtle. It was safe.
"I... like your hair clip," he said. The words felt like lead falling out of his mouth.
Maya paused. Her hand stopped tapping. For a terrifying second, Ethan was sure she was going to laugh or call security. But then, a small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips. A faint pink hue touched her cheeks.
"Oh! Thank you," she said, her voice softening. "Most people don't even notice the small things. My grandmother gave it to me."
[ Quest Completed. ]
[ Affinity with Maya Vance: +2 ]
[ Rewards granted. Recalculating host statistics... ]
As Ethan took his change, his hand brushed hers. For a split second, a surge of warmth traveled up his arm—not static this time, but something vital, something alive.
He grabbed his bags and practically ran out of the store. He didn't stop until he was two blocks away, leaning against a brick wall, gasping for air. His heart was still racing, but the heavy, grey fog of his usual depression felt... thinner.
He looked down at his hands. They were still shaking, but a new window had appeared in front of him, glowing softly in the afternoon sun.
[ Status Window ]
Host: Ethan Thorne
Level: 1
Charm: 6 (+5)
Confidence: 2
Current Soul Essence: 0.05 (Faintly stimulated)
< You have taken your first step, Ethan. The world is no longer a prison; it is a garden. And you... you are the gardener. >
Ethan leaned his head back against the cold brick. He had only said five words to a girl, but the "Romantic System" had just changed the rules of his existence. He wasn't sure if he was the luckiest man alive, or the most doomed.