Gu's penthouse smelled like a distillery had exploded in a mahogany showroom. He answered the door in a wrinkled shirt, two-day stubble, and the hollow-eyed look of a man who'd run out of lies to tell himself.
"Anran." His voice cracked. "You came."
[System's Emergency Reboot: Suicide Risk Assessment - 31% (Rising). Host's Presence: A chaos variable. Good.]
I pushed past him into the living room where we'd once planned our future. Now it was a museum of us—photos still on the mantle, my old scarf draped over the couch, a half-eaten bowl of braised pork belly on the coffee table. The ghost of Song Anran, the Doormat, haunted every corner.
"You have fifteen minutes," I said, not sitting. "Then I'm gone."
He poured himself another drink. The system ID'd it: [Based on bottle level, Blood Alcohol Content: 0.19% (Legally Dead).] Gu ignored the glass and drank from the bottle.
"My family," he began, "is a Ponzi scheme wrapped in a tax fraud inside a money laundering operation. Bai found out. She had files. She said if I didn't cut you off, she'd send them to the SEC and watch me go to prison."
[Truth Serum Effect: Activated. Host's Silence: The Only Leverage Needed.]
"So you chose prison for your heart instead," I said flatly. "How noble."
"I thought I was protecting you!" The bottle slammed down. "If you were associated with me when it all came out—"
"You'd lose your shield." I finished for him. "Your human proof that Gu Chenyu could love something other than himself."
He flinched. "That's not—"
"Bai told me everything." I lied, but the system supplied the details in real-time. "The baby. The blackmail. The offshore accounts. You're not a tragic hero. You're a coward who chose the easy out."
[Psychological Damage: CRITICAL. Gu's Self-Worth: Imploding.]
[Host's Cruelty: 89/100. Dr. Shen's Warning: "One panic attack from cardiac arrest" - Remember?]
[System's Dilemma: Stop Host for Gu's safety, or let Host finish the job?]
Gu collapsed onto the couch, head in his hands. "She lost the baby. Two weeks ago. She said it was my fault. For not leaving you sooner. For not loving her enough." His shoulders shook. "I don't know what's real anymore."
The system's interface flickered. For the first time, it offered a choice that wasn't mission-based, but moral:
[Host's Crossroads: Choose Your Ending for This Arc]
A) DESTROY: Send Gu's confession to the authorities. Finish him. (Regret Level: 100%, But So What?)
B) SAVE: Call Dr. Shen. Get him help. (Regret Level: 85%, But Host's Soul: Intact)
C) FORGIVE: Take him back. (Regret Level: 0%, Host's Self-Respect: -999)
D) NEUTRALIZE: He lives, but he leaves. No victory, just closure.
I looked at Gu—the man who'd been my everything, who'd chosen fear over me, who was now a shattered version of himself. The system wanted me to pick A. Jiang wanted me to pick B. My old self would have picked C.
I picked D.
"Gu," I said, kneeling to his level. "You're going to call your lawyer. Confess everything. Take a plea deal. You'll do two years, maybe three."
He looked up, bleary. "Why would you—"
"Because prison will clean you." I stood. "And when you get out, you'll owe me ¥250,000 for Mom's surgery. Pay it back, and we're square."
[System's Confusion: That's not revenge. That's... accounting?]
[Host's Logic: The best revenge is making him live with himself. Forever.]
Gu stared. "That's it? No screaming? No 'I hate you'?"
"I don't hate you." I walked to the door. "I just don't love you enough to care anymore."
The door closed behind me. The system updated:
[Mission: The Confession - COMPLETE (Alternate Ending: "Merciful Indifference")]
[Ex's Regret Level: 100% (But it doesn't matter now)]
[Host's Growth: MAXIMUM. Version 1.0's Fate: Circumvented. Host is not Jiang Lian. Host is Song Anran.]
---
At 11:47 PM, I walked into Café Illusion without knocking. Jiang and Dr. Shen were arguing in hushed tones, but they froze when they saw me.
"Gu's calling his lawyer," I said, sitting at the bar. "I didn't destroy him. I just... let him destroy himself."
Dr. Shen exhaled. "You chose the path with the least collateral damage."
"She chose the path that wasn't mine," Jiang corrected, but there was pride in his voice. "You didn't use the system. You didn't use the evidence. You just... talked."
[System Status Report: Host's Autonomy: 94%. System's Control: 6% (Mostly skincare tips).]
[Recommendation: Recalibrate System to "Support Mode" rather than "Driver Mode."]
I pulled out the token. "Can we do that? Make it a tool instead of a tyrant?"
Jiang took the token, pressed it three times fast. The system's interface didn't vanish—it shifted, from commanding blue to supportive silver.
[System Reboot: Version 2.1 - "Co-Pilot Mode"]
From now on, Host is in command. System advises, not dictates.
Missions become "Goals." Rewards become "Bonuses."
Host's happiness: The only metric that matters.]
Dr. Shen nodded. "Better. Now you won't die of a face-slap-induced heart attack."
I laughed. It felt real. "What about you?" I asked Jiang. "You built this to save your sister. Now it's... what?"
"Now it's yours." He slid the token back. "I don't need a ghost. I need..." He paused, searching for the word. "A partner. Someone who can tell me when the code is wrong."
[Romance Sub-Quest: The System Creator's Heart - ACTIVATED]
Objective: Heal the man who tried to engineer happiness.
Reward: Unknown. Risk: High. But Host's heart rate: Elevated in his presence.]
The café's lights dimmed. Dr. Shen made a gagging sound and left. "I'm off to save actual lives. Try not to break each other."
We were alone.
"Song Anran," Jiang said, my name careful on his tongue. "Will you help me debug the rest of my life?"
I looked at the system interface—now a gentle overlay showing only what I asked for: Mom's vitals (stable), my career trajectory (rising), and Jiang's devotion (still 999+, but now it made me smile).
"Only if you help me debug mine," I said. "Starting with the fact that I haven't had a real date in three years that wasn't a system mission."
He poured two coffees—the stabilizer for me, black for him. "Date one: Right now. No stats. No missions. Just terrible coffee and a man who doesn't know how to be normal."
[System's Final Suggestion of the Night: Kiss him. Or don't. But he's waited seven years. Maybe give him a hint?]
I took the coffee, set it down, and kissed him.
[System Log: Host's Choice - Override All Previous Directives.]
[Romance Value: No longer calculable. It'scalledlove.exe]
He tasted like coffee and code and seven years of waiting. When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine. "The system didn't predict this."
"Good," I said. "The best things never do."