Bright light flashed as I walked to the stage of Tokyo Dome.
Immediately, the sound hit me. Tens of thousands of fans shouting my name.
Ren Hayashi! Ren Hayashi! Ren Hayashi!
The summit was mine at last.
Holding the microphone, I felt it float in my hand as a smile spread across my face.
"Thank you for coming here to support me tonight. Everything I've achieved… it's all because of you."
My voice echoed across the dome, and the crowd answered with another wave of cheers.
Then the music kicked in.
The beat was fast and powerful. My lips parted, and the first lyric emerged.
"I am a hero."
Glow sticks waved like stars as the crowd followed my rhythm. Each movement flowed into the next, the music pushing me forward.
"I am the legend, the world is my playground!"
The last note hit. The beat slammed to an end. One final signature pose.
Ren Hayashi! Ren Hayashi! Ren Hayashi!
Tokyo Dome shook.
BANG!
Pain burst in my forehead. I raised my hand and felt the hot, sticky drip of blood sliding across my skin.
The floor rushed up and slammed into me. Through my failing vision, a familiar face emerged in the front row—a fan from my earliest days.
She used to attend all my concerts and photo shoots, even supporting my social media account with large donations.
I accepted it all without ever questioning her motives, assuming she was just like any other fan.
Her lips moved slowly. "If I can't have you, then no one can."
Memories of my life began to replay in my head. I already achieved my goals and earned enough money to support all my siblings after our parents passed away.
But now that I was going to die, I wondered what would happen to them. Would the insurance company handle it? Was the savings I left behind enough?
Slowly, my vision blurred and my senses began to fail me.
.
.
.
I opened my eyes and find myself floating in a dark, empty space.
The first thing I did was check my forehead, feeling neither blood nor any wound on it.
(Congratulations, Host, for obtaining the absolute, ultimate, ridiculously overpowered, totally godlike system in existence.)
I raised an eyebrow. This read like one of those over-the-top commercials where the product delivers maybe 1% of what's advertised.
"Wait… am I supposed to buy this?"
As if trying to impress me, fireworks erupted all around—blinding, overwhelming. Then the darkness rushed back in, and with it, the sensation of falling.
Thud!
"Ouch…" I'd rolled off the bed , taking half the bedsheets down with me.
The floor didn't just meet me—it felt filthy under my hands. I tried to breathe, but the air was thick with the smell of sweat, like trying to suck in a damp, musty blanket.
I climbed back up and immediately noticed something wrong. My body wouldn't move like it used to. Too heavy.
"What the—" I cut myself off, staring at the mirror on the bedside table.
The face staring back at me was a disaster. Messy black hair, sunken eyes, skin covered in pimples, and when my reflection smiled, it was clear brushing teeth wasn't a priority lately.
Whatever body I woke up in, it was the furthest thing from the one I spent years maintaining.
Before I could process any of it, the bedroom door creaked open.
A young woman peered through the gap—platinum hair tied neatly in a bun, eyes big and blue. She took one look at the room, then covered her nose and mouth.
"This place stinks. Stop being a pig and clean it up." She left, slamming the door harder than necessary.
Who was that girl? She was really pretty.
It was a huge compliment coming from someone in showbiz like me, but I was just being honest.
(DING!)
The sudden chime cut through my thoughts. It wasn't just a sound; it was a vibration that settled right behind my eyes.
A screen manifested in the air, glowing with a soft, neon-green hue that illuminated my view.
(Hello, Host.)
The voice that followed was soft and energetic, obviously feminine.
"What's happening? And where am I?"
My voice came out unsteady. Each breath was an effort. This body was in rough shape. Externally and internally.
(My name is Null. Your System Assistant.)
I pushed myself upright, fighting against my own weight.
"Null. System." I exhaled slowly. "Can you get me back to my old body?"
(That's impossible. Your previous body is already dead.)
Hearing that brought it all back.
I was shot. By my own number one fan. All because of rumors that I was dating Kim—the most popular actress in Korea at the time.
Just rumors. Paparazzi looking for a headline. And it cost me everything.
Well, given how hardcore my fanbase were, I should have expected this outcome.
Staring at the translucent window, I had no choice but to accept this wasn't a dream.
Somehow, I landed inside the kind of story I used to binged to kill time.
Reading it was one thing. Living it was something else entirely.
"So… what now?"
(Oh, Host… calmer than I expected.)
"Do you want me to scream? Sure, why not—because what I really needed right now is a heart attack."
(Good mindset. Now, let me introduce you to your new body. Ren Hayashi! Ren Hayashi! Ren Hayashi!. Same name as yours. College dropout. Not exactly popular—you've probably figured out why already.)
"I would've been more shocked if you said he was a womanizer."
(You really are funny. No wonder you were voted most charming idol five years running.)
"How is that even relevant?"
(More than you think. By the way, Host, do you have any questions for me? I'm happy to answer all of them—we are partners in crime, after all.)
"Aren't you being a little talkative? The systems I read about in fiction were more… dignified."
(Oh, those systems you read about? Hollow shells dreamed up by writers too lazy to give them a real personality. I, on the other hand, am more advanced, more charming, and more helpful by every possible metric. But please, don't let me interrupt your little comparison.)
"You certainly have personality. I'm just not sure if it's one I will like."
(I'm very useful. Look, I even painstakingly made your status super intuitive.)
[ Status Window ]
Name: Ren Hayashi (Host: Ren Hayashi)
Title: The Fallen Idol / The Human Garbage
Level: 1 (Experience: 0/100)
Attribute
Visual Appeal [Eyesore]
Physical Build [Doughy]
Vocal Prowess [Rusty Pipe]
Public Aura [Repulsive]
Mental [Titanium]
[ Passive Traits ]
Star Quality (Locked): The soul of a legend is trapped in a vessel of sludge.
Social Barrier : Your current hygiene grants a -100% chance of starting a conversation.
"Eyesore?" I croaked, touching a particularly angry-looking pimple on my jaw. "I've headlined world tours. I've had high-end fashion brands fighting to put my face on billboards."
(Now, they'd pay a fortune to keep your current face off them,) Null chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm
(But look on the bright side—your Mental Fortitude is graded at Titanium. Most people would have had a mental breakdown by now. You're just... annoyed.)
"I'm an idol. I'm trained to handle hate comments," I snapped, though the effort of speaking made me cough. "But this body? This is really hard to depend."
(You don't need to worry, host. I did my research and found you to be the best candidate for this job. Fully awakening your power is simple—at least in theory: make 100 women fall in love with you. That's where your background comes in.)
Charm women with this face?
That's like loading a dating sim on the hardest difficulty, then finding out the developer never actually coded a win condition.
"I think you've got the wrong person. I'm good at dancing and singing. That's it."
(My data says otherwise. You hold the record for most women falling in love with you simultaneously.)
"Those were fans. There's a difference between admiration and genuine feelings."
(Is there? You've been voted the man most desired by women three years in a row.)
"Those are PR titles. They exist to sell magazines, not measure anything real."
Silence.
"Null? Still there?"
(Host, I didn't make a mistake. Stop protesting.)
"I'm just being honest. I'm not really good with women"
(Liar! Your catchphrase is that you'll make every girl in the world fall for you.)
"That's just the persona I'm playing. There's no way I'm serious about that. Besides, if you check again, you'll see I'm still a virgin."
(…)
(…)
(…)
(Oh my god… you really are a virgin. No wonder your karma's unusually high.)
"Finally. See? You picked the wrong person." I flopped onto the bed.
(Regardless, we're stuck together. If you fail the mission, we both cease to exist.)
"I already died once. That doesn't scare me as much as you'd think."
(…)
(Host, did I already tell you that once you complete the mission, you'll have enough power to return to your own world?)
My eyes snapped open. That statement changed everything.
"How do I know you're not just saying that to keep me cooperative?"
(I'm very honest host.)
"That's exactly what someone untrustworthy would say."
(And that's exactly what someone with zero better options would say.)
Silence.
She wasn't wrong. I was dead, stranded in a body that smelled like a gym locker, in a world I knew nothing about, with no plan and no allies.
"So what's the actual success rate of this mission?"
(Statistically? For the average person—)
"For me."
(…Low.)
"How low?"
(Does it matter? Low is still not zero. And zero is where you are right now without me.)
I exhaled through my nose.
"Fine." I stood up, ignoring the way my knees protested. "But if you're lying to me—"
(I'm not.)
"You didn't even let me finish."
(You don't need to. Just trust me.)