Chapter 30: System Update (Irregular)
It's well past midnight when I finally collapse onto my couch, the events of the party still buzzing pleasantly in my mind. Sierra went home a bit earlier, after we all grabbed late-night pizza—she had an early work meeting and insisted I didn't need to trek across town to drop her off, giving me a sweet goodnight kiss and a "text me when you're home safe." I did, of course, and her reply is still open on my phone screen: a couple of heart emojis and a Sweet dreams, champ. I smile like an idiot at that and toss my phone aside on the cushion.
The apartment is quiet save for the faint hum of the refrigerator. I flick on a single lamp, casting a warm glow over the familiar clutter of my living space. Despite how tired my legs are from hiking and how heavy my eyes feel, I'm too wired to sleep just yet. Maybe I'll unwind with a quick scroll through the day's quest log, see the System's tally of my "achievements" for this eventful day.
I tap the air, pulling up the Dating System HUD in front of me. A semi-transparent interface fills my view—cheery pixel art of a little Johnathon avatar holding a trophy (for the darts win, no doubt) greets me. Above it blinks the message: Daily Summary Available! I mentally command it to open.
A list unfolds: points from the hike quest earlier (+50 Social XP, "Achievement: Social Butterfly"), points from the jealousy event (+ another chunk, plus a note "Emotional Control Skill Improved"), the darts challenge labeled as a "Social Minigame – Victory!" awarding some miscellaneous XP and even a novelty badge ("Bullseye Bandit," complete with a tiny icon of a dartboard). I chuckle at that one. Overall, the System seems thrilled with my progress; my XP bar is edging nicely toward the next level, though it's still a ways off.
I'm about to close out and attempt sleep when a new notification pops up, pulsing in neon blue: System Update Available – New Features Unlocked!
I blink, sitting up straighter. "Update? Now?" I mutter aloud. The System usually felt more… organic, as if it evolved with me quietly. This is the first time I've seen an actual formal update prompt, like it's a piece of software on my phone. Which, I suppose, it is—but I've never been asked to confirm an update before. It usually just integrates new quests or skills naturally as I level.
Curious, I focus on the notification. It expands automatically into what looks like a patch notes screen:
Dating System v2.1 Patch Notes:
Global Hearts Leaderboard: Compete and compare progress with other users worldwide! Are you a Top Player in the game of love? Find out on the new leaderboard. Expanded Quest Library: New dynamic quests added to broaden your social horizons. Variety is the spice of life! (Examples: Try a new hobby, start a conversation with a stranger, etc.) Multi-Connection Challenges: Strengthen all types of relationships. Quests may encourage connecting with multiple people for skill boosts. Performance Enhancements & Bug Fixes: Smoother UI, more responsive stat tracking, and improved mood analytics.
My jaw just about hits the floor. "Other users worldwide?" I whisper, eyes glued to that line. My heart does a weird flip between excitement and alarm. There are… others? Of course there could be—I never assumed I was the only person on the planet to have this bizarre system, but until now it always felt like a personal, almost mystical intervention tailored to me. A lonely New Yorker. Now it's implying a network of people leveling up their dating lives? A global leaderboard? The idea sends my mind racing.
I scroll further. Some text at the bottom reads:
New Quest Highlight: "Flirt with 3 New People this Week (Reward: Rare Skill Upgrade)" – Step out of your comfort zone and broaden your charm! Remember, more connections = more experience. 😉
I stare at that quest example, frowning deeply. Flirt with 3 new people this week. The cheery phrasing and winking emoji do nothing to lessen the blow of what it's asking. A surge of indignation wells up. I'm in a committed relationship now, you stupid program. Why would I want to flirt with new people?
The System's tone in the patch notes is alarmingly... pushy. As if it assumes I'm gung-ho to gamify everything, including actions that would obviously sabotage my relationship. It's treating Sierra like just one chapter in a broader game, rather than the focus of my journey.
I lean back, rubbing my temples. The initial intrigue at the idea of other users is fast drowned by dismay over these new quest types. It's as if the System expects me to resume a playboy lifestyle, chasing XP through meeting and charming new women, when I've finally found someone I truly care about.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is a critical moment, I realize. A crossroads for how I engage with the System. The "Global Hearts" thing… a part of me, the competitive gamer side, is a tiny bit curious. What rank am I? Are there people out there who've skyrocketed way beyond me? What kind of crazy quests have they done to climb the leaderboard? Are there forums? A community?
But then I picture Sierra's face. How would she feel if she knew I was even looking at a global ranking for dating? Like it's a sport. Like she's just points on a scoreboard.
I swallow hard, guilt prickling. No. I can't go down that rabbit hole. Not now, anyway.
The System's update pop-up is still waiting for input—there's an "Install Now" or "Remind Me Later" choice blinking. I hesitate, then mentally click "Install Now." Might as well get it over with, and maybe I can fine-tune or ignore features afterward.
A progress bar appears, downloading something. Out of habit, I mumble, "Patch notes, huh? What do you think I am, a beta tester?"
To my surprise, the System actually responds with a playful text line: Acknowledged: Beta tester status confirmed. Thank you for participating in the Dating System global experience! It even pops a winking emoticon after.
I blink. Was that… sarcasm? Did the System just sass me? It's always been snarky, sure, but this felt a bit more… automated-friendly, if that makes sense. Less of the wisecrack voice and more like a generic PR message. Odd.
With a soft chime, the update finishes. The HUD refreshes, and I'm presented with a slightly rearranged main menu. Sure enough, there's a new tab labeled "Global Hearts." Against my better judgment, I select it.
A leaderboard interface opens, showing what looks like usernames and levels. The top of the board has an entry like HeartHero99 – Level 12 – City: London with a ridiculous amount of XP listed. The list scrolls on, displaying the top 100. I search for my profile. There—I spot my username (it seems to have used the handle I input when the System first asked for one; I jokingly put "JustJohn" back then).
JustJohn – Level 4 – City: New York – Current Rank: 10,421.
10,421st place? Hah. I shake my head, a mix of relief and ridicule swirling in my brain. Relief because this means nothing concrete—I don't actually care if I'm low-ranked; it's not like I'm trying to "win" some global competition. Ridicule because a part of me sneers at how high some people's levels are. Level 12? What, did those guys juggle ten relationships at once to grind that high?
I suddenly feel very tired. This is too much. I navigate away from the leaderboard, heart heavy. The existence of this feature alone implies the System might start giving me incentives to do things contrary to being a good boyfriend. I remember one of the patch lines: "encourage interacting with multiple people (ostensibly to broaden social skills)."
I rub my face. So now if I don't flirt around and diversify, I might stagnate in XP? The gamer in me balks at the idea of leaving XP on the table. But the boyfriend in me is disgusted by that very thought. What matters more? Some stupid points, or Sierra's trust?
That's not even a question. Of course Sierra matters more. I'm not the desperate, dateless guy from a few months ago who needed any trick in the book just to get a second glance from women. I have what I truly wanted—a real connection with someone amazing. I won't jeopardize that for any "Rare Skill" or leaderboard rank.
The System seems to sense my hesitation. A bright notification pops up, unprompted: New Main Quest: Expand Your Horizons – Meet New People (Progress 0/5). It glows insistently. I scowl at it. They're really pushing this, aren't they?
A small icon in the corner depicts two stick figures shaking hands. The quest details say, "Interact (beyond casual hello) with 5 new people. Reward: +1 Charisma, Unlock 'Networking' Skill."
Unbelievable. It's like the system doesn't give a damn that I'm with Sierra. Or maybe it assumes I can juggle everything morally. Or… maybe it thinks I should leave my comfort zone, relationship or not, to maximize personal growth. But that sounds like a rationalization a cheater would use—"it's just networking, it's just broadening horizons."
I feel a slight chill. For the first time, the System's guidance and my own values are at a serious odds. It helped me become someone who could attract Sierra; now it might help me ruin it if I blindly follow.
I swipe the quest away vigorously. A prompt asks if I want to hide similar quests in the future. Yes, I do. I confirm, and the "Expand Your Horizons" quest vanishes into some archive. The interface dims, like a disappointed frown.
A weight lifts off my shoulders as soon as it's gone. I didn't realize how oppressive that suggestion felt until I banished it. I take a deep breath. The air in the apartment is still and silent.
"Alright," I say aloud, as if addressing the System, "here's the deal. I'm not doing anything that betrays Sierra. Got it? You can add all the fancy features you want, but I decide which quests to take."
The only response is the soft whir of my fridge and the distant sound of a siren in the city night. The System's UI pulses faintly, waiting for me to do something—probably expecting me to dive into more of its new content. Instead, I simply remove the AR interface from view. With a blink, the heads-up display disappears, leaving me looking at the real world of my dimly-lit living room.
My heart rate slows. I realize I've been angry—truly angry—for the first time in a while. The System's always had a sense of humor and some mischief to it, but this felt different, like it was pulling me toward a direction that conflicts with what I know is right. It's a stark reminder: the System isn't some infallible guide; it's a tool with its own agenda. Maybe that agenda aligns with personal growth in general, but it sure as hell doesn't automatically align with love or fidelity.
A thought worms into my mind, unbidden: What if I'm not the only one who's dealing with this? What if somewhere out there, another guy—or girl—has a Dating System urging them to "explore connections" even if they're happy with someone? Could this thing... break couples up, out of some twisted notion of leveling up?
I shudder, not wanting to go further down that rabbit hole.
Instead, I focus on what I can control. I flick through the System settings, something I rarely do. In the preferences, I find a toggle for "Global Features" and promptly switch it off. A warning pops up: Disabling global features will remove leaderboard and global quest content. Are you sure? Yes, I'm sure. Off it goes.
Next, I adjust notification settings, dialing them back so I only get important relationship or personal growth quests, not these extraneous ones. I basically tell the System, through those toggles, that I'm opting for quality over quantity. I have no idea if it'll listen; it might just adapt around my choices in unpredictable ways. But at least I've drawn a line.
After a few minutes, my HUD feels more... mine again. No blinking "global" tabs or pushy new missions cluttering it. Just the familiar stats, Sierra's profile (affection still high, trust maybe dipped a sliver after that Alex encounter but nothing alarming), and my current main quest which remains, appropriately, "Maintain and Deepen the Relationship."
I let out a breath, feeling more at ease. Exhaustion creeps in now that the adrenaline of annoyance has subsided. The digital clock on my microwave reads 2:07 AM. Definitely bedtime.
As I get up to turn off the lamp, a final thought strikes: The System update hints at a wider existence beyond me, perhaps an organization or an AI project spanning the globe. That should probably freak me out more than it does. Oddly, I just feel a bit sad, thinking of others out there possibly facing the same temptations and confusion from these "features." Are they handling it? Do they have someone like Sierra anchoring them?
I resolve one thing before crawling into bed: I will not let FOMO—the fear of missing out on System content—steer my life. The only thing I'm terrified of missing out on is a future with Sierra. If ignoring or defying the System on occasion is what's required to protect that, so be it.
The bed is cool as I slip under the covers, and I scroll one last time through my phone messages—stopping at Sierra's last text. I send one more: Miss you. Can't wait to see you. Even if she's asleep, she'll see it in the morning.
Almost instantly, to my surprise, the phone buzzes: Sierra replies, Just woke up for water. Miss you too. Sleep well, J 💕.
My heart melts a little. I close my eyes, the phone resting on my chest. Moments later, I half-dream an image of a phoenix rising from digital flames—maybe my subconscious weaving a metaphor for rising above the System's nonsense. I mumble a laugh at myself. Get some sleep, nerd.
As I drift off, a System notification gently pings at the edge of my mind: Personal Decision: Focus on Commitment – No XP awarded (Integrity Maintained).
I smile into my pillow. No XP needed for that one, dear System. Knowing I'm staying true to Sierra is reward enough—and in the quiet darkness, I make a silent vow that I intend to keep it that way, updates be damned.
Chapter 31: Embers of Doubt
A notification chime nudges me out of my morning grogginess. I swipe my phone alarm off and blink at the soft grey light filtering into my bedroom. 7:15 AM. Ugh. I rub my eyes and notice the System's HUD already active in my peripheral vision, a little animated sun icon waving. Good Morning! it proclaims. Daily Quest: Send Sierra a sweet morning text.
I smile despite my sleepy state. That one's easy—I'd do it quest or not. As I brush my teeth, I thumb in a quick message to Sierra: Good luck with your big meeting today! You'll rock it. Can't wait to hear about it later. 🙂
The message sends, and almost instantly, as if it was waiting on this, the System checks off the quest: +5 XP – Small gestures build great bonds!. I spit out toothpaste, roll my eyes affectionately at the cheesy tagline, and head to get dressed for work. It's nice when the System aligns with my instincts. If only it always felt that straightforward.
Little do I know, this week is about to test me in ways no update or rival could—through the simplest yet most potent challenge of all: uncertainty.
The first sign is on Wednesday. Sierra and I have a mid-week dinner planned at our favorite Thai place, a little tradition we started to spice up the weekdays. I'm excited as I wrap up work, practically tasting the tom yum soup already, when a text comes through from Sierra: "I'm so sorry, but I have to rain check tonight. Crisis at work, I need to stay late. I hate to cancel. Can we do tomorrow?"
Disappointment pricks, but I quickly remind myself it's not a big deal. She's busy, that happens. I text back "No worries at all! Good luck, I know you'll handle it. Tomorrow sounds great 😊". I mean it, too. One canceled date is nothing catastrophic.
But then tomorrow comes, and fate chuckles. Sierra calls me mid-afternoon and, with a frustrated tone, explains that her boss moved up a deadline, and she has to prep for a presentation, meaning our rescheduled dinner is off too. I can hear the stress in her voice and do my best to be supportive. "It's okay, babe," I assure her, trying to inject some cheer. "You kill that presentation. We've got the weekend, right? Plenty of time then."
She sighs, a little relieved. "You're the best, John. Rain check for the weekend," she promises.
So, two cancellations. It's fine. Really. I get takeout on my own, watch some episodes of a show Sierra and I had been watching together (I feel a twinge of guilt doing so without her, but boredom wins), and try to stay positive.
Friday is quieter. Sierra's swamped and only manages to send a few texts throughout the day. At one point she writes, "Miss you. Sorry I'm so MIA. This week is hell." I respond instantly: "Miss you too. Hang in there."
But by Friday night, I'm feeling… off. The apartment is tidy (with all the free evenings I had, I went on a cleaning spree—thanks to an earlier self-care quest suggestion I half-followed), yet eerily quiet. I scroll aimlessly on my phone, watching the typing indicator in our chat come and go as Sierra tries to find moments to respond between tasks.
The System notices my slump, naturally. It flags my mood as "insecure" with a little yellow icon and offers a gentle quest: Self-Care Evening – Do something you enjoy for at least 2 hours (Reward: +10 Mood XP).
I sigh. Something I enjoy… It's been a while since I did anything solo for fun. Live music bar pops into my head, a suggestion conjured from the depths of memory. True—I haven't gone to that cozy jazz lounge downtown in ages. I used to love nursing a drink there and letting the melodies wash over me.
On impulse, I decide to go. A solo night out might beat sulking alone here. I grab a jacket, shoot Sierra a quick message ("Going to go catch some live music and relax. Hope you're done soon. Call if you want later <3"), and head out.
The jazz lounge is dimly lit and inviting as ever. The brassy notes of a saxophone greet me when I push through the door, along with the clink of glasses and soft murmur of patrons. I settle onto a barstool in the corner, order my usual whiskey sour, and let the atmosphere do its thing.
At first, it works—I lose myself in a soulful rendition of "Autumn Leaves," tapping my foot, tension easing. The bartender chats with me lightly, and a couple of older regulars nod a greeting (I used to be semi-regular here too, back in my lonely days). The System dings approval: Quest in Progress: Self-Care – 1 hour done, 1 to go…
But as the second hour wears on, my mind drifts back to Sierra. How is she doing? Is she home exhausted, eating takeout by herself too? Or still at the office? I check my phone; a short text from her arrived 30 minutes ago: "Still here. FML. Enjoy the music, babe." Followed by a music emoji and a broken heart emoji.
I send some encouraging words back. But that dull ache in my chest—yeah, it's still there. It whispers things like: Is she pulling away? Are you boring now that you're "won"? Maybe she's relieved to have space. I try to smack them down with logic: she's genuinely busy, that's all. She sent hearts, she calls me babe, she misses me. Relax.
The System, however, catches me doing something I really shouldn't: I flick open Sierra's profile on the HUD and look at the affection meter. Sure enough, it's down a few points from the usual high 90s. It reads 91%. Logically, I know these things fluctuate with circumstances and mood. But seeing that number lower than before feels like a tiny punch to the gut.
91%. Why? Because we haven't seen each other in a week? Because I've been less "useful" or present to her while she's stressed? Or is it just my imagination—maybe it was always around 91 and I'm misremembering it being higher.
I catch myself and shut the profile view with a sharp blink. Obsessing over a number like that… it's not healthy, I know. But the seed is planted.
I take a swig of my drink, the ice clinking. The jazz set ends and the band takes five. In the lull, the bartender flips on a small TV above the bar—news channel. An anchor is droning on about some story, and I realize with a jolt it's about the tech expo coming to town next month—the same one Sierra's been working extra hours to prepare for. So that's the "significant event" she's heading, no wonder she's stressed.
The camera cuts to a clip of businesspeople in suits milling around a convention center. I idly watch, trying to picture Sierra there, running the show.
"You doing alright, hon?" comes a voice to my left. I turn to see Marjorie, one of the older regulars, giving me a concerned grandma look.
I force a smile. "Yeah, just a long week."
She pats my hand kindly. "I remember you from before, always sitting alone. But haven't seen you in a while. Found someone special, I take it?"
Despite my mood, I brighten a bit. "I did, actually." It feels good to say it out loud. "Her name's Sierra."
Marjorie beams. "That's wonderful. So why's a young fella with a lady at home looking like someone stole his puppy?"
I chuckle ruefully. "She's just... been very busy. Work. We haven't had much time together this week." I can't believe I'm confiding in this sweet stranger, but maybe that's exactly why—she's a stranger, one with a sympathetic ear.
Marjorie nods sagely. "Ah, that happens. But it'll pass, dear. Don't you overthink it." She squints at me. "You are overthinking, aren't you?"
I hesitate, then nod sheepishly. "Yeah. A little. It's stupid—things are going great, honestly. I just... get in my head."
She squeezes my shoulder. "If she's worth her salt, she'll appreciate you being patient. Trust is key. Don't let your mind play tricks on you." With that, she gives me a wink and returns to her seat down the bar.
Trust. Yes, trust her, trust the bond we've built. I breathe in Marjorie's advice like oxygen.
The System apparently deems this an opportune moment to butt in. A new side quest appears: "Spice Things Up" – Plan something exciting for your next date (Reward: +20 Relationship XP). On any other day I'd jump at that (I love surprising Sierra). But right now, it feels... transactional. Like the System is diagnosing the "stagnation" and prescribing a quest as a cure. It irritates me. I close the alert. Maybe later.
After the next set, I head home. The System completes the self-care quest (yay, willpower or whatever) but it's hollow comfort. I fall into bed and stare at the ceiling. My phone screen is dark; Sierra hasn't messaged since saying she was heading home late. I shoot a quick Goodnight, miss you. There's no immediate reply—likely she's passed out, exhausted.
I set the phone down. In the quiet darkness, doubt creeps in, smoke-like. Am I handling this right? Should I have done more to support her? Maybe dropped by her office with dinner one night as a surprise? That could've been a quest— "Show support during stress." Why didn't the System suggest that instead of "flirt with new people" nonsense? The thought annoys me all over again.
Eventually, sleep takes me in fits and starts, my dreams unsettled and fraught with images of percentage meters dropping slowly like leaky faucets.
Saturday arrives, and I wake to a text from Sierra proposing we meet that evening if she can wrap up work by then. I jump on it with an enthusiastic yes. Finally, I think, some real time together.
I spend the day tidying my place (again) and grocery shopping—maybe I can cook us a late dinner or at least have wine and snacks ready if she's too tired to go out. My phone remains frustratingly silent. 6 PM rolls by, then 7. I eye the bottle of wine on my counter, the anticipation gradually giving way to worry. Did something happen? Did she forget?
At 7:30, just as I'm about to call her, a text comes: "Not gonna make it tonight. I'm so sorry. I could cry from frustration. Rain check tomorrow?" She follows it with a sad face.
I close my eyes, equal parts disappointed for myself and hurting for her. She's clearly miserable being stuck in this crunch. Be supportive, I remind myself. She needs love, not guilt.
I text back: "It's okay, honestly! I'm sorry it's so rough. Tomorrow's fine. Hang in there. Sending you a big hug."
I toss the phone aside and flop on my couch, staring at the ceiling. That's three cancellations in one week. If this were a game, it'd be like failing at a level three times. Each time, a bit of my confidence took a hit.
I reach out and grab my notebook from the coffee table—a habit I picked up from a journaling quest I started. Maybe writing out my feelings will help quell the anxious spiral. I scribble: I'm trying to be understanding. I trust her. But I'm scared these cancellations mean something bad. Then I immediately cross it out. That's not fair—she did want to see me, circumstances just prevented it.
Pen taps on paper. New line: What if... I'm not doing enough? The thought lingers. It feels closer to the heart of my unease. Have I been too passive, just waiting around? The System offered those "spice it up" suggestions—maybe it senses a stagnation because I haven't actively progressed anything.
I flip to a fresh page. Perhaps I should plan a special gesture once she's free, to reassure her—and me—that we're solid. Something more than just dinner. A daytime surprise? A spa day to destress her? Or maybe a simple heartfelt letter to tell her how proud I am of her working so hard and that I support her?
The System's influence seeps in: it loves tangible tasks, so I find myself listing ideas bullet-point style. At least it feels productive rather than stewing in anxiety.
Yet, late that night, as I crawl into bed alone for the fifth night in a row, doubt still simmers. I see the affection meter in my mind's eye—did it dip another percent? Did my hesitance to do something earlier in the week cause it? This gamified thinking, it's messing with me, and I know it. But knowledge doesn't fully stop the emotion.
I cling to Sierra's brief messages as lifelines. She misses me, she's frustrated at not seeing me. Those are good signs, real signals of her feelings.
So why do I still feel that gnawing fear, like the old Johnathon who expected the other shoe to drop whenever something good happened? Perhaps because now I have something to lose, and that stakes raise has triggered my defenses.
In a small act of rebellion against that fearful part of me, I disable the affection meter entirely in the System settings before I go to sleep. If I can't see it, maybe I won't obsess. It asks for a reason ("Hiding Sierra's Affection Level – Are you sure?") and I type, "Yes. I trust her beyond numbers."
Corny, maybe, but it feels freeing to hit confirm. The System gives a soft chime, almost like acknowledgment of a mature choice. Or maybe that's my hopeful imagination.
As I drift off, I repeat Marjorie's words in my head like a mantra: Don't let your mind play tricks on you. Doubt is just that—an ember. If I don't fan it, it won't blaze into something that burns our relationship.
Tomorrow, I'll see Sierra, I'll hold her, and all this insecurity will probably melt away in an instant. Because sometimes the simplest cure for doubt is just being with the person you love and remembering that they love you too.
With that comforting thought as my lullaby, I finally get my first full, restful sleep of the week.
Chapter 32: Temptation Side Quest
Sunday dawns clearer, both in sky and mind. I wake with cautious optimism—today I'll finally see Sierra. I make sure to send her a light good morning text, to which she replies a bit later with, "Morning. Running on fumes but alive. 🙂 How about a low-key night in? I'll come over after work."
Relief floods me. "Perfect. I'll be here," I respond, throwing in a heart for good measure. She sends one back.
The day glides by with me tidying up and carefully selecting a movie lineup. She mentioned wanting to watch some goofy rom-com as a stress relief, so I queue one up. I pick up some of her favorite snacks, plump the couch cushions, basically fuss around in anticipation.
Afternoon drags, but finally around 6 PM my doorbell rings. I practically sprint to it. Sierra stands there, looking weary but smiling. The moment I pull her inside and into my arms, all the tension of the week evaporates like morning fog under sunlight.
She exhales a long sigh against my chest. "God, I missed you," she mumbles.
I kiss the top of her head, breathing her in. "Missed you too. So much." My voice comes out more emotional than expected. I hold her a beat longer, as if to physically reassure myself she's real and here.
We order takeout, and she spends the first half hour just venting about her insane week—her boss's demands, the hundred little fires she had to put out. I listen, interjecting only to affirm and sympathize. The System does pop up something about "Active Listening – Empathy +1," but I ignore it. This is just what a boyfriend should do, quest or no quest.
The night turns cozy. We eat Thai food on the couch, the silly rom-com playing (we mostly mock it together, laughing). She's curled up against me, warm and soft. By the time the credits roll, Sierra's eyes are drooping. She's clearly exhausted.
"You should sleep over," I whisper, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You need rest, and I want you here."
She nods gratefully. "I was hoping you'd say that. I can't remember the last time I slept more than 5 hours straight."
I tuck her into my bed, and join her. As she drifts off in my arms, she murmurs, "Thank you for being so understanding."
I kiss her forehead. "Always."
In the quiet dark, with her breathing slowing into sleep, I feel a swell of contentment. This—her in my arms, trusting me with her unguarded self—this is what it's all about. Silently, I rebuke every stupid doubt I had: See? She's here. She loves you. Chill out.
The System chimes gently with some completed quest about emotional intimacy, but I simply turn it off for the night. Some moments need no commentary.
Monday morning, she's up at dawn again, sneaking out with a quick kiss while I blearily wish her luck for the day. I take the day off from work (I had a personal day to burn), intending to catch up on errands.
By late afternoon, I find myself in a decent mood. The weekend ended on a high note for us. She texted midday saying our night together recharged her and thanking me. My heart practically danced reading that.
So here I am at an early evening office happy hour, actually feeling pretty good. Technically it's a coworker's farewell party. Normally I might skip such an event on a Monday, but given I was off and had my errands done, I figured why not show face.
The event is at a downtown bar, one of those with a casual vibe—pool tables, dartboards (heh, more darts), and a decent jukebox playing 80s hits. I nurse a beer and chat with a few colleagues about nothing too important—office gossip, weekend recaps. It strikes me that I've been a bit distant socially at work lately, probably because I've been so wrapped up in Sierra and the System's world. It feels nice to just... exist in a normal social setting without any agenda.
"John, hey!" A voice to my right—Dana, a relatively new hire in my department, sidles up. We've chatted casually a few times at work, and she's always struck me as friendly, if a tad flirty in that naturally outgoing way.
"Hey, Dana," I greet, raising my glass slightly. "How's it going?"
She flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and gives a little dramatic sigh. "Relieved! Monday's done. And you? I feel like we haven't had a real conversation since I started. You always seem so busy."
I lean against the bar. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to come off that way. Things have been a bit hectic."
She smiles warmly. "No worries. I just remember you were one of the first people in the team who was nice to me on my first day, and then you kinda vanished back to your desk cave."
I chuckle, scratching the back of my neck. That sounds about right—I did try to be welcoming but have otherwise been in my own world.
We fall into easy small talk—she tells me how she's settling in the city, I share some local tips. Turns out she loves jazz (I mention the lounge I went to—she's been meaning to go). We find a mutual love for cheesy sci-fi novels. I'm genuinely enjoying the conversation; it's good to connect platonically with a coworker beyond the usual email-and-meeting context.
Ping! My HUD lights up: Quest in Progress: Flirt Casually (1/3 targets).
I stiffen almost imperceptibly. Excuse me? I check the text subtly. Indeed, the System has opportunistically categorized this interaction as the start of that dreaded flirt quest I thought I banished.
I did not intend to flirt. But I recall—I never explicitly forbade all those quests, I just hid one. The System must see a man and woman chatting amiably and decided to log it as progress. How cheeky.
I mentally dismiss the notification, but now I'm a bit self-conscious. Was I flirting without meaning to? I replay our chat—no, it's been friendly and innocent. Sure, Dana laughed at a joke I made about office coffee being a potion of eternal life (taste-wise, anyway). And maybe I complimented her quick adaptation to our chaotic workplace. But that's just polite conversation.
As if reading my distraction, Dana tilts her head. "Earth to John? You spaced out there."
I recover quickly. "Oh, sorry! Thought I heard my phone buzz." I pat my pocket for effect.
She flashes a grin. "No worries. I was just saying how I'm pleasantly surprised by how friendly everyone is here. Especially you."
I sense a gentle sincerity behind her words. Now I feel awkward because the System's intrusion made me hyper-aware. I don't want to suddenly act cold and weird. That would be rude and unnecessary—after all, I'm not doing anything wrong.
So I smile back. "I'm glad. We try to be a welcoming bunch." I raise my near-empty glass. "Another round? My shout, as a proper welcome to the team."
"Sure!" she chirps, clearly happy to continue chatting. We move to a quieter corner by the pool table after refilling drinks.
For the next hour, conversation flows easily. We talk about our college days, funny work stories. There's a harmless, playful energy. Dana is naturally bubbly, and I find myself laughing more than I expected to tonight.
At one point, she lightly touches my forearm when I make a self-deprecating joke about my terrible PowerPoint skills. It's a brief, friendly touch, but my eyes flick to it. Some part of me notes the gesture as one that, in another context, could be flirtatious. I politely slide my arm away under the guise of gesturing as I speak.
Marcus arrives at the bar around then (I invited him earlier, figuring he might like a free drink on the company's tab). He spots me and makes his way over with a grin. Dana excuses herself to use the restroom, giving us a moment.
Marcus sidles up. "Making new friends, I see," he teases quietly, jerking his head toward Dana's departing figure.
I roll my eyes. "Coworker. Being friendly, that's all."
He raises his hands. "Hey, I didn't say anything." But then he leans in, lower voice. "Just be mindful, bro. I saw that little arm touch thing she did. She might be into you."
I sigh. Leave it to Marcus to call it plain. "It's not like that. And even if it were, I'm not reciprocating anything beyond friendly conversation."
He pats my shoulder. "Good. Just making sure you're aware. I know you and Sierra are solid, but sometimes you can be a bit oblivious to signals."
He's not wrong; old me certainly was. But I'm not oblivious now—I'm hyper-aware, thanks to the digital taskmaster pinging me every time a woman laughs at my joke.
"Trust me, I've got it under control," I assure him.
Dana returns, and Marcus, reading the room, politely excuses himself to get in on a pool game with some others, giving me a quick I'm watching you, buddy wink. I shake my head, amused.
It's nearing 8 PM. I don't want to stay too much longer; partly because I miss Sierra and intend to give her a call soon, and partly because a nagging guilt has snuck in. Not that I've done anything wrong, but maybe I'm enjoying the validation a bit too much?
It's harmless—Dana complimenting my story-telling, me feeling a little ego boost that someone finds me interesting and funny. Normally Sierra gives me plenty of that validation. But she's been busy... and I guess I've been running a slight deficit in the attention department.
Suddenly I get why people say temptation creeps in when emotional needs aren't met. The thought makes me uncomfortable. I decide to wrap things up.
I finish my beer. "Well, this was fun, but I should probably head out soon."
"Oh, so soon?" Dana pouts theatrically, then smiles. "It was great talking with you though. Maybe we can grab lunch at work sometime? I'd love to hear more about that crazy project you mentioned."
"Sure, sounds good," I reply. Lunch is harmless. And networking with colleagues is actually something I should do more, professionally. That's how I justify it to myself, anyway.
We exchange numbers under the guise of "for scheduling lunch." The moment I do, the System goes off: Side Quest Complete: Casual Flirtation – Reward: +100 XP.
I nearly drop my phone. The audacity— it declares the quest complete? A hundred XP?! That's like a substantial reward. Wait, what exactly did I do to meet its criteria? I chatted with one person. The quest said 3 targets. Unless... did it count each time she laughed or touched my arm as separate "flirts"? Or maybe just the act of exchanging numbers sealed it as mission accomplished?
My gut churns. Because through the System's eyes, this looks bad. And the worst part: I feel a spike of guilt, as if I actually cheated which I absolutely did not. But the timing is horrible—it congratulated me right as Dana is standing next to me, mid conversation. My face must have shown something (shock, guilt, who knows) because Dana asks, "Everything okay?"
I force a neutral expression. "Yeah! Yeah, sorry, thought I saw a message from a friend. False alarm." I quickly pocket the phone, effectively hiding the System's glowing celebratory text.
We say our goodbyes. She gives me a brief hug (which I make as one-armed and casual as possible) and then she's off to chat with someone else. I exhale slowly.
Immediately, I tap out a message to Sierra: "Hey love, how's your evening? Wanna talk later? At the office happy hour but leaving soon." I need the connection to her to wash away this weird guilt-film on my skin.
As I exit the bar with Marcus, the System's reward still looms in my mind like neon. It's like being praised for something I'm not proud of. And the worst part: a tiny part of me did enjoy the quest— the easy XP of a fun chat.
I feel sick. In the cool night air outside the bar, I turn to Marcus. "I think I was maybe toeing a line tonight without realizing it," I admit quietly.
He looks at me thoughtfully. "Did you do anything you wouldn't want Sierra to see?"
"No," I answer immediately. "I didn't. But... I enjoyed the attention maybe more than I should have."
Marcus nods, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. "You're human. And frankly, you've had a rough week with Sierra being busy. Don't beat yourself up. Just know where your boundaries are and stick to them."
I nod, grateful for his pragmatic understanding. We part ways at the subway, and I head home.
On the train, I stare at the "Quest Complete" on my HUD before closing it. 100 XP... that's more than I got for some legitimate heartfelt quests. The system clearly incentivizes such flirting. It makes my blood boil a bit. I whisper under my breath, "Not cool, System. Not cool."
Back at my apartment, I take a quick shower, as if it could wash away the disloyal feeling. Sierra hasn't responded yet, likely still at work. I decide not to call her unscheduled; she might be too tired. Instead, I compose an extra thoughtful goodnight text, just to re-center my priorities: "Goodnight, Sierra. Thinking of you. I love you."
Moments later, she replies: "Love you too. So much. Talk tomorrow?"
The knot in my chest loosens. Yes, tomorrow. We'll be okay. This was just a minor hiccup that she need never even know about.
As I settle into bed, the System lingers at the edge of my vision. I recall how easily those cracks in commitment formed under "systemic pressure," as the outline in my mind phrases it. It's not an excuse—I made my own choices. But the System definitely didn't help.
No more. I mentally vow: I will not pursue or entertain that flirt quest line again, implicitly or explicitly. The system can dangle whatever carrots it wants; I'm not biting.
With that resolution firm, I finally drift off, hoping I haven't inadvertently sparked consequences to face tomorrow.
Chapter 33: Reputation Damage
Tuesday. I stroll into work with my usual coffee, feeling about as bright as a 40-watt bulb. Sleep eluded me for a while last night. I kept thinking about whether I should mention the Dana thing to Sierra or not. In the end I decided bringing it up would only worry her unnecessarily. Nothing happened, after all.
The morning passes uneventfully until near lunch. I'm at my desk, sorting through emails, when my phone buzzes. It's a text from Sierra: "Hey... did you maybe get friendly with a new coworker at a bar last night?"
My stomach plummets. Her phrasing sets off alarm bells. How does she know I talked to Dana? A prick of fear: was someone there who knows her?
I hastily type back: "Uh, I chatted with a coworker at the office happy hour. Why?"
The ellipsis bubble of her typing appears, lingers, disappears. Then: "Can we talk? It might be nothing but I heard something and it's bugging me."
Heard something. My mind races. Maybe one of her friends was at the bar and saw me? Or someone in my office blabbed to someone in hers (doubtful, different industries entirely)...
I quickly head to one of our small meeting rooms for privacy and dial her number. She answers almost immediately.
"Hey," I start softly, trying to sound calm.
"Hey," she replies, voice a mix of hesitant and tense. "Thanks for calling. I know this is probably silly, I just... rather address it head-on."
I lean against the wall. "Of course. What's up? What did you hear?"
Sierra sighs. "So, you know my friend Maya? She apparently has a mutual friend or something at your company, or maybe their partner does... anyway, she texted me this morning saying she heard you were 'cozy' with some new girl at a bar last night." She rushes on, "She only told me because she knows we're together and thought I should know if something looked off."
My heart thuds. So it was a friend-of-friend situation—a tiny social world strikes again. I scramble for words. "Okay. Wow. Um, first: nothing happened beyond talking. Yes, I talked with a new coworker named Dana. We had a couple drinks with the group. If someone said 'cozy'... I mean, I don't know what they saw. We maybe laughed and stood somewhat close because of the crowd, and I think she hugged me bye, but—" I realize I'm babbling.
I take a breath. "Sierra, I promise you, I wasn't flirting with any intent or, or cheating or anything like that. You know I wouldn't."
There's a pause, then a softer exhale. "I want to believe that. I do. It's just... you've been distant lately too, and maybe that's on me with work and all. I just... when I heard that, my brain went to worst-case scenario."
I close my eyes, the sting of guilt sharper now. "I'm sorry I've been distant. I really only was trying to give you space during your crazy week. Maybe I overdid it. But please don't take one person's secondhand description at face value. They probably saw two coworkers chatting and, you know, made it sound scandalous."
She murmurs assent, but she's clearly still uneasy. "If I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?"
My stomach clenches. "Of course."
"Did you... enjoy it? Like, were you... into her at all?"
Straight to the heart of it. I rub my brow. Honesty. "I enjoyed talking to her, yeah. But not because it was her specifically, or because I was into her. I enjoyed a normal, fun conversation after a rough week. That's it. I promise you, I was not thinking of it as anything more."
She's quiet for a moment. "Okay. I appreciate that honesty. Really." She takes a breath. "It just worries me... you know honesty is huge for me, and I feel like I had to hear this from a friend rather than you telling me."
Ah, there it is. I can hear a mix of hurt and disappointment. She feels I omitted something important.
I scramble to explain. "I didn't mention it because it seemed trivial to me, and I didn't want to burden you with something that might worry you when you were already stressed. In hindsight, maybe I should have said, 'oh I met the new hire and she's nice,' but it honestly didn't cross my mind as noteworthy."
I hate how defensive I sound, but I'm trying to thread the needle between downplaying and not dismissing her feelings.
She hums, considering. "I get that logic. I do. I'm not trying to overreact, it's just... you know how my last relationship ended, John."
Oof, yes. She was cheated on. This is exactly her sorest spot.
My voice softens with remorse. "I know. And the last thing I ever want is to make you feel that kind of doubt with me. I'm so sorry this made you feel that way even for a second."
I hear her sniffle and my heart breaks. "It's okay. I'm sorry I'm being touchy. This week has me all frazzled and emotional." She sighs. "I trust you, I do. I just needed to hear your side. And hearing your voice helps."
I lean my head back, relief and regret swirling. "I'm glad you asked. Seriously, I'd rather clear up a misunderstanding than let it fester. You should always tell me if something's bothering you, even if it's from a random friend grapevine."
She makes a small amused noise. "Yeah, damn grapevine. Probably some bored person from your company who saw a handsome guy talking to a pretty girl and wanted drama."
Handsome guy? She's inadvertently flattering me in the middle of this heavy talk, which makes me smile. "Well, I'm taken. Very much off the market."
"Good," she says, strength returning to her tone. "Because you're mine, mister." It's a lighthearted claim, but I hear the undercurrent of seriousness.
"Yours," I agree softly.
We exchange a few more reassuring words. By the end of the call, she sounds okay, and promises to drop by tonight if she can get off work at a decent time. I tell her I'll have dinner waiting.
As I hang up, I slump into a chair in the empty meeting room. That was close. And it hammered home a painful lesson: even the slightest wandering or appearance of wandering can ripple out and hurt her.
I feel angry at myself. If I hadn't engaged Dana for so long, maybe no one would've even noticed or commented. Or if I had been upfront with Sierra casually, "hey I chatted with the new coworker at happy hour," that might've preempted any gossip shock.
The System chooses now to ping: Relationship Event: Trust slightly decreased (Communication Check failed). It's like a gut punch of text. I glare at the floating words. "Thanks, I noticed," I mutter.
I bury my face in my hands for a minute. The event is salvageable, I think—we talked it out. But the trust dent is there.
The afternoon drags with me paranoid that every coworker glance hides knowledge of my supposed flirt session. Did others see? Are whispers traveling? It's a special torture given my newly sensitive conscience.
At quitting time, I bump into Dana on the way out. She's her usual cheery self. "Hey, John! Fun night, huh?" She doesn't seem to sense any issue.
I muster a polite smile. "Yeah, it was. By the way, just to avoid any confusion—" I lower my voice conspiratorially, "I realized I never mentioned I have a girlfriend, Sierra. I'm sure I probably did but just in case you missed it."
Her eyes widen a fraction. "Oh! No, you didn't mention. That's great though. How long?"
"Few months," I say, feeling oddly embarrassed that I didn't mention Sierra once last night.
Dana gives a friendly grin. "Well, congrats. She's a lucky gal. I hope I get to meet her sometime at a work thing maybe."
I nod, the tension easing. "Sure, maybe so."
We part ways, and I head home, determined to dote on Sierra and reinforce what really matters to me.
That evening, Sierra shows up looking bone-tired but smiling softly. I greet her with a long hug, as if physically reaffirming my loyalty. I've prepared her favorite pasta, and we eat quietly, both a little emotionally drained from the day.
At one point she reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "We're okay, right?" she asks, eyes searching mine.
I squeeze back. "We are absolutely okay."
Internally I add, I won't let us not be okay. The System pops up nothing during this; maybe it knows I'm in no mood for its metrics.
Later, curled up on the couch, Sierra falls asleep against me halfway through an episode of a show. I stroke her hair and whisper, "I love you," even though she's out. The System gently notes Affection restored to 100% in my periphery, but I disregard it. Trust is the real meter and I need to fill it back up beyond any doubt.
As I hold her, I reflect: the stage is indeed set from this debacle— either I commit to complete honesty and caution moving forward, or risk deeper rifts. The choice is clear as day.
I carry her to bed, tuck her in, and slide in beside her. Even in sleep, she instinctively cuddles into me. My chest aches with love and a whisper of shame that I'd even inadvertently wavered.
Never again, I vow silently into the dark. My arms around her tighten, as if to guard her—and our relationship—from any future harm, especially harm of my own making.
(continue based on outline)
Great — I'll begin writing Chapters 34 to 40 in the immersive first-person LitRPG style, complete with system notifications, emotional and sensory depth, internal reflections, and dynamic dialogue. These chapters will carry through the emotional climax of Act III and lead into its resolution. I'll let you know once the full sequence is ready for review.
Chapter 34: Boss Fight – The Truth Revealed
I sit on the old park bench where Sierra and I first bonded after the farmer's market, hands trembling in my lap. The night air is warm, but I feel cold sweat on my palms. A heavy scent of rain lingers in the breeze; thunder murmurs in the distance, as if the sky itself holds its breath. After the tense dinner last night—after she left, hurt and suspicious—I knew I had to come clean. No more half-truths. I've invited her here to finally tell her everything.
Sierra approaches slowly along the lamplit path. My heart thuds as I take in the sight of her: shoulders tense, brow furrowed with worry. Quest Initiated: Reveal the Truth (Boss Level) blinks at the edge of my vision. I swallow hard and stand to greet her. "Hey," I manage softly. My voice quivers. Sierra offers a cautious, "Hi," and sits beside me, leaving a careful distance. The bench creaks under shifting weight. For a moment, neither of us speaks. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and my own pulse roaring in my ears.
I draw a shaky breath. "Thank you for meeting me," I say, barely above a whisper. "I... I have something I need to tell you. Everything, actually." My chest tightens as I force the words out. Sierra nods, lips pressed thin. Her green eyes glint with a mix of hope and dread. The tension between us is thick; I can almost taste the electricity of the coming storm.
"I haven't been fully honest with you," I begin, voice breaking. "About myself. About why I've changed these past couple months." I rub my clammy hands on my jeans and barrel on, afraid if I stop now I'll lose my nerve. "You remember how I told you I was really bad at dating before I met you? That wasn't the whole story. I was failing miserably… until something strange happened." I glance at Sierra to gauge her reaction, but her expression is unreadable, guarded. I continue, words tumbling out in a rush: "I… I have this app, or system, I don't even know what to call it. A Dating System. It sort of… game-ified my love life. It gives me quests and tips and tracks things—like some weird augmented reality dating sim." I cringe at how absurd it sounds spoken aloud.
Sierra's eyebrows knit in confusion. "A dating system? Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?" Her tone wavers between disbelief and hurt. "Johnathon, if this is a joke or an excuse—"
"It's not a joke," I cut in, voice cracking. God, this sounds crazy. Desperation surges in me. I have to make her understand. My fingers fumble as I pull out my phone. With a few taps, I bring up the Dating System interface. The screen glows with an unmistakable display: Sierra's name and a flurry of stats and progress bars that have governed my life these past weeks. I turn the phone toward her. "Look. This is what I mean. It's real… at least, it's real to me."
She leans in, eyes narrowing at the screen. In the dim light, I see her face change as she reads: her own name, her profile, an Affection meter, completed quests like "Farmer's Market Stroll – Completed" and "First Kiss Achievement Unlocked." Sierra's hand flies to her mouth. "Oh my god," she murmurs. "Is that… me?"
"It logged everything," I say miserably. "Every date, every conversation. It gave me guidance because I—I didn't know what I was doing. I was so lost before I met you." My throat tightens. "The System helped me become more confident, more considerate. But I was the one choosing to do those things. I swear, Sierra, every feeling I have for you is real. The System just… nudged me along."
Her eyes flash as she processes what she's seeing. "So all this time," she whispers, "you've been using some kind of program to… to navigate us? Gamifying our relationship?" There's a tremble of betrayal in her voice.
I wince. "It's not like I saw you as a game. I was just trying to improve myself." Fat raindrops start to patter on the leaves overhead, one landing cold on the back of my neck. Sierra inhales sharply, pulling her light jacket tighter. Her face twists between anger and pain.
"Was I just an achievement to unlock?" Sierra's question lands like a dagger. Tears brim in her eyes now, shining in the faint park light. "All those sweet moments… were they only about earning points with your app?" Her voice breaks on the last word.
"N-no!" I stammer, my own eyes burning. "Sierra, no. You were never just a quest or an achievement. You mean everything to me." My vision blurs as tears gather. I reach for her hand instinctively, but she recoils, standing abruptly.
She paces a few steps away, rain sprinkling her hair, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't believe this… I told you how important honesty was to me, Johnathon." Her voice wavers, each word laden with hurt. "All this time, you were hiding this huge thing. How could you?"
I stand as well, wiping rain and tears from my cheeks. "I was scared," I choke out. "I thought if I told you, I'd lose you. I know it sounds insane. I almost told you so many times… but I kept chickening out. I thought I could handle it on my own, that it would only confuse things. But after last night—after I hurt you with my half-truths—I realized I can't keep lying. Not to you." My chest heaves; the confession pouring out leaves me trembling and weak-kneed. "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." I'm openly crying now, voice ragged. "Using the System was never about deceiving you. It was supposed to make me a better partner. But I've messed everything up."
For a heartbeat, Sierra just stares at me through the light rain. Then she casts a glance at my phone still in my hand. The screen, still lit, reflects in her eyes. Suddenly, an obnoxious ping! cuts through the tension.
Sierra Affection – Critical Level! flashes a bright red alert across the top of the app.
I cringe as the Dating System's cheery voice (that only I can hear) chirps: "Warning: Relationship in Peril!" Could this thing be any more tone-deaf? I grit my teeth and quickly mute it, shoving the phone away. "Shut up, shut up…" I mutter under my breath, furious at the System's intrusion. The irony is cruel—my digital helper, which once felt so encouraging, is now just salt in the wound.
Sierra didn't hear the voice, but she saw something on the screen. Her eyes harden. "Unbelievable," she says, nearly a whisper. "It's analyzing everything, isn't it? Even now." She wraps her arms around herself. Each of her words is like ice. "I feel… I feel so objectified, Johnathon. I thought what we had was genuine, but now I don't even know which parts were you and which parts were just some algorithm playing puppet master."
A low rumble of thunder underscores her words. The rain falls steadier now, droplets tapping on the bench and turning the dirt path dark. I step toward her, desperate. "It was me, Sierra. I swear it was me. The corny jokes I told to make you laugh? The way I remembered you love lilacs? The picnic and the cooking and the late-night talks—that was all me. The System might have given me ideas or confidence, but my heart… my heart was always yours." My voice cracks with emotion. I feel tears roll down my cheeks, warm against the cold raindrops. "I love you, Sierra. That's real. Please believe that."
She closes her eyes tightly, tears escaping down her face. Seeing her cry because of me feels like my soul is being ripped apart. I yearn to comfort her, but I no longer have that right. When she opens her eyes, they shimmer with hurt. "I need time," she whispers unsteadily. "I can't… I can't do this right now."
"Sierra…" I step forward, and for a split second she hesitates, almost leaning toward me. But then she straightens, resolve hardening her expression.
"I just need to think," she says, voice strained. She brushes away tears with the back of her hand. My arms ache to hold her, but I remain rooted, afraid any move will push her further away.
The rain begins to fall in earnest, plastering my hair to my forehead. Sierra takes a step back. "Goodbye, Johnathon." Her voice wavers on my name, and then she turns and walks quickly down the path, arms hugging herself against the downpour. The sight of her retreating under the flickering park lights, shoulders shaking with sobs she's holding in, is the most heartbreaking thing I've ever seen.
I stand there frozen in the rain, chest heaving with silent cries. I want to call out, to run after her and beg for forgiveness, but my body won't obey. My mind is blank, hollowed out by the horror of what I've done. She's gone. I lost her.
Suddenly my phone vibrates in my pocket—another alert. Through bleary eyes I yank it out, expecting more tactless data from the System. Instead, a bold notification sears itself across my vision like a final verdict:
Main Quest Failed: Maintain Sierra's Trust – Relationship Status: BROKEN.
The words pulse red, cruelly definitive, as if announcing GAME OVER. A strangled sob escapes my throat. I collapse back onto the bench as thunder cracks overhead. The rainwater on the screen makes the alert swim and blur, but I can't look away. Relationship Status: Broken. Broken. The reality of it crushes me.
My shoulders slump under the weight of regret. I've lost the best thing in my life—because of my own cowardice and lies. The system notification blinks in front of me like a taunt, each flash driving the knife deeper. Rain streams down my face and I can't even tell where the sky's tears end and mine begin.
I stare emptily at that blinking alert, feeling utterly defeated and alone, until the downpour drowns out its glow.
I failed her. I failed us.
In that moment, as lightning splits the sky and darkness closes in, I truly feel like the game of love has ended—and I am the one who lost.