The first real paycheck should have felt like a victory, a weapon.
Instead, it felt like a joke.
Frustrated with the whole situation that was spiraling out of his control. Neville had defaulted to the only therapy he could afford: shopping.
He dutifully set aside the payment for his debt to the orphanage. But the rest? He would burn it with vengeance.
It was a hollow satisfaction.
So much for those top-grade sea salt bath bombs. So much for the pheromone patches he desperately needed. He could barely maintain it anyways.
Two hours later, Neville staggered back to his apartment, the weight of a dozen shopping bags was too light to soothe the anger in his chest.
By the time the elevator doors slid open on his floor, the urge to slam his fist into the glass wall was so strong his knuckles ached. He settled for stomping out, his expensive new shoes sinking into the plush carpeting with angry thuds.
And then he froze.
Down the hall, a door was closing. Just before it clicked shut, he saw a familiar silhouette slip inside the room directly across from his own: Ethan.
The shopping bags suddenly felt heavy and ridiculous, their handles digging into his palms.
Neville was sure—or almost sure—their eyes had met. Just for a split-second, a flicker, before the door closed. But the face that glanced his way wasn't the smiling, friendly Ethan from the office.
No, this was a stranger. Face set like stone, jaw tight, eyes holding a chilling sort of fierceness. He looked like a man carrying a grudge against the entire world.
His neighbor.
Ethan was his neighbor? How had that never come up?
Neville's mind raced, replaying every interaction.
The friendly greetings in the morning, the easy smiles in meetings—how could that be the same person as this… this grumpy man?
Then, he realized something.
Every time he had seen Ethan outside of work, the cheerful mask was gone—in with the same dark, intimidating aura.
Standing alone in the silent hallway, Neville stared at the closed door.
What was wrong with him?
A shiver that had nothing to do with the hallway's chill traced its way down Neville's spine. He shook his head, as if physically deleting the image of Ethan's cold stare, and forced himself into his apartment.
As he began unpacking, the unease lingered like a phantom itch.
A quick glance at Shelly, who was happily searching for new romance tropes.
A bitter laugh almost escaped him.
For now, the mystery would have to wait.
…
The moment the warm, salty water of the tub enveloped him, Neville let out a sigh so deep it felt like it came from his soul.
A powerful, silver-black tail, shimmering even in the dim light, sliced gracefully through the water. He watched as the bath bomb he splurged on at the System Mall fizzed violently, releasing a fresh, briny aroma that smelled like home.
He let his head fall back against the tub, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.
"So this," he murmured, "is what those cultivation protagonists feel like when they stumble on some heavenly treasure."
He could feel the specialized formula seeping into his skin, a welcome antidote to the dry, recycled air of the city. He flexed his delicate fingers, working the moisture in. The nutrients in the water were already bringing a renewed, pearlescent luster to his scales.
[Host, you look pleased! ✨(◕‿◕)✨] Shelly's cheerful voice chimed in.
"Pleased is an understatement," Neville replied, his voice a low hum of contentment. His tail gave a lazy swish, sending ripples across the surface. "Though I'd be a hell lot more pleased if I could actually afford the good stuff in that mall of yours."
His eyes drifted longingly to the semi-transparent screen, where the System Mall displayed its items in great detail.
It was a special kind of torture.
Row upon row of items from Earth, each one a ghost of a life he had lost.
Authentic Sichuan peppercorns that promised a perfect mala numbness. Thick-cut, impossibly marbled top-grade Japanese wagyu he couldn't afford to buy back on earth. A gleaming set of professional-grade kitchen knives, he had just seen in cooking shows for years.
He could see it all and read the glowing descriptions.
And floating over each one, a cheerful, brightly colored banner that was a bigger slap in the face than any insult: INSUFFICIENT POINTS.
[Aw, don't be like that, Host! At least you can window shop! Some transmigrators in the novels don't even get that privilege! (╥﹏╥)]
"Shelly, window shopping is infinitely worse," Neville grumbled, sinking lower into the tub until the water lapped at his chin.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to see a perfectly marbled ribeye steak that you can't even touch? Or those fresh herbs—" He gestured irritably at the screen. "The basil... God, I can smell it. That fresh, green, peppery scent. I used to grow it in a pot on my windowsill to save money."
[Host, you weren't even a professional chef in your past life. Are you sure you could properly utilize such top-grade ingredients?] Shelly tilted its head with a question mark.
"It's not about being a chef!" he snapped, blowing a single, angry bubble that popped with a sharp plip. "It's about eating something real. Something I made myself."
He threw his hands up, splashing water onto the floor. "A luxury bath bomb and the world's most depressing food catalog. Congratulations, Shelly, you're guiding the most pitiful host in history."
[A man can dream! But don't worry, Host, the System Mall has no restrictions on—]
"—as long as I have the points," Neville finished for her, his voice flat and deadpan. "I already know that line."
He gave a humorless laugh. "The world will probably crumble into dust before I can have enough spare points for a home-made steak dinner."
He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and letting the steam curl around his face.
Damn it all, the stupidly expensive bath was actually working.
The tension was seeping from his shoulders. He would rather drown than let that chipper little avatar know she was right about anything.
[Speaking of points, I've completed the investigation Host requested! Should I present my findings now? (｡♥‿♥｡)]
Neville went still. "Wait. You spent my points?"
Before he could protest further, streams of data erupted in the air above the water, combining into neatly organized holographic files that cast a blue glow on the water.
[Don't sweat on the details, Host!] Shelly replied while doing a cheerful little pirouette dance. [Here are the findings!]
"When did I authorize this expense?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
[24 hours ago! While you were maxing out your points, I asked if you wanted me to look into the company, and you said 'Whatever'! So I did! It's not embezzlement if you gave a consent! （＞人＜）]
Neville straightened, water sloshing over the side of the tub. He leaned in, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the files.
"Consent given while under duress from terrible shopping therapy doesn't count," he declared flatly. "It's embezzlement."
Shelly pouted and drifted into a corner of his vision to sulk.
His silver-black tail curled beneath him in a tight coil of concentration. "Fine. But if this is just a list of who's been stealing office supplies, I'm filing a formal complaint about your processing protocols."
[How rude! Shelly always delivers quality information! (￣へ￣)]
"Hmm." A smirk touched his lips for the first time all evening.
His wet finger glided through the holographic display, leaving small ripples in the data stream. "Well, well, well. Suspicious numerical discrepancies in the secretarial department's overtime logs... Omitted subsections in accounting's quarterly reviews... And what's this? HR processing documentation with non-standard authorization codes?"
[The investigation was limited due to point constraints.] Shelly explained, her voice now crisp and professional. [However, a pattern emerged. These anomalies appeared across multiple departments over the past six months. The probability of there being random errors is 0.03%. They suggest coordinated, deliberate action.]
Neville leaned back, the last of his earlier frustration forgotten.
She was right.
Individually, each entry was small enough to be dismissed as a clerical error, a lazy shortcut. A rounding mistake here, a misfiled report there. But together—
He trailed his finger through the air, mentally connecting one file to the next.
—They weren't just errors. They were brushstrokes, painting a clear picture of a company rotting from the inside out.
"They're good," he murmured, a note of grudging respect in his voice. "Deceptively simple. Nothing here screams 'crime'. It's the pattern…"
His fingers, surprisingly deft on the holographic interface. It flew across the screen, pulling up three separate files. They hovered in the steam-filled air, glowing with dangerous data.
"Look," he said, his tone shifting from lazy bather to sharp analyst. "Project A. Secretarial overtime approved on dates the project was officially dormant. Pennies, really. Nothing to trigger an audit."
He drew a glowing line between two files with his finger. "But cross-reference it with this black hole in accounting where reports were 'streamlined,' and suddenly you've got a ghost payroll funding a ghost project phase."
[Ooh, Host, you're so smart! My processors didn't flag that correlation! (★^O^★)]
"That's because you're looking at numbers, Shelly. I'm looking at behavior," he said, a thrill running through him—the familiar, dangerous excitement of a hunt.
His tail gave a sharp flick, disturbing the water. "This isn't a smash-and-grab. It's a death by a thousand cuts. Whoever this is, they understand the company well. They know no one investigates a rounding error."
He stared at the intricate web of deceit. For a moment, the clean bathroom faded away, replaced by a cold sweat and the memory of lessons he learned in the black hell hole.
All that dreaded training—it was finally good for something.
Snapping back to the present, his resolve hardened.
"Shelly," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Allocate fifty percent of all future point earnings to passive surveillance protocols. I want you to monitor these types of discrepancies across the entire company. Nothing invasive enough to be detected, but I want to know every time a pattern like this emerges."
[Fifty percent?! Host, that's everything!] Shelly looked agitated. [What about the Wagyu? The basil? The kitchen knives?! (╥﹏╥)]
"Luxuries can wait," Neville said, his voice tight. His stomach immediately betrayed him with a loud, pathetic gurgle, protesting the idea.
[Understood! Shelly will implement monitoring protocols immediately! (･ω･)b]
The water around him had begun to cool. With a sigh, Neville reached over and pulled the plug, listening to the gurgle of the drain echo his empty stomach. As the last of his comfort swirled away, he stared at the blank wall.
"What kind of disaster," he whispered to the empty room, "did I just get into?"
As the last of the water gurgled down the drain, Neville closed his eyes and focused on the familiar, tingling pull of transformation.
It was always a strange sensation. The pearlescent scales receded like a fading mirage, leaving behind skin that still carried a faint, oceanic glow.
He grabbed a thick towel, wrapping it around his waist as he ran a hand through his surprisingly soft hair.
"Alright," he conceded to the empty room, "the bath was worth it."
In a world full of problems, a good bath could be considered a small victory.
[Sometimes, self-care is the best investment! (◕‿◕)♡] Shelly chimed in, her voice full of pride.
"Don't push it," Neville grumbled, wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror. "I'm still bitter about the food."
He stared at his reflection. The corner of his mouth, which had been set in a frustrated line all evening, slowly ticked upward into a cold, dangerous smirk.
Climbing the corporate ladder? No.
That was for honest people with time to waste.
He was going to use this rot in the company's foundation as a goddamn rocket.
He thought of those behind this crime.
Your worst day, he promised them silently, his eyes gleaming in the mirror, is going to be my best day.
And the promotion that came with it would make him the fastest rising star in this company's history.
He was damn sure of it.