The room stank of sweat, old food, and something worse he couldn't name anymore.
Stacks of crumpled tissues, soda cans, and empty snack wrappers littered every surface. Posters of scantily clad women curled at the edges on his walls, half peeling from years of neglect. His desk—if it could even still be called that—was a cluttered mess of broken pens, greasy plates, and old magazines with faded covers.
In the middle of it all sat James Draevin, slumped in a rickety chair that creaked under his weight.
At seventeen, he weighed ninety kilos. His belly pressed against his lap, his shirt riding up over pale skin. His cheeks were puffy. His eyes hollow. At 5'7", he didn't carry the weight well—and the BMI scale had already condemned him with a clinical label: obese.
But James didn't care about scales anymore.
He used to dream of love, friends, maybe even a girlfriend who saw the real him under all the junk.
Now? He barely left his room.
He knew why people hated him. It wasn't just his appearance—it was his behavior. His obsession with adult fantasies, the things he brought up in conversations no one wanted to hear. He pushed people away without realizing it. Or maybe he did realize it, but couldn't stop himself.
The loneliness felt permanent. And even though he had three younger siblings and two tired parents who cared... James felt like a ghost in his own home.
Yet, despite everything...
"I don't want to die like this," he whispered. Then louder:
"I WANNA CHANGE!"
The moment the words left his mouth, something shifted.
His vision blurred. The room around him rippled like heat waves on asphalt, and he reached for his glasses, blinking rapidly.
"What the hell…?"
He rubbed his eyes. When he looked again, something floated before him.
A glowing pink window, softly pulsing in the air like a heartbeat. Ornate golden borders framed the text in curling filigree, like a royal decree.
James gawked, his mouth hanging open.
"The hell is that?!"
No matter where he turned, the window followed, hovering just a few feet in front of his eyes. He closed them tight, counted to ten, then opened them again.
It was still there.
A strange thought passed through his head.
This is like one of those systems in those comics I read. Is this really happening...?
He hesitated, then finally focused on the glowing text.
---
[YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN]
By the divine will of the Gods and Goddesses of Love—Eros, Freyja, Aphrodite, Kamadeva, Oshun, Yue Lao, and many others—you, James Draevin, have been selected as the host of the divine:
『TO BE LOVED』 SYSTEM
Despite your flaws, despite your past, the divine believe you still have the potential to love—and be loved.
This system will guide you through personal transformation by assigning daily missions.
Warning: Failure to complete assigned missions may result in severe punishment. Multiple failures will endanger both your life and the lives of your loved ones.
---
James stared at the last line for a long time. He didn't move. Didn't blink.
"...What?"
The panic hit a second later.
"WHAT THE HELL—MY FAMILY?!"
He shouted, knocking over a cup of pens. They spilled across the floor.
For a moment, he wanted to scream, to curse the gods, to call it all unfair. But as the glowing words floated in front of him like divine law, fear crushed the anger into a tight knot in his stomach.
He dropped to his knees.
"I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean to shout!" he gasped. "Please don't hurt my family. I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want…"
Tears stung his eyes, but he forced them back. His hands trembled as he brought them together in a shaky prayer.
'They're real... the gods are real… and they picked me? Even with all my trash… even with what I've become?'
He bit his lip.
'This isn't some gift. This is a warning. They're giving me a last chance…'
James stayed on the floor for a few minutes longer, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
Eventually, the glowing pink text pulsed again, like it was waiting.
He wiped his face, swallowed the panic, and sat back up. The system window hadn't budged. Still there. Still watching.
"...How do I move this forward?" he muttered. Then, as if answering his thoughts, a new message appeared:
---
[To continue, tap your glabella.]
(The skin between your eyebrows.)
---
"Glabella?" he repeated. "What the hell is a gla—"
He paused. Then snorted. "...This thing expects me to know medical terms?"
Pulling his phone out from under a half-eaten bag of chips, he googled it.
"…area between eyebrows. Alright. Sure. Let's see what divine madness comes next."
He slowly lifted his index finger and tapped the space just above the bridge of his nose.
The screen changed with a soft hum. A new window appeared:
---
[USER STATUS – JAMES DRAEVIN]
• Age: 17
• Height: 170 cm
• Weight: 90 kg
• Status: Obese
• Grade Level: 11th Year, High School
• Family: 2 Parents, 3 Younger Siblings
• Birth Order: Firstborn
• Eye Color: Brown
• Hair: Black
• Past Relationships: 0
• Habits: [NSFW Content Obsession – Critical]
• Mental Health: [Deteriorating – Passive Depression Detected]
• Core Potential for Love: Suppressed
• Divine Ranking: Chosen
---
James winced.
"...Even that last part," he whispered. "You didn't need to include that part…"
For some reason, the line about relationships stung more than the 'obese' label. More than the 'critical' habit warning. It was like the system had reached into him and pinned his life on display without a shred of mercy.
He tapped the glabella again.
A cold sensation tingled through his skull as the next panel faded in.
---
[DAILY MISSIONS – DAY 1]
You must complete all missions within 24 hours. Rewards and penalties will vary based on performance.
☐ Eat exactly 2,000 clean calories
☐ Jog 5 kilometers
☐ Do 50 push-ups
☐ Help your mother cook
☐ Help your father clean
☐ Assist your siblings with homework
☐ Shave your stubble
☐ Clean your room
☐ Throw away all erotic materials
☐ Avoid all pornography
☐ Avoid indecent self-contact
☐ Pick up your siblings from school
☐ Talk to a stranger
---
[WARNING:] Failure to complete these missions today will result in... escalating divine punishment. Continued failure will threaten the lives of your family.
---
James sat still, eyes wide.
The silence in the room was deafening—no music, no fan, no hum of the CPU. Just him, the system, and the overwhelming list staring him down.
"This isn't just... a health system," he whispered. "This is a full life audit."
His hands curled into fists in his lap. For a second, he felt something hot rise in his chest—rage, maybe. Or shame. Maybe both.
"Throw out my magazines? Clean my room? Help my mom? This... this isn't just about being loved. This is about being a son. A brother. A human being again."
His voice cracked at the last part.
He glanced at the trash surrounding him. At the dust. The old posters. His cracked mirror. The piles of clothes and wrappers and all the filth he let swallow him for years.
Then he whispered to himself, like a confession:
"I let myself rot…"
A pause.
Then he said it again—louder.
"I let myself rot."
He stared at the mission list one more time.
"...But I'm not going to let them die because of me."
He reached forward and slowly stood up, his legs shaking under his weight. But he stood. Really stood.
Then he grabbed the nearest trash bag.
And began.