Ye Chen woke up to the sound of his phone alarm blaring some generic ringtone he'd never bothered to change.
His head throbbed like someone had used it as a drum all night. Mouth dry, tongue fuzzy, the familiar aftermath of cheap baijiu.
He groaned and slapped at the phone until it shut up. Sunlight stabbed through the thin curtains, turning the cramped room into a hazy yellow box.
For a few seconds he just lay there, staring at the water stained ceiling. Then yesterday crashed back in: the set, Director Wang's smirk, Wang Ming's arm around Liu Xiaoxiao, the blacklist messages lighting up his phone like fireworks.
His stomach twisted. Not nausea from the alcohol, something colder.
He rolled over and reached for the half empty bottle on the floor. Empty now. Of course.
"Okay," he muttered, voice hoarse. "Back to reality. Job hunting for real jobs today. Maybe delivery driving again."
He sat up slowly, waiting for the room to stop tilting. As he rubbed his face, something flickered in the corner of his vision, like a notification bubble on a screen.
Blue. Translucent.
Ye Chen froze.
The panel was still there, floating calmly about a foot in front of him.
[Host: Ye Chen]
[Age: 24]
[Current Level: 1 (Rookie Actor)]
[Skills: Basic Acting (Intermediate), Script Analysis (Beginner)]
[Fame Points: 0]
Below it, the mission from last night glowed softly.
[New Mission: First Step Back]
[Objective: Secure a new role within 30 days, one that allows you to showcase your true ability.]
[Time Remaining: 29 days, 23 hours, 47 minutes]
[Reward: God Level Acting Insight (Temporary), 10,000 Fame Points, Mystery Script Fragment ×1]
He stared at it for a long, silent minute.
Then he burst out laughing, dry, cracked, more than a little unhinged.
"Oh man," he wheezed, clutching his aching head. "It's still here. I'm actually losing it."
He stood up too fast, staggered to the sink in the corner, and splashed cold water on his face.
When he looked up into the cracked mirror, the panel followed his gaze, hovering politely off to the side like an obedient ghost.
Ye Chen pointed a dripping finger at it. "You. Are. Not. Real."
Nothing happened.
He tried waving his hand through it again.
Same as last night, his fingers passed straight through, but the thing didn't waver.
"Okay, hallucination rules: if I ignore it, it'll go away. That's how these things work, right?"
He turned his back on it deliberately and started digging through his tiny wardrobe for clean clothes. The panel drifted into his peripheral vision anyway.
"Persistent little bastard," he grumbled.
Breakfast was instant noodles. While the kettle boiled, he opened his laptop and scrolled through casting calls on the usual websites.
Most of them had notes now: "No blacklist actors." Some didn't even bother hiding it.
His mood darkened again. The laughter from earlier felt far away.
The kettle clicked off. He poured the water, stirred the noodles, and sat down at the rickety table.
The panel floated right in the middle of his line of sight, blocking half the screen.
Ye Chen glared at it. "Move."
It didn't.
"Fine. Stay there. See if I care."
He ate in silence, scrolling past one rejection after another. A few indie projects looked open, but they were unpaid or "exposure" gigs. Same old story.
Halfway through the noodles, curiosity won.
He leaned forward and spoke to the empty room. "If you're real… say something."
The mechanical voice returned instantly, calm and clear.
[Host query detected. How may I assist you?]
Ye Chen dropped his chopsticks. They clattered against the plastic bowl.
"Holy—"
He stood up so fast the chair fell over backward.
"Okay. Okay okay okay. This is… this is insane." He paced the three steps the room allowed. "I'm talking to a voice in my head. Great. Next stop, mental hospital."
[This system is not a hallucination. It is bound to your consciousness and will remain until the host achieves Entertainment King status or chooses permanent dismissal.]
Ye Chen stopped pacing. "Permanent dismissal? How?"
[Command: 'Dismiss System.' However, dismissal is irreversible and will result in loss of all future rewards and assistance.]
He snorted. "Yeah, because I totally believe the imaginary voice."
He sat down again, heart pounding despite himself.
"Let's say, hypothetically, you're real. What's the catch? There's always a catch in these stories."
[No hidden penalties. The system exists solely to support the host's rise in the entertainment industry through earned rewards.]
Ye Chen rubbed his temples. "Earned how?"
[Primarily through reversing humiliations, demonstrating superior talent, protecting valued individuals or principles, and creating impactful works. The original designation 'Face Slap' is… a translation artifact. The core mechanism rewards meaningful victories.]
He barked a laugh. "So it's a self improvement system wearing a cringy novel mask."
The system didn't reply. It didn't need to.
Ye Chen finished his noodles in silence, staring at the mission timer ticking down.
29 days, 23 hours, 12 minutes now.
Part of him wanted to say the dismissal words just to make the whole thing vanish. Go back to being normal miserable instead of crazy miserable.
But another part, the part that still had those movie posters on the wall, whispered something else.
What if?
What if it worked just once? Just enough to get one decent role. Then he could decide.
He closed the laptop and stood up.
"Fine," he said to the panel. "I'm going to an audition listing I saw earlier. Some low budget web drama in the city. If nothing happens, you're officially a hangover ghost. Deal?"
The panel pulsed once.
[Understood. Good luck, host.]
Ye Chen grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He paused on the threshold.
"And stop calling me host. My name's Ye Chen."
[Noted, Ye Chen.]
He shook his head, half smiling despite everything, and stepped out into the morning light.
The audition for Summer Again started at two o'clock.
He had just enough time to catch the cheap bus into the city.