Sunday morning. I woke up and for the first time in maybe my whole life, my first thought wasn't what am I gonna screw up today? It was quieter. Like the hum of a machine that's finally been tuned right.
I did my routine. Showered. Made toast. Normal stuff. But it felt different. My shoulders didn't hunch. My hands were steady. I wasn't just going through the motions; I was… operating. Smoothly.
My phone buzzed on the counter.
A text from Yuri.
Hey. Still on for tonight? 7 right? 😊
I thumbed a reply.
Yeah.
Then sent my location.
I stared at the screen. Dinner. At my place. Yeah, I knew what that usually meant. The subtext wasn't even hiding.
"DES." I said to the empty room.
A single, sharp blink answered. DES was listening.
"Okay. Lay it out. What are the actual odds she expects this to end in my bed?"
It shot back a line of text:
> Assessment: High.
Factors: Private venue, established flirtation, target's demonstrated receptivity.
Probability: 94%.
Ninety-four percent. It wasn't a hope. It was a forecast.
And the weirdest part? I didn't feel a thing. No panic. No stupid thrill. My old self would've been a puddle of nerves. Now, it was just data. A problem to solve.
If a Confidence stat of 33 made me this calm about losing my virginity, what the hell did 100 look like?
"DES. I've never done this. That's a variable. A big one. Can you… patch that?"
My view flickered, the mission text wiped clean, replaced by a cinematic index:
«Visual-Kinetic Calibration» Activated.
Protocol: Observe and absorb dominant behavioral archetypes.
Method: System will translate observed visual data into neuromuscular memory and instinct.
Direct Outcome: Theoretical knowledge → Physical competency.
Instruction: Watch. Absorb. Your body will learn.
Recommended:
· 9½ Weeks
· The Thomas Crown Affair
· Unfaithful
· Body Heat
I almost laughed. It wanted me to study... for sex. To turn a pornographic art film into a training manual.
The absurdity of it hit me, followed by a jolt of pure, cold clarity. Des wasn't giving me advice, it was offering to code the experience directly into my muscles.
That wasn't just a hack. That was insane. That was real power.
A cold, sharp grin cut across my face.
"So I watch, and you just… download the moves into me?"
> Affirmative.
Process: Neuromuscular calibration via observed data.
Outcome: Significant reduction in performance error.
Performance error.
It was talking about sex like fixing a bug in a program.
"Alright," I said, grabbing my laptop. "Might as well get literate."
I spent the next five hours on my couch, not as a guy watching movies, but as a technician. I wasn't seeing romance. I was seeing angles, pressure, timing. The exact moment to move closer. How to hold a gaze to make it a command. The way confidence isn't loud; it's just... certain.
As the last film ended, a soft pulse washed through me. A system update, gentle as a system reboot.
> Visual Calibration: Complete.
Integrated Kinematic Data: Dominant/Seductive Archetype.
Stat Adjustments Applied:
Strength: 4 → 5
Agility: 5 → 6
Posture: 7 → 8
Vocal Tonality: 5 → 6
Charm: 22 → 30
Confidence: 35 → 45
Sexual Appeal: 40 → 50
I stood up. My body felt… aligned. Loose, but ready. My voice sat even lower in my chest. The vague, theoretical idea of touching someone was gone, replaced by a clear, physical knowing in my muscles.
I didn't feel excited. I didn't feel nervous.
I felt prepped.
The trial wasn't tonight. The trial was over. I'd already passed.
Now, I just had to execute.
---
When the clock hit 5:30 PM, the quiet in the apartment started to feel heavy. Time to move.
I walked into my kitchen. It wasn't much—a counter, a stove, a fridge holding the ghost of last week's groceries. I opened the fridge door, the cold air hitting my face.
[DES Update]
First Certificate Acquired: Culinary Arts (Foundational).
DES Corp. Accreditation Granted.
Effect: User possesses certified, practical knowledge of ingredient handling, basic techniques, and foundational recipe execution. Skill efficiency scales with use.
A certificate. From a corporation that didn't exist. I now officially knew how to cook. On paper. We were about to see if my hands agreed.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's see what this gets me."
The HUD flickered, scanning my kitchen:
> Available Ingredients Detected.
Generating Viable Preparations…
A list unfolded in my vision. Not fancy restaurant stuff. Real things. Things I'd actually bought and then forgotten about.
Pasta. Canned tomatoes. An old block of parmesan. Eggs. Butter. A lonely chicken breast. Basic spices. A bag of rice. An onion going soft.
Three options stacked neatly in the air:
> Suggested Preparations (Time & Resource Efficient):
• Agilo e Olio with Fried Egg – Fast, cheap, impressive technique. (25 mins)
• Tomato-Basil Pasta with Garlic Bread – Classic, aromatic, high social reward. (35 mins)
• Pan-Seared Chicken & Lemon Rice – Hearty, demonstrates protein control. (40 mins)
I stared. I'd never made any of them before.
The words 'Culinary Arts: Active' glowed softly in the corner of my sight like a quiet promise.
I exhaled. "Option two."
The moment I decided, the kitchen snapped into focus.
> Selection Confirmed.
Initiating Guided Preparation Protocol.
My vision changed. Not the room, the data. The pasta box lit up green. The can of tomatoes glowed. The butter, the garlic, the sad basil plant on my windowsill—all highlighted. Everything else faded to a dull, ignored grey.
As I reached for the pasta, a tag appeared: 400g.
The tomatoes: 1 can. Crush by hand.
Butter: 30g.
Garlic: 3 cloves. Thin slice.
My hands moved. They didn't fumble. They didn't hesitate. It wasn't me remembering a recipe. It was like the knowledge was in my fingers. The right amount of salt in the water. The exact moment the garlic was golden, not burnt. How to crush the tomatoes to get the right texture.
DES chimed in softly, making micro-adjustments:
> Pasta Water: Add more salt.
Heat: Reduce by 15%.
Simmer Time: Extend by 2 minutes.
It didn't feel like being puppeted. It felt like having a co-pilot. A silent, perfect one.
By the time I was draining the pasta, the air was thick with the smell of garlic, tomato, and basil. Real food. I tossed it all together in the pan, the way the green lines in my vision guided me. I even found myself toasting the bread I had, rubbing it with garlic and a drizzle of oil I didn't know I owned.
I plated it. It looked… right. Like a photo. Not a sad bachelor's attempt.
The clock on the stove read 6:59 PM.
I looked at the two plates on my counter. Steam rose in gentle curls.
Huh. I can cook.
> Culinary Task: Complete.
Performance: Optimal.
Skill Familiarity: Increased.
Confidence: 45 → 48
A firm, sudden knock rattled my apartment door.
Right on time.
---
To be continued...