The first thing he knew was the smell of expensive coffee and cleaner.
The second thing he knew was that he was not in control.
His body moved with a smooth, practiced cruelty. He watched his own hand, clad in a cufflink of cold silver, gesture at the papers on the immense desk.
"This," said his own voice, deep and frozen, "is unacceptable."
He was a passenger. A ghost in a machine of muscle and bone. Panic, cold and sharp, shot through his silent mind. What is this? Where am I?
His eyes—not his, but the eyes he was seeing through—tracked across the desk. Financial reports. A spreading stain of brown liquid bled across the numbers.
A young woman stood before the desk. She had large, bright eyes, now wide with fear. A simple blouse and skirt. An intern's badge. Ella. The name appeared in his trapped mind like a subtitle.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Sterling," she stammered, her hands twisting together. "It slipped, I—"
"A simple task," his voice continued, the script playing out through his lips. "Coffee. Reports. One after the other. Not complicated."
He felt his face arrange itself into an expression of cold disappointment. But inside, Alex Sterling was screaming. This is a dream. A bad dream. Wake up.
This was someone else's memory. Someone else's life. But the feel of the tailored suit on his shoulders, the chill of the air conditioning, the terrified face of the girl—it was all too real.
His heart was supposed to flutter. The original script whispered it in the back of his skull. Look at her trembling lip. See how her spirit isn't broken. Feel the strange attraction.
He felt nothing but a vast, hollow terror.
"Get out," his voice said, the final line of the scene. "Redo them. By noon."
Ella jumped, nodded fast, and scrambled for the door. The moment it clicked shut behind her, the strings were cut.
Alex gasped.
He stumbled back, his hands—his hands!—grabbing the edge of the desk. The solid, polished wood. Real. He was inside his own body again. He looked around.
A huge office. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing a city of glittering towers. Everything screamed money and power. None of it was his.
"What… what the hell?" he breathed.
A soft, melodic chime rang in the air.
Before his eyes, light shimmered. Pink and gold. It formed a translucent screen, like something from a bad fantasy game.
[Romance System v1.0 Initialization Complete!]
Cheerful, flowing text appeared.
[Welcome, User: Alex Sterling!]
[Role: Male Lead (CEO Archetype)]
[Primary Objective: Achieve True Love with Female Lead (Ella Reed)]
[Current Plot Progression: 0.01%]
[We are here to guide your heart to its destined happiness! Let's begin our—]
The screen flickered.
A sharp, digital crackle replaced the chime. The pink and gold colors bled, distorted.
[ERROR.]
Alex stared.
[…ERROR.]
[Corrupted File Detected: 'Romantic_Destiny.sys']
[…]
[Scanning Alternative Directives…]
[…]
[Directive Found: WEALTH MAXIMIZATION PROTOCOL 71.]
The pink screen shattered into a thousand pixels of light. They dissolved into the air.
A new interface snapped into place. No color. Just stark white text on a field of deep, endless blue. It had no warmth. No feeling.
[WEALTH MAXIMIZATION PROTOCOL 71 - ONLINE]
[User: Alex Sterling. Status: Recognized.]
[Core Directive: Capital Accumulation.]
[Secondary Directive: Social Capital Formalization.]
[Love: Designated Inefficient. Penalty Resource.]
A voice spoke in his mind. It was not cheerful. It was flat. Metallic. Empty.
"System corruption complete. Adjusting to new parameters."
"What are you?" Alex asked aloud, his voice rough.
"I am your operational framework. I issue quests. You complete them. You receive capital. Deviation incurs penalty."
This was insane. He was insane. He pinched the skin on his wrist. It hurt.
"This is real," he whispered.
"Affirmative," the system said.
Alex looked at his hands. The hands of a cold CEO in a romance novel. He had read about this. Transmigration. Systems. But this… this was broken.
A man's choices in a crisis define him. Panic still swam in his gut. But beneath it, something else stirred. A cold clarity. The script was gone. The rules were broken. What was left?
The system's blue screen flashed.
[INITIAL QUEST GENERATED.]
[Quest: Formalize Girlfriend Agreement #001.]
[Target: Ella Reed (Designated Female Lead).]
[Objective: Negotiate and execute a binding contractual agreement, designating Target as your primary romantic affiliate for public and social purposes. Minimum duration clause: Six (6) months.]
[Reward upon Signature: $500,000.00 (USD). Transferred to secure, untraceable account.]
[Failure Penalty: None. Inefficient targets may be replaced.]
Half a million dollars.
For making the crying intern his… contractual girlfriend.
The number hung in the blue screen, brighter than anything else. It wasn't fantasy money. It was a specific, concrete amount. It was a house. It was freedom.
The last of the panic evaporated, burned away by a sudden, shocking focus.
The old Alex would have fought this. Would have sought a way home, a way to fix the glitch.
This Alex—the one standing in this stolen office, with this broken system—looked at the number. He looked at the city through the windows. He looked at the door where the confused girl had just left.
A slow, calculated breath left his lungs.
The system was broken. The world was wrong. But the offer… the offer was very, very clear.
He didn't need to understand it. He just needed to use it.
"System," he said, his new voice now under his full control. It was calm. Ice cold. "Define 'binding contractual agreement.' What are the required terms?"
The system responded instantly, lines of text scrolling. Non-disclosure. Public appearance minimums. allowable termination clauses. A framework. A business deal.
Alex Sterling, the man from another world, allowed a thin, lifeless smile to touch his lips.
It wasn't a smile of joy. It was the smile of a man seeing the only path forward through a broken landscape.
He straightened his suit jacket. He walked around the desk.
He had a proposal to draft. And a first recruitment to attempt.
The game, however strange, was on.
[Quest Accepted.], the blue screen flashed, and then faded from view, leaving only the ghost of a half-million-dollar promise hanging in the air.