The campus library was supposed to be a place of quiet study. For Dorian Blimp, it was a hunting ground.
He spotted his prey tucked away in a corner carrel, a small, round kid with thick glasses and a tattered hoodie, hunched over a textbook like he was trying to hide inside it. A pathetic little troll, probably a first-year. Perfect.
Dorian felt the familiar, greasy warmth of power bloom in his chest. It was the only thing that felt good anymore. The only thing that quieted the noise in his head—the memory of Chloe walking past him that morning, her eyes sliding over him like he was made of glass, the sight of Tristan's stupid, perfect face laughing with his stupid, perfect friends.
The world was a shallow, cruel joke. And Dorian? Dorian was the punchline. But here, in this corner of the library, he could be the one delivering the blow.
He lumbered over, his bulk casting a shadow over the kid's book. "Well, well. What do we have here?" he announced, his voice a little too loud in the quiet. "A little mole, burrowing away."
The kid, Eli, flinched. His eyes widened behind his glasses. "Oh. Uh, hi, Dorian. I was just—"
"I don't care what you were just." Dorian's hand shot out and slapped the book closed with a sharp thwack. "You're in my spot."
Eli blinked, confused. "Your... spot? I didn't know you had a—"
Dorian didn't let him finish. He grabbed a fistful of Eli's hoodie and hauled him up, enjoying the kid's squeak of fear. "You talking back to me, mole-man? You think you're smart because you can read?" He gave him a shove that sent Eli stumbling into the bookshelves with a clatter. A few students nearby looked up, then quickly looked away. No one ever interfered.
Dorian loomed over him. "Library's expensive. You gotta pay the troll toll." He grinned, a wide, ugly smirk. "Wallet."
With trembling hands, Eli pulled a worn leather wallet from his back pocket. Dorian snatched it, opened it, and pulled out the two crumpled bills inside. "That's all? A ten and a five? What are you, a charity case?" He pocketed the money, then tossed the empty wallet back at Eli. It hit him in the chest and fell to the floor.
Something small and metallic clinked as it hit the ground and rolled to a stop near Dorian's shoe.
It was a ring. A dull, ugly thing made of some dark, tarnished metal. A single, cloudy gem was set in the center, the kind you'd find in a gumball machine. Dorian picked it up, holding it between his thumb and forefinger like it was a dead insect.
"What kind of stupid ring is this?" he sneered at Eli, who was scrambling to pick up his scattered belongings. "Your boyfriend give it to you?"
"It was my grandfather's," Eli mumbled, not looking up.
"Ugly, just like you." On a whim, Dorian slipped it onto his thick, fleshy finger. It felt cold for a second, a faint tingle, then nothing. He held up his hand. It looked ridiculous. A gaudy, cheap ring on a hand that was already a disaster. He tried to pull it off.
It wouldn't budge.
He tugged harder. His face reddened with the effort. The ring was stuck fast, as if it had been welded to his skin. "What the hell?" he grunted, twisting and pulling. It was no use.
Eli watched from the floor, a strange look in his eyes that Dorian, in his mounting fury, completely missed. It wasn't fear. It was almost... pity.
"Forget it," Dorian spat, dropping his hand. "It's trash anyway. Maybe it'll fall off when this finger rots." He gave Eli a final, half-hearted kick in the shin. "Get lost, mole. And next time, bring more cash."
He didn't even wait to see Eli scurry away. He was too focused on the ring. He walked out of the library, out into the cool evening air, still trying to work the stupid thing off. He was so preoccupied that he walked straight into someone.
"Watch where you're—" he started to snarl, then stopped.
It was Tristan. Of course. He was holding a stack of flyers for the campus animal shelter, his smile as effortless and irritating as ever. "Whoa, hey there, big guy! No harm done." Tristan grinned, clapping Dorian on the shoulder. The casual, friendly gesture felt like a brand. "You alright? You look a little... flushed."
Dorian just grunted, yanking his shoulder away. Tristan, the golden boy. The guy who probably had girls leaving love notes in his locker. The guy who represented everything wrong with a world that judged you on the shape of your jaw and not the content of your character. The guy Dorian found himself instinctively, pathetically sucking up to in every class, hoping some of his social magic would rub off.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Dorian mumbled, the automatic response of a sycophant. He shoved his hands in his pockets, the stupid ring feeling like a brand.
Tristan gave him a friendly nod and walked off. Dorian stood there, a mountain of self-loathing and rage, when the world went white.
HOT
BODY RE-COMPOSITION SYSTEM (BDS) INITIALIZING...
A translucent blue screen, straight out of a video game, blazed to life in front of his eyes. He stumbled back, waving his hands in front of his face. "What the—?!"
SCANNING HOST...
SCAN COMPLETE.
HOST STATUS: BODY FAT - CRITICAL. FACIAL SYMMETRY - DEFICIENT. OVERALL AESTHETIC - REPULSIVE.
Dorian stared, his mouth agape. The screen was reading him. Judging him, just like everyone else.
BDS PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: OPTIMIZE HOST PHYSICAL FORM.
CURRENT LEVEL: 0
NEXT LEVEL: 1
NEW QUEST AVAILABLE!
Dorian's heart hammered. A quest? Like in those stupid games Tristan and his friends always played? He focused on the screen, and it expanded.
QUEST: "ICE BREAKER"
DIFFICULTY: E
OBJECTIVE: Make physical contact with an attractive female's posterior (colloquially: "slap a girl's bum"). Contact must be deliberate and skin-to-skin or clothing-to-hand. Accidental brushing does not count.
TIME LIMIT: 24 HOURS
REWARD: +1 Level. +10 Aesthetic Points. +5 Charm.
FAILURE PENALTY: System deactivation for 30 days. Ring remains stuck.
Dorian blinked. Then he blinked again.
Slap a girl's bum? That was it? That was the universe's grand challenge for him?
His first instinct was disgust. It was pervy, juvenile, the kind of thing a desperate creep would do. But then the logical part of his brain—the part honed by years of self-loathing and entitlement—kicked in.
Attractive female. That could be anyone. Chloe. That blonde in his philosophy class. The tall one with the ponytail who works at the coffee cart.
His palm tingled at the thought. He looked down at his hand. The ring glinted dully in the evening light.
He had twenty-four hours. And he knew exactly where to start.
---
The coffee cart was parked outside the student union, as it always was at this hour. And behind it, as always, was Maya. Tall, ponytail, legs for days, with a smile she dispensed freely to every customer who walked up.
Dorian had bought coffee from her exactly twice. Both times, she'd said "Have a great day!" with the same bright enthusiasm she gave everyone. Both times, he'd walked away convinced she was secretly mocking him.
Today, he wasn't buying coffee.
He lurked behind a pillar for a good ten minutes, watching. The line ebbed and flowed. Maya was efficient, chatty, always leaning forward slightly to hand change to customers. That lean. That slight bend.
Dorian felt sweat trickle down his back.
You can do this. It's just a slap. A quick one. She'll think it's an accident. A clumsy fat guy lost his balance. Happens all the time.
He didn't believe that. But the system window was still hovering in the corner of his vision, a constant reminder. 24:00:00... 23:59:59... 23:59:58...
The line finally emptied. Maya turned to wipe down the counter, her back to him. Perfect. Defenseless. Presented like a gift.
Dorian took a breath. He adjusted his trajectory to walk past the cart, close behind her. Not too close. Just close enough. His hand twitched at his side.
Three steps. Two steps. One step.
His hand moved.
It was less of a slap and more of a clumsy, open-palmed pat. His meaty fingers made contact with the curve of her jeans with a soft thump.
Maya whirled around, coffee rag still in hand, her eyes wide. "What the—"
Dorian's brain, already short-circuiting, did the only thing it could. He pointed past her, toward the union doors. "Spider," he blurted. "Big one. On your... back. I got it."
Maya's expression shifted from shock to confusion to dawning horror. She twisted, trying to look at her own back. "A spider? Where?"
"It's gone," Dorian said quickly, already backing away. "Ran off. You're welcome."
He turned and walked—walked, not ran, because running would look guilty—toward the union doors. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest. His palm was on fire. He'd done it. He'd actually done it.
Behind him, he heard Maya mutter, "What the hell just happened?" But she didn't scream. She didn't call security. She just stood there, bewildered, as another customer walked up and she had to paste her smile back on.
Dorian made it inside the union, around a corner, and collapsed against a wall, breathing hard.
QUEST COMPLETE!
The blue screen flared to life, triumphant.
OBJECTIVE ACHIEVED: "ICE BREAKER"
REWARD PROCESSING...
LEVEL UP!
CONGRATULATIONS, HOST!
YOU HAVE REACHED LEVEL 1.
AESTHETIC ADJUSTMENTS IN PROGRESS...
The warmth came again, but stronger this time. It started in his chest and radiated outward, a pleasant, tingling heat that made his skin prickle. He felt it in his face first—a strange pulling, tightening sensation around his jaw. Then his stomach. The gut that had spilled over his belt for years seemed to... contract. Just slightly. Just enough that his pants felt a tiny bit looser.
He whipped out his phone, fumbling with it until the camera app opened. He stared at his own reflection.
His face was... different. Not dramatically. Not "movie star" different. But the puffiness under his eyes was gone. His skin looked clearer. His jawline, previously a vague concept, actually had a hint of definition. He looked like a slightly better version of himself. A version that had slept well and drank water and maybe gone for a jog once.
A slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face.
It worked. It actually worked.
NOTIFICATION: SIDE-EFFECT REGISTRY
HOST IS HEREBY INFORMED THAT EACH SUBSEQUENT LEVEL-UP MAY BE ACCOMPANIED BY MINOR PHYSICAL SIDE-EFFECTS.
SIDE-EFFECT FOR LEVEL 1:
GENITAL DIMENSIONS HAVE BEEN INCREASED BY 1.0 INCH.
Dorian read the words. Then he read them again.
His grin did not fade. If anything, it grew wider.
He looked down at himself. Then back at the screen. Then down again.
A sound escaped his throat—something between a chuckle and a gasp. For years, he'd endured the cruel jokes in the locker room. The snickers when he changed for gym class. The way guys like Tristan didn't even have to try, and girls like Chloe just knew.
But now? Now the universe was finally, finally paying him back.
"One inch," he whispered to himself, his voice full of wonder. "Just from level one."
He thought about level two. Level three. Level ten.
His grin turned almost maniacal.
Eat your heart out, Tristan.
He pushed off from the wall, standing a little taller. His reflection in the phone screen stared back at him—still fat, still ugly by conventional standards. But different. Better. And getting better still.
He glanced at the system window, still hovering.
CURRENT LEVEL: 1
NEXT LEVEL: 2
REQUIRED XP: 0/100
NEW QUESTS AVAILABLE? [CHECK]
Dorian's finger hovered over the option. His palm still tingled from Maya's jeans. His body still hummed with the afterglow of transformation. And somewhere below his belt, there was a new, unfamiliar weight that made him want to laugh out loud.
What would level two ask him to do? Grope someone? Steal a kiss? Whatever it was, he was ready.
He tapped [CHECK] .
The screen flickered.
DOWNLOADING NEXT QUEST...
And then the world went dark.
[END OF CHAPTER 1]