The night wind was cool and quiet, but Ken's mind refused to rest. He'd barely gone two hundred steps down the moonlit road when the pink text shimmered back into existence beside him, pulsing smugly like a guilty conscience with LEDs.
He groaned. "Don't even start. I just survived death by affection. Give me five minutes of peace."
[Inactivity detected. Would you like a debrief on recent events?]
"No, I would like therapy," Ken snapped. "But sure, fine, let's talk about the part where I had to find a hidden off switch on a girl's spine. Did you make that, or were you just being creative with anatomy?"
[Clarification: Off switch was implemented as an emergency override by system design.]
"So you did make it."
[Affirmative. User lacked sufficient strength to escape by physical means and displayed rising arousal levels inconsistent with rational decision-making.]
Ken stopped in the middle of the road. "Excuse me?"
[Observation: Your resistance efficiency decreased 72% during forced contact. Conclusion: User was distracted and overly focused on the companion's breasts.]
Ken threw up his hands. "Oh, for—! I was dying! You try focusing while being bludgeoned with a pair of massive tits!"
[Statistically unlikely. System does not possess a body.]
He exhaled hard through his nose. "You're impossible."
[Correction: I am perfectly possible. You, on the other hand, are a miracle of continued survival.]
Ken muttered something that probably qualified as blasphemy and trudged on. "Fine, whatever. That's over. She's asleep, I'm alive, and you're—somehow—smug about all of it. Let's talk about something else. The points. What's the point of the points?"
The text blinked for a moment, as if savoring the chance to irritate him.
[Degeneracy Points: Numeric representation of user's questionable achievements.]
"I got that part. What do they do?"
[Primarily decorative.]
Ken blinked. "You're kidding."
[Clarification: Points may be exchanged for a limited selection of system-approved products.]
He frowned. "Such as?"
[Sample catalog: Scented soap, spare trousers, questionable literature, and one mystery box.]
Ken stopped walking. "Wait—scented soap?"
[Would you like to browse fragrances?]
A grin crept onto his face. "No, but you just gave me an idea. People love smelling good. I could sell that. Forget dragon hunting, I'll start a merchant empire!"
[Entrepreneurial ambition detected. Success probability: 4%.]
"Four percent's better than zero, you asshole."
[Acknowledged.]
Ken rubbed the back of his neck and kept walking. The moonlight stretched across the road ahead, silvering the edges of the grass. Behind him, the campfire was little more than an ember now, Alis still motionless beside it. He tried not to think about her waking up, about the conversation that was definitely going to ruin his morning.
He looked up at the sky, sighing. "So, any new quests or are you finally done torturing me for tonight?"
[New Quest Available: Secure a Home Base of Operations for Future Endeavors.]
Objective: Obtain or build a safe, private residence suitable for long-term use.
Reward: Starter Pack (finally).
Failure Penalty: Impotence (again).
Ken froze, then squinted at the text. "Wait, hold on. Starter pack? I get a starter pack now? You're telling me there was one all along?"
[Affirmative. Standard issue at the beginning of system integration.]
Ken's voice rose. "Then why didn't I get one at the beginning?!"
[Because it's more fun this way.]
He blinked. "Fun? FUN?! I almost died ten different ways, and you're holding out on me for fun?!"
The text pulsed once, smugly. [Correct.]
That was it. Ken absolutely lost it. He threw both arms into the air, yelling at the sky. "You sadistic pink glitch! You think this is entertainment? What are you, some cosmic YouTuber?!"
[Amusement level: high.]
"I can't believe this! You sit there handing out random quests like coupons, and I get—what?—the privilege of not dying creatively?!"
[Correct again.]
Ken stomped in a small, furious circle, muttering curses that would've made a sailor blush. Then he spun back toward the glowing text and took a swing at it. The System blinked away just before his fist connected.
"Stand still when I'm trying to punch you!"
[Note: Physical assault on user interface not permitted.]
"Permitted?!" Ken growled, swinging again at empty air. "You're not even here! You're a voice in my head with a graphics problem!"
[Clarification: You initiated dialogue.]
"Oh, shut up!" He dropped his arms, fuming, chest heaving. After a long moment, he just muttered, "I hate you."
[Emotional response logged: tantrum. Amusement increased.]
Ken glared upward. "Stop enjoying this."
[Denied.]
He clenched his jaw, forced himself to breathe, then grumbled, "Fine. Whatever. You win—for now."
[System always wins.]
Ken glared harder. "Keep telling yourself that, pink menace."
The text blinked smugly one last time before vanishing, leaving him alone under the silver light of the moon.
He sighed, adjusted his torn tunic, and started down the road again, mumbling, "Home base, starter pack, or bust."
Behind him, the last ember of the fire went out, and somewhere deep in his brain, a cheerful little chime whispered its approval.
[Quest Accepted: Begin Building Your Empire of Questionable Decisions.]
Ken snorted. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
And he trudged on into the night, half furious, half thrilled, already wondering—if the System thought this was "fun," what fresh hell the starter pack might contain.
Ken trudged down the moonlit road, every crunch of gravel underfoot a reminder that his life had somehow become a mix of bad luck, worse quests, and even worse cosmic commentary. The night was quiet, except for the sound of his grumbling.
After a while, curiosity clawed its way through his frustration. "Hey, System," he muttered. "How many of those shiny degeneracy points do I actually have now?"
The pink glow shimmered back into view.
[Current Balance: 770 Degeneracy Points.]
Ken stopped mid-step. "Seven hundred and seventy?! I've been through hell and somehow came out with a savings account!" He cracked a grin. "Maybe I can finally buy something useful."
[Optimism detected. Commencing disappointment.]
Ken narrowed his eyes. "That's never good."
A translucent list flickered to life before him:
___
Scented Soap (Rose Petal Romance) – 500 Points
Mystery Box (Contains: ???) – 200 Points
Spare Trousers (Stat +1 Confidence) – 1000 Points
Other Products: Locked. Rank too low.
___
Ken stared. "That's it? You weren't kidding when you said that."
[Correct.]
"Five hundred points for soap?! What's it made of, angel tears and gold flakes?"
[Organic ingredients. Handcrafted. Smells delightful.]
He threw his arms out. "It better do my taxes for that price!"
[Tax filing not supported.]
"And a thousand points for trousers? I could buy two pairs of legs for that!"
[Stat upgrade justifies price.]
Ken's eye twitched. "What kind of upgrade?"
[Confidence.]
He blinked. "Confidence? I don't need trousers for confidence! I'm already an expert in public embarrassment!"
[Statistically verified.]
Ken groaned and rubbed his temples. "Fine. The mystery box. What's in it?"
[Contents: Unknown.]
He squinted. "You don't even know?"
[System knows. User does not.]
"So… gambling."
[Engagement feature.]
Ken clenched his fists. "You're literally running a gatcha scheme!"
[Clarification: Technically yes.]
He threw his hands up, pacing in small furious circles. "I cannot believe this. You throw me into a pervert's nightmare world, make me risk life and dignity for points, and the best thing I can buy is overpriced soap?!"
[Affirmative. Limited-time offer.]
Ken froze, jaw hanging open. "Limited—? You're actually doing sales tactics now?!"
[Confirmed. Timer initiated: Sale ends in eight hours.]
He blinked. "You— you gave SOAP a countdown sale?"
[Marketing increases engagement.]
"Engage this!" Ken shouted, throwing his hands up at the glowing words. "What's next, buy two bars and get a bonus trauma point?!"
[Bundle deals are under consideration.]
He groaned, dragging both hands down his face. "I swear, if I ever meet the asshole who created you, I'm going to sell their soul for a refund."
[Refunds not supported.]
Ken started walking again, muttering under his breath. "You're lucky you don't have a body, because if you did, I'd wring its smug neck until it squeaked."
[Observation logged: Violent tendencies increasing. Emotional state: salty.]
"Salty?!" Ken snapped. "I'm not salty, I'm— okay, maybe a little salty! You've turned my life into a punchline!"
[Correction: Interactive experience.]
"Oh, I'll interact with you alright," he grumbled, kicking at a rock that skittered down the dirt road.
[Quest Progress Reminder: 0%. Suggestion: Acquire base of operations soon.]
Ken sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. House first, soap empire later. How hard can it be to find a place to sleep that doesn't involve flour sacks or homicidal women?"
[Historical data suggests: Very hard.]
He rolled his eyes. "Thank you for the optimism."
[You're welcome.]
As he trudged forward, the faint outline of the sleeping baker's daughter flashed across his mind. He stopped, groaning. "Wait, System — what about Alis?"
[Party Member: Alis — Status: Sleeping. Personality: Affectionate. Trait: Maternal Instinct (Temporarily Disabled).]
Ken blinked. "So what, she's part of the group now?"
[Correct. Party member added automatically.]
He rubbed his temples. "Fantastic. My first party member is a woman who tried to kill me with tits."
[Teamwork builds trust.]
"Teamwork builds therapy bills," Ken muttered. He looked back toward the direction of the campfire. "Fine. I can't just leave her passed out in a field. Come on, let's go fetch my disaster companion."
By the time he reached her, the fire was nothing but faint embers, painting her sleeping form in soft light. She looked peaceful — innocent, even. Ken knelt, sighed, and muttered, "If you wake up mid-carry and start another hugging protocol, I'm jumping into traffic."
He carefully scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder, ignoring the faint, warm breath against his neck. "There. Party member secured. Happy now, System?"
[Delighted. Group synergy increased by 15%.]
"Yeah, sure, synergy," he muttered, trudging back toward the road. His pulse spiked, memory flashing unhelpfully to the night before — the impossible warmth and the feel of her boobs.
He froze mid-step, face heating. "Oh no. No no no."
[Observation: Elevated heart rate detected.]
"Don't you dare—"
[Analysis: User is thinking about boobs.]
Ken nearly tripped. "I am NOT!"
[Denial logged. Confidence: 0%.]
"SHUT UP!"
[Request denied.]
He shook his head violently, trying to focus on the road instead of the memories trying to sabotage him. "You're sick, you know that?"
[Healthy diagnostic status confirmed.]
Ken groaned. "You're insufferable."
[Compliment detected.]
He grit his teeth and started walking faster, carrying Alis over his shoulder as the System continued to hum smugly in his periphery.
[Quest Progress Reminder: 2%. Suggestion: Increase pace.]
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Ken muttered. "House first, starter pack later. I swear if she wakes up right now, I'm throwing myself into the nearest ditch."
[Historical data suggests: you will survive.]
"Not the point!"
He stomped down the path, the distant lights of a town flickering in the dark. "Fine. Let's just find somewhere cheap and not cursed. Maybe a barn. Or a broom closet."
[Reminder: Objective requires privacy, security, and functionality for long-term residence.]
"Fine. No broom closets. Maybe an abandoned shack or a half-dead innkeeper willing to rent out a spare room."
[Or a graveyard, spacious and wuiet.]
Ken glared at the hovering text. "You want me to live in a graveyard?"
[Affordable.]
"I'm not sleeping next to corpses!"
[You've done worse.]
"That's beside the point!"
[Still true.]
Ken let out a long groan. "You know, I think I liked it better when you were threatening impotence instead of suggesting real estate options."
[Threat remains valid.]
He stopped. "Wait, what?"
[Failure penalty still active.]
He grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. Impotence. My favorite motivator."
[Clarification: Extreme testicular torsion variant now applied.]
Ken choked. "WHAT?!"
[Encouragement subroutine active.]
"Encouragement?! That's not encouragement, that's a war crime!"
[Motivation effective. Quest urgency increased.]
Ken stood frozen for a second, mouth opening and closing like a broken automaton. Then, with a strangled sound halfway between a scream and a laugh, he started running toward the distant town — Alis bouncing on his shoulder like an inconvenient sack of flour.
"Oh, sure! Great plan! Threaten the family jewels! That's motivational! Let's go find a house before my entire bloodline collapses!"
[Running detected. Quest Progress: 7%. Proud of you.]
"Shut up!"
[Affirmative.]
He kept sprinting down the road, lungs burning, legs aching, fueled by fear, rage, and sheer spite. The town loomed closer with every step, the promise of shelter — and a chance to finally punch the System in spirit — driving him onward.
As he stumbled across the bridge leading into the outskirts, the System chimed again, unbothered and far too cheerful.
[New Sub-Objective: Locate Housing Opportunities.]
[Tip: Avoid landlords with swords.]
Ken glared up at the glowing text, panting. "You think you're funny, don't you?"
[Absolutely.]
He groaned, muttering through gritted teeth. "One day, pink menace. One day…"
The System gave a friendly little chime that somehow sounded like laughter.
And under the pale light of dawn, Ken — exhausted, broke, carrying a ticking maternal time bomb over his shoulder — marched into town to begin the dumbest house-hunting quest in history.