Charlie settled into a seat near the back of the public bus, the worn cushions creaking under his weight. As usual, no one sat beside him. He glanced around, then shrugged. More room for me, he thought, a small attempt at optimism.
The System chimed, its voice clear in his mind. A positive outlook lightens even the heaviest burden.
Charlie rolled his eyes but cracked a faint smile. "Alright, Quote System. You're gonna have to do better than that."
The laser hair removal clinic was a modest building wedged between a bakery's warm aromas and a clothing store's bright window displays. Charlie took a deep breath, steeling himself, and stepped inside.
At the counter, a young woman glanced up from her phone. Her eyes widened for a split second, her thoughts racing. Oh God, this guy… if he wants a massage, I'm out. Panic flickered across her face, and she bolted to the back, calling, "Hey, Nick! There's a client, and, uh, he's… difficult!"
Moments later, a tall, muscular man emerged, his expression grim, braced for a problem. He sized Charlie up, his forced smile twitching. "H-Hello, uh, bro! How can I help you?"
Charlie blinked at the odd greeting but brushed it off. "Hi. I want to start laser hair removal."
Nick's thoughts screamed. She lied! I'm stuck with this guy! Outwardly, he nodded, his smile strained. "Cool, bro. Where do you want it done?"
Charlie hesitated, glancing at his hairy hands. "Torso and hands for now," he said, thinking, I'll do legs once I lose more weight.
Nick nodded briskly. "Got it. It's $50 per session. You'll need about five sessions, four to six weeks apart, to hit the hair growth cycles."
Charlie sighed, his eyes flicking to where the woman had vanished. "Fine." He pulled out his wallet, handing over the cash.
Nick gestured to a treatment room. "Follow me. Should take 30 to 40 minutes."
The session dragged on for a full hour, Charlie's thick hair turning the process into a grueling ordeal. Nick worked fast, but the sheer volume slowed him down. Charlie sat still, wincing occasionally but staying quiet, aware of his body's challenges.
When it was over, Charlie left, his shirt clinging to his freshly lasered torso. Nick slumped against the counter, looking like he'd survived a war. I didn't sign up for this, he thought, running a hand through his hair.
The woman peeked out, guilt on her face. "I'm sorry," she said softly.
Nick's eyes narrowed. "Tsk. You…" He raised a finger, ready to unload, then sighed, deflating. "Whatever. He wasn't bad. Tried to make it easy, actually. Knew he was hairy. Fat, too. Ugly body. But he didn't complain. Still, that much hair? Nearly killed me."
She blinked, surprised. "Really?"
Nick nodded grudgingly. "Yeah." A malicious grin spread. "But here's the deal: every tip you get this month? Mine. Unless…"
Her smirk faded. "Unless what?"
"Unless you treat him next time. Maybe throw in a massage, since you're so beautiful." He crossed his arms, grinning wider.
"Nick!" she hissed, face reddening. "Fine, you win."
Nick chuckled darkly. "Damn right."
Charlie slouched into his bus seat, exhausted. The workouts, the park boxing, the laser session—it was a lot. His body didn't ache as much, thanks to the System's stamina recovery, but his mind was fried. Just a quick gaming session when I get home, he thought.
Then it hit him. The height enhancement potion! He burst into his basement, calling, "System, where's that potion?"
A glowing vial materialized, shimmering faintly. Charlie snatched it and downed it in one gulp, smacking his lips. He waited, expectant. Seconds passed. A minute.
He frowned. "System, you lied?"
Read the description, Charlie. The potion gradually increases your height to 1.85 meters over three years.
"Three years?!" Charlie's voice cracked. "I wanted it now!"
Sudden physiological changes risk harm. Gradual adjustment ensures safety.
Charlie flopped onto the couch, groaning. "You're supposed to be some all-powerful System. Make it easy!"
The System's tone turned smug. I am a System with 'The' at the start of its name.
Charlie sat up, squinting. "What's that mean?"
Titles carry weight. There are many systems, but I am distinguished. Like 'The Honored One' among honored individuals.
"So… what's your name?" Charlie pressed, suspicious.
A pause. Revealing it may hinder your performance.
Charlie's brow furrowed. "Why? It's just a name!"
It reflects what lies ahead. Knowing it might… discourage you.
"Oh, great," Charlie muttered, leaning back. "Super ominous. Just tell me."
Not yet. Focus on your tasks.
Charlie grumbled, flopping down again. Probably something dumb like The Supreme Fancy Overlord System, he thought, but a knot of unease tightened in his chest. Whatever it was, it sounded heavy.
"Okay, if you won't tell me your name, can I get a title?" he asked, half-joking.
No. Titles are earned through accomplishments.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Show me the titles then."
Too many exist.
"Ugh!" Charlie flailed dramatically. "Just show me the ones with 'The' at the start, like you."
A chime rang, and a flood of pop-ups filled his vision, glowing with energy. Charlie's jaw dropped. "Holy… what is this?"
Titles scrolled endlessly, from epic to absurd:
The Unyielding Flame
The Eternal Wanderer
The Bearer of Shadows
The Clumsy Cook
The Reluctant Hero
The Godslayer
The Harbinger of Chaos
The Master of Ducks
Each had a description box labeled "???". Charlie tried to read one, frustrated. "What's with the question marks?"
Only the title's owner sees its effects. This applies to titles with 'The' at the start.
"So I can't know what they do unless I earn them? Why show me?!" Charlie snapped.
To motivate you.
Charlie clicked his tongue, gesturing at The Bringer of Socks. "Yeah, real motivating. Can't wait for that one."
Some titles intrigued him—The Void Whisperer, The Blade That Never Bends—but others baffled: The Chicken Whisperer, The Sweaty Legend. He closed the list, groaning. "Forget it. I'll earn one and pray it's not stupid."
Your titles will reflect your deeds. Earn them wisely.
Charlie glared at the ceiling. "If I get 'The Clumsy Cook,' we're done."
After a gaming session to unwind, the System reminded him of dinner. "Ugh, fine," Charlie muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen. He prepared grilled chicken wraps with avocado and sweet potatoes, his movements less clumsy, guided by the System's simulation. The aroma filled the house, and when his parents arrived, their tired faces lit up.
"Dinner's ready!" Charlie called, pride mingling with relief.
Howard sat, nodding approvingly. "Another day of cooking, son. Good to see you stepping up."
"It's great, honey," Marge added, but her smile faltered at Charlie's modest portion and the sad look in his eyes. "Is that… all you're eating? You okay?"
Charlie nodded quickly, shoving food in his mouth. "I'm fine."
Howard leaned forward, concerned. "If this is about your weight, don't starve yourself."
"Should I make bacon and eggs?" Marge offered. "You love that."
Charlie's mouth watered, the image of greasy bacon tempting him. But the System's warning flashed, and he shook his head. "No, I'm good," he said, voice tight. He cleared his plate and bolted to his room.
In bed, Charlie's stomach grumbled, but his resolve held. "Alright, System," he muttered. "Let's fight that guy again. I don't care if he's a perfect fighter. It's my dream, and I'm gonna win."
The ring materialized, the faceless behemoth looming opposite. Charlie clenched his fists, swallowing fear. "Alright, you bastard," he growled. "This is my dream, and I'm—"
The bell rang.
The man struck like lightning, a fist slamming into Charlie's gut. He doubled over, gasping, the air gone from his lungs. A jab to his jaw followed, pain exploding as he stumbled, tasting blood.
"F—k!" Charlie spat, raising shaky arms. The man swept his legs, sending him crashing to the mat. Pain radiated through his back.
Get up, the System urged.
Charlie pushed onto his knees, chest heaving. A knee to his ribs dropped him again, a cry tearing from his throat. "System, this is too much!"
Your opponent will not wait.
Charlie staggered up, sweat stinging his eyes. He dodged a punch, barely, and threw a wild swing, grazing the man's shoulder. It was like punching stone. An uppercut snapped Charlie's head back, and he collapsed.
The bell rang.
Charlie lay panting, vision swimming. "System… I can't… he broke my ribs!"
No bones are broken. It is pain, not injury. Stand.
Charlie groaned, smearing blood across his knuckles as he wiped his mouth. "Fine," he rasped, forcing himself up. "Again."
The second round was worse. Punches rained down, each a hammer blow. A kick buckled his leg, another cracked his ribs. Charlie's stamina crumbled, his body begging to quit.
When the final bell rang, he collapsed, spent. "You… suck…" he slurred to the System, darkness closing in.
Charlie woke with a gasp, clutching his chest. No bruises, no blood—just the familiar ache of yesterday's workout. "System," he growled, "I'm never beating that guy."
Every scar is a lesson, every struggle a step. Strength is forged.
Charlie flopped back, groaning. "Tell that to my dignity." But deep down, a spark of defiance flickered. He'd survived. Next time, he'd fight harder.