The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting a dull, steady hum through the room. I sighed, sinking deeper into my chair. I had just finished running debugging programs for one of the major games the company was developing—yet again, I had drawn the short straw, assigned the most tedious and time-consuming parts of the job. As if that weren't enough, moments after finishing, I was summoned to my boss's office. Apparently, one of the top 10 games currently in testing had encountered a major glitch, and who else but me was tasked with patching it up?
I leaned back in my chair, staring blankly at the ceiling, my thoughts drifting. After a few seconds, I rubbed my eyes, pushed my hair out of my face, and quickly tied it up into a messy ponytail. I powered up my computer and logged in, my inbox greeting me with over 30 new emails. But the one I was looking for was the task my boss had assigned: "Harem Game." Of course, that was the title—a super generic, borderline ridiculous name that made me want to roll my eyes.
I glanced around my desk, which was cluttered with half-drunk coffee cups, programming journals, and scattered stacks of paper. It was a mess—my mess—and yet I couldn't bring myself to care. Opening my phone for a quick moment, I half-hoped for a message, though realistically, I knew there wouldn't be anything. And as expected, there wasn't. But just as I was about to lock the screen, a notification pinged:
[Deadline Reminder: Patch submission due at 9 p.m., day after tomorrow.]
"Right," I muttered, tossing my phone aside. "Guess it's time to get to work."
I cracked my knuckles and started the application. No surprise—it was glitching, as expected. It was just another task to add to the growing list of things that I would solve, and probably not be appreciated for. At 25, I had imagined life would look a bit different—maybe a stable job with a fulfilling career, or even a family, but here I was, trapped in a cycle of debugging for a company that couldn't care less about its employees. Still, it paid the bills, so I pushed the thought aside.
I stretched, reaching for the vending machine coffee I had grown so accustomed to. The bitter taste of the drink had long ago lost its edge, a necessity for surviving the long, soul-draining hours in this place. And it wasn't as if I was here to make friends—no, I was just another cog in the machine, alone and unnoticed.
As the scenery loaded, an inexplicable force washed over me. It was something similar to gravity but far more suffocating. My body felt heavy—so much so that I imagined my weight had quadrupled, dragging me down toward some dark, bottomless abyss. The fluorescent lights above flickered violently, and everything around me began to warp, the world shifting like a badly-tuned radio station.
In the blink of an eye, I was no longer sitting at my cluttered desk in grey work pants and a blazer, but standing in the middle of a vibrant, picturesque meadow. The change was jarring—an idyllic landscape that almost felt too perfect to be real.
I glanced at my hands. They were no longer the long, bony fingers of someone who spent hours typing at a desk, but soft and feminine, with pale pink bases and white tips. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging it toward my face to examine the change. It now fell in perfect beach waves, some strands braided and swept behind, the rich brown of my hair lightened by subtle highlights.
I stood up, only to be met with the overwhelming weight that seemed to hold me in place. Looking down, I saw a large dress enveloping my body—an off-the-shoulder creation with delicate ruffles at the top. The fabric was white, decorated with gold patterns that shimmered in the sunlight. At my neck hung a small necklace with a tiny sword suspended from the golden chain. Almost instinctively, I reached up to touch it, and as soon as my fingers brushed the sword, a voice echoed in my head.
[Welcome, Player.]
The words didn't come from the air around me—they came from inside my head. Cold and clinical, the voice had no warmth, no hint of humanity.
I froze, spinning on my heels to search for the source. "Who's there?" I demanded. "What kind of prank is this? Show yourself! What do you mean by system and administrator?"
The voice, unbothered by my questions, continued.
[You have been selected as the administrator for the simulation game Harem Game. Severe anomalies have been detected, and your task is to restore the narrative to prevent total collapse.]
I blinked, my brain refusing to keep up. "Simulation? Anomalies? You're telling me this is some kind of… game?" A laugh bubbled out of me, shaky and forced. "Okay, good one. Where are the cameras?"
[Refusal to participate will result in the collapse of the simulation, including the Player's existence. Do you wish to continue?]
The laugh caught in my throat. "Collapse? You mean I'll die if I don't… play along?"
The voice didn't reply this time, the silence hanging heavily in the air. My pulse quickened as the gravity of its words settled in. I opened my mouth to argue, but no sound came out.
"This can't be happening," I muttered, more to myself than to the voice.
[Task 1: Navigate to the nearest settlement and identify the initial anomaly. Assistance will be provided once the first objective is completed.]
A glowing panel materialized in front of me, the words "Task 1" glaring in bold, unyielding letters. I reached out hesitantly, but my hand passed through it like mist.
I let out a shaky breath, raking my fingers through my hair. "Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll play your stupid game. For now. But you better have a way to send me back home."
The panel flickered once, then disappeared. The voice remained silent, leaving me alone in the too-perfect meadow.
With a reluctant sigh, I took my first step forward. "Let's just get this over with."
I stood up, brushing the dust off my dress. The heavy fabric swayed with my movements, but its weight made every step a challenge. The bodice was so tight it felt like it was squeezing the air out of me. I glanced around the meadow, an expanse of unnatural beauty stretching in every direction. The flowers bloomed in vibrant hues, too saturated to feel real, and the grass looked like it had been painted with a perfect gradient of green.
I squinted against the overwhelming brightness, trying to make sense of my surroundings. For a moment, everything seemed fine—until it wasn't.
The meadow flickered.
The vibrant flowers dulled, their petals glitching as if pixels on a broken screen. The trees twisted unnaturally, bending in impossible ways, their outlines warping like ripples in water.
"What… was that?" I whispered, my voice trembling. The silence of the meadow was oppressive, amplifying the unease crawling up my spine. A glitch.
I continued forward, forcing my legs to move despite the growing unease. The vibrant façade of the meadow felt more fragile with each step. That's when I noticed a figure in the distance—a farmer hunched over, tending to crops. Relief flooded through me. Finally, another person.
"Hello? Excuse me!" I called out, waving a hand.
The man didn't respond. He didn't even flinch.
I quickened my pace, my initial relief morphing into unease. As I got closer, I noticed his movements. They were… wrong. Repetitive. Watering the crops. Wiping his brow. Watering. Wiping his brow. Over and over, an endless loop.
"Hello?" I said again, louder this time, waving both arms. The farmer didn't acknowledge me. Instead, his form shimmered, static rippling through him like an old TV screen.
And then, that voice returned.
[The system has detected a minor instability. Proceed with caution.]
This wasn't just a game with bugs. My stomach twisted as the truth settled in. "This isn't just a game that needs fixing," I muttered, stepping back. "It's falling apart. At the seams."
The farmer's figure glitched violently, bending and distorting before vanishing altogether, leaving behind nothing but a rusted watering can.
I stared at the spot where he'd been, heart pounding in my chest. Whatever this world was, it was breaking, and I was stuck in the middle of it.
The flickering stopped as abruptly as it had started, leaving me standing alone in an eerily empty farm. The silence pressed in, and I instinctively tried to move, to run—but my feet felt rooted to the ground. Just as I managed to steady myself, a loud crash echoed across the barren expanse.
Startled, I whipped my head toward the noise. Another glitch, I thought, bracing myself. But as I stumbled forward—nearly tripping over the absurdly long hem of my gown for the hundredth time—I found something entirely unexpected.
A man.
Or rather, a man entangled in a bush, looking as though he had lost a fight with it. Twigs jutted out of his tousled hair, and his once-pristine clothes were streaked with dirt and dust. He was muttering something unintelligible as he tried to untangle himself from the shrub's stubborn grasp.
"First glitching meadows, then disappearing farmers, and now… this?" I muttered, staring at the sight before me. "A man who appears out of thin air, mid-battle with a bush."
The man froze and glanced up, his piercing blue-grey eyes locking onto mine. They were striking, almost otherworldly—if only the rest of him matched the dramatic impression. For a fleeting second, it seemed like he was about to say something profound.
And then he sneezed.
A loud, graceless sneeze that echoed across the farm.
"Pollen allergies," he grumbled, rubbing his nose with a grimace. "You'd think after decades I'd be used to this by now."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Decades? How old are you?"
He ignored my question entirely, brushing himself off and tugging at the twigs in his hair. "What are you doing here? You don't look like you belong."
"Oh, and you do?" I shot back, gesturing to the branch still lodged in his messy hair.
He frowned, pulling it out and inspecting it like it was somehow the bush's fault. "This," he declared, "is part of my character. Not that you'd understand."
I snorted, unable to stop myself. "Sure it is."
Before he could respond, the now-familiar system voice chimed in:
[New objective: Establish contact with Subject Asher Calloway. Observe his behavior and assess deviation from the narrative.]
Asher tilted his head, clearly unaware of the voice. "You're a strange one," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. "Just try not to get in my way, all right? Unlike you, I have important matters to attend to."
He turned on his heel and marched off—though his "grand exit" was promptly undermined by his soiled shoes slipping on the dirt. He stumbled, recovered, and muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he disappeared into the distance.
I stood there, stunned. This was the male lead? The famed Asher Calloway, the heart-stealer? The man with twigs in his hair and dirt-streaked shoes?
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief.