With a growing sense of dread, James immediately tapped into the system.
Maybe—just maybe—his dream had triggered the worst-case scenario.
Had it counted as... watching pornography?
"Damnit!"
James squirmed like a worm that came into contact with salt.
"GRRHHH"
He grunted, using his mouth to loosen up the tight mittens on his hands and eventually he broke free.
Still panting, he tapped his glabella. A familiar pink royal light shimmered in the air.
[DAILY MISSION CHECKLIST]
[ ] Do not watch pornography
[ ] Do not touch yourself indecently
__
Still incomplete.
"Haaah…"
He collapsed back into the bed, relief washing over him.
It seemed the system didn't punish dreams.
A small mercy.
For now, everything was still purely physical
James slowly got up, hands still bound awkwardly to his torso with belts.
He needed a knife. Or scissors. Or… something sharp. Anything to free himself from the agony of this sticky feeling.
He stood up walked towards the door and used his now free hand to turn the door knob. He bent his torso to just be able to open the door, his hands were still locked in place to his chest.
He slowly went down the stairs—one wrong move would mean him barreling down like a sack of potatoes.
He soon arrived at their kitchen....But there was a problem. A new enemy appeared.
The kitchen light was on.
James froze.
There was someone inside.
Now in turmoil he decided whether to confront his family members for assistance and face humiliation that was akin to his mother posting a hideous photo of him on Facebook and with the caption "My son ❤️",or hide and wait in the darkness until said person is gone, and do his business but the difficulty of freeing himself would only get harder.
No. He couldn't risk it.
Stealth mode: activated.
James thought of the latter. Hiding in the darkness—away from shame was the most appropriate thing to do. 1st of all no one would know of this incident but him. Secondly, even if cutting the belts took forever, it beat getting humiliated and the emotional trauma of being seen in his current state.
He slowly tiptoed backward, muscles twitching with each sticky shift in his underwear. Each move he made sent tingles throughout his system. Even James who was known to lock himself in his room and do 'business', was heavily disturbed by the sticky substance sticking on his underwear.
But fate wasn't done with him yet.
While he was doing this, a shadow from the kitchen appeared . James thought of running, but only doing so would cause sound because of his weight and size thus causing the whole family to know.
As James was thinking of his next course of action, a figure emerged from the kitchen shadows.
Pale eyes. Platinum-blond hair.
"AHHH ITS THE HOMEWORK MONSTER!"
Saul immediately ran towards the bedroom of his parents to alert them. The MOM protocol.
"NO—WAIT—SAUL!!"
James reached out, but it was too late.
Defeated and desperate, James did the only thing he could do:
Run.
Barreling into the kitchen, he fumbled for the nearest sharp object—a steak knife—and bolted for the bathroom.
He didn't even look back.
All that mattered now was escaping before someone walked in and saw him like this.
A sweaty, tied-up teenager sprinting with a knife in one hand and shame in the other.
James slammed the bathroom door shut behind him and immediately locked it.
Click.
Silence. Blessed, bathroom silence.
He let out a shaky breath and turned toward the mirror.
There he was.
A sweaty teenager, hair matted to his forehead, eyeglasses that stuck to his nose, face red, one arm pinned tightly to his chest with loops of a leather belt—and in his free hand, a steak knife.
He looked like a low-budget hostage victim.
"Let's get this over with…"
He sat on the toilet lid, awkwardly hunched over, and began sawing away at the belt with the knife—back and forth, slow and steady. His sweaty hand slipped once or twice, scraping skin, but he gritted his teeth and kept at it.
The blade wasn't exactly sharp, more suited for meat than leather, and definitely not made for one-handed surgery.
Time ticked by.
Back and forth.
Forth and back.
Scccck. Scccch. Scccch.
The room was warm, humid from earlier showers, and the smell of sweat and shame was inescapable.
James groaned.
"This is what rock bottom looks like, huh…"
His wrist burned. The belt frayed. His boxers clung to him like a clingy ex.
Every now and then, he froze—thinking he heard footsteps outside the door.
But each time, it was just the house settling or his paranoia turning on him.
Sccccch. Scccch. Snap.
Finally, with a small crack, one of the belt loops broke.
"YES!"
He pulled his arm free with an audible sigh of victory.
But celebration was short-lived. He immediately tossed the knife into the sink and pulled his now-loose shirt over his head, grimacing as the cold air kissed his damp skin.
Then came the main event.
He peeled off his underwear—slowly, reluctantly—and turned toward the shower like a battle-worn soldier heading back into war.
The water sputtered to life. Lukewarm. Almost cold.
He stepped in, grunting as the water hit sticky skin.
"New me, huh…?"
He chuckled, hollow and tired.
It was already dawn.
Then, as the water washed his sticky situation, a familiar chime rang in his ears.
[Daily Mission Completed]
[✔] Do not watch pornography
[✔] Do not touch yourself indecently
Reward Unlocked:
+1 Willpower
+1 Dexterity (Knife Mastery: Rookie Tier)
+2 Stealth
+1 Reputation with: Saul
"…What the hell is that last one?"
___
James exited the bathroom like a trained ninja, minus the grace, plus a lot of moisture.
He darted down the hallway, half-naked and damp, before launching his sticky underwear into the laundry chute like it was radioactive.
Thunk.
"Rest in peace, children," he muttered.
In his room, he changed into fresh clothes, wiped himself down with a towel, and collapsed into bed, barely sparing a thought for the chaos of the day.
Sleep took him quickly.
---
The day came without Summer or Valentina in sight.
This time, instead of his usual jog, James was cornered by his mother—who dragged him, no excuses accepted, to the local market.
"You're not doing cardio in those beat up shoes again," she said sternly, holding up a pair of shoes like a weapon.
An hour and several awkward try-ons later, James walked out with new running shoes and a stack of sweat-absorbent shirts—because, frankly, the old him could flood a small basin with a single jump.
"Damn walking sponge," James muttered under his breath.
But the gear helped. He completed his workouts, runs and missions with less mess, and the system chimed pleasantly with each ticked box.
Now, lying on his back in bed, the fan humming softly above him, James texted Summer.
Tomorrow was a big day—his first-ever job.
James [9:12 PM]:
' Got new shoes.
Hope I don't mess up tomorrow. First day of work.
Nervous but kinda excited.'
He stared at the screen, waiting. Then smiled faintly as her reply popped up.
Summer [9:13 PM]:
' You'll do great, dummy.
Just don't walk around naked 😆'
James blinked.
Then turned red.
A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.
"…She doesn't know, right?"