Chapter 1: The System's First Rule
The text on my phone screen was a jagged, glowing mess of green script, an alien alphabet I'd somehow learned to read.
> Target: Sarah, Class 23b. Affinity: 12% (Requires Correction).
> Rule 7: Thou shalt not speak of past romantic failures. Rule 8: Thou shalt not discuss your system.
I sighed, dropping the phone onto the cafe table. The last rule was the hardest. This "System," as it called itself, had been a part of my life since I turned 16, a digital ghost whispering romantic advice. It was a joke from a cruel universe, a cheat code for a game I was terrible at.
"You're making that face again," David said, his voice cutting through the cafe's chatter. He didn't have a system, or magic, or anything beyond a regular, normal life. "The one where you look like you just remembered you forgot to breathe for three days."
"It's nothing," I lied, pushing my coffee cup a few inches. The System pinged.
> Penalty: 10% Affinity Deduction (Trust-based Lie).
"No, it's not nothing. It's the same nothing you've been doing every time you're about to ask a girl out. The last time, it was a 'critical error' with a girl named Ngozi. Before that, it was a 'fatal exception' with Tolu."
I flinched. He was right. Every time I was on the verge of making a connection, the System would chime in with a new rule, a fresh penalty, or a sudden mission. My life felt like a video game with a broken manual.
"It's more complicated than that," I muttered, my gaze wandering past him to the cafe's large window. I saw a couple across the street, holding hands, laughing. They weren't checking a glowing screen for a percentage score. Their love wasn't regulated by rules and penalties.
"Complicated?" David laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "You overthink everything. That's the problem. You try to cultivate a relationship like it's a field of yams. You want to plan every step, every word, every look."
His words hit harder than he knew. He wasn't entirely wrong. The System had turned me into a strategic, calculating person. I wasn't myself anymore; I was a player, trying to level up my "Affinity" score.
"Maybe I just need a different approach," I said, a faint hope in my voice.
"Or maybe," he leaned in, his voice low and serious, "you need to throw away the whole idea of an 'approach.' You need to stop thinking and just feel. You're so worried about the destination that you've forgotten how to walk the path."
The System was quiet. For the first time, it didn't penalize me for the truth.
> Warning: Conflicting Ideology Detected.
> David's Rule: 'Trust the Process.' Affinity: -1.
I closed my eyes, a sense of hopelessness washing over me. Even my friend's simple, honest advice was a threat to the System. How could I ever find a real connection when my entire life was a set of contradictory rules? How could I find love when every step forward was a choice between my heart and a glowing, illogical screen?
The System's quiet hum felt like a silent challenge. I looked out the window again. The couple was still there, their world of natural, uncalculated love feeling a million miles away from my own. I knew then that my struggle wasn't just about finding a person; it was about reclaiming my own narrative from a force that was trying to write it for me.