John's brow furrowed in confusion as he scrambled to his feet, his heart still pounding from the shock. "What the hell is this screen?" he muttered, brushing off his jeans.
Moments ago, he'd been slouched in front of his computer, indulging in a hentai video, his hand inching toward his waistband when, bam! a glowing panel materialized out of thin air, hovering right in front of his face. The sudden flash of light had startled him so badly that he'd toppled backward off his creaky chair, landing in an undignified heap on the worn carpet of his tiny apartment.
He rubbed his sore backside, squinting at the translucent screen floating before him. The words shimmered in bold, neon-blue text, like something ripped straight out of a sci-fi movie. "Hentai Loot System?" he read aloud, his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity. He patted his butt again, wincing slightly, and leaned closer to the screen, as if proximity might make it less bizarre.
The panel's message was clear and oddly enticing: [Earn money and loot boxes by completing system missions.] Below that, a single task glowed in bright, almost mocking letters:
[Current Mission: Slap your landowner on the ass. Mission Reward: $1000.]
John's jaw dropped. "What the hell?" he whispered, his mind racing. He'd read about systems like this in his favorite webtoons and light novels—mysterious interfaces that granted their users wealth, power, and sometimes even supernatural abilities. But those were just stories, right? Fantasies for guys like him who spent too much time online, dreaming of a life beyond their cramped apartments and dead-end jobs. Could this actually be real?
His eyes widened, a spark of excitement igniting in his chest. "No way," he said, a grin creeping across his face. "I've got to test this out!" The idea was absurd, thrilling, and terrifying all at once. A thousand dollars for a single slap? That was more than his monthly rent! He could pay off his overdue bills, maybe even treat himself to something other than instant ramen for once.
John paced his cluttered room, his sneakers scuffing against the threadbare rug. Posters of anime girls and gaming consoles lined the walls, a testament to his escapist hobbies. He grabbed a crumpled T-shirt from the floor, yanked it over his head, and slipped into a pair of sneakers. His heart thrummed with a mix of adrenaline and nerves as he headed for the door. "Okay, system," he muttered, glancing at the still-hovering panel. "Let's see if you're legit."
But as he stepped into the dimly lit hallway of his apartment complex, doubt crept in. "What kind of mission is this?" he mumbled, swallowing hard. "Slap the landowner's ass? That's, like, insane for a first mission!" His palms grew sweaty as he imagined the logistics. Just walk up to someone and… smack them? On the butt? The absurdity of it made his head spin.
And not just anyone—his landowner, Stella. The thought of her sent a shiver down his spine. Stella was no ordinary woman. A widow in her mid-thirties, she owned the entire seven-story apartment complex, ruling it with an iron grip and a razor-sharp tongue. She was undeniably gorgeous—curves that could stop traffic, long auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders, and a face that could've graced magazine covers. But her beauty was overshadowed by her demeanor. Stella was a devil in human form, her every word dripping with condescension. John recalled the time a tenant had nervously asked her out; she'd slapped him so hard the sound echoed through the lobby, leaving the poor guy red-faced and humiliated.
John paused in the hallway, his sneakers squeaking against the chipped linoleum. "She's terrifying," he muttered, picturing her piercing green eyes and the way she always seemed to look right through him. "Beautiful, sure, but dangerous. Like a venomous snake in a silk dress." He gulped, his throat dry. "How am I supposed to just… slap her? And on the ass? She'll kill me. Or worse, call the cops."
He leaned against the wall, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to retreat to the safety of his apartment, to dismiss the screen as some kind of prank or hallucination. Maybe he'd fallen asleep during the hentai video and this was all a weird dream. But the memory of those novels and comics flooded back—stories of ordinary guys transformed into legends by mysterious systems. Wealth, power, fame… it was all within reach if he could just take the leap. "This could change my life," he said, clenching his fists. "I can't chicken out now."
With renewed determination, he straightened up. "What's the worst that could happen?" he reasoned, though his voice wavered. "She calls the cops? Kicks me out? Fine. But if this system is real, one day I'll be untouchable. Super rich, super powerful. Great risks, great rewards, right?" He nodded to himself, psyching himself up. "I've got this."
John's apartment was on the seventh floor, and Stella's office and personal residence were on the ground floor. He headed for the elevator, his heart pounding louder with each step. The hallway smelled faintly of mildew and cheap air freshener, a reminder of the building's age and Stella's reluctance to invest in upgrades. As he pressed the elevator button, he tried to strategize. "Maybe I can make it quick," he thought. "Sneak up, slap, and run. Or… maybe I can play it off as an accident?" The absurdity of the situation made him chuckle nervously.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. John froze. There, standing right in front of him, was Stella herself. His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. She was waiting for the elevator, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression one of barely concealed annoyance. Her high-waisted pleated skirt hugged her curves, revealing smooth, alabaster thighs that gleamed under the fluorescent lights. Her blouse strained slightly against her ample chest, and her sharp features were set in a familiar sneer. Even in her mid-thirties, she exuded a commanding presence, like a queen who knew her subjects were beneath her.
"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna step out?" she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. Her green eyes bored into him, and John felt his knees wobble.
"Uh… I, um…" He forced a nervous chuckle, his mind scrambling for an excuse. "Actually, I forgot my wallet in my room, so I gotta go back." He stepped backward into the elevator, his face flushing under her scrutiny.
Stella snorted, stepping inside with a grace that belied her irritation. "Pathetic," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. The word stung, and John's jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the floor.
He can't do anything to her, as she was the owner of this apartment and he has previously been late on his rent many times.
The elevator doors closed with a soft ding, trapping them in the small, mirrored space. John's gaze flickered to Stella, who stood with her back to him, her arms still crossed. Her skirt accentuated her curves, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes landed on her… well, her target area. His heart thudded so loudly he was sure she could hear it. "I have to do this," he thought, his resolve hardening. "This is my chance."
"Your rent is due in five days," Stella said suddenly, her voice cold and cutting. She didn't even bother to turn around. "If you don't pay on time, don't expect me to waste my energy throwing you out. Do it yourself."
John's fists clenched at his sides, her condescending tone igniting a spark of anger. "I still have five days," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt.
Stella scoffed. "Five days, and then you'd better not show your face without the money." Her words were laced with disdain, as if he were nothing more than a nuisance.
The anger bubbled hotter in John's chest. "Who does she think she is?" he thought. "Talking to me like I'm trash. I'll show her." The mission suddenly felt less like a reckless gamble and more like a chance to prove himself. He took a deep breath, his mind racing for a way to pull this off without getting slapped into next week.
Then, inspiration struck. "Look, a bug!" he blurted, pointing at the floor.
Stella let out a high-pitched squeal, her composure shattering. "Where? Where?!" She spun around, her eyes darting frantically as she lifted one foot, then the other, searching for the nonexistent insect.
"On your leg!" John said, bending down as if to inspect. His eyes caught a glimpse of her black lace lingerie beneath the skirt, and his face burned red. "Now or never," he thought. With his heart hammering and adrenaline surging, he swung his hand and delivered a firm, resounding slap to her backside.
The sound echoed in the confined space of the elevator, and time seemed to freeze.