Ken Ryker never believed in emotions. They were merely liabilities on a balance sheet, and his sheet was impeccably perfect.
At this moment, he sat in a conference room on the top floor of the Oracle tower, a space as sterile as an operating room. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city skyline sprawled beneath him. Inside, the air was as cold as a knife's edge.
"Mr. Clayton," Ken Ryker's voice was devoid of any inflection, like a precisely cut block of ice. "You've worked at Oracle for twenty years, starting from the bottom. Your contributions have been significant."
The veteran employee, a man nearing sixty, flushed red with excitement, assuming this was a commendation for his loyalty. He was just about to pledge his allegiance anew when Ken Ryker's next sentence plunged him into an icy abyss.
"However, your loyalty has too high a depreciation rate. Last quarter, the 'Ark' project you managed saw a 0.5% decline in profit margins. On my ledger, that is an unforgivable dereliction of duty." He lifted his eyes, his deep-set gaze holding not anger, but the absolute calm of a surgeon examining necrotic tissue. "As of now, you're fired."
There was no shouting, no argument. Only a dead silence. The color drained from Mr. Clayton's face, his lips trembling, but he couldn't utter a single word. In Ken Ryker's world, people weren't people; they were walking assets. Loyalty was a contract, emotion was a risk, and love was an illusion only the weak indulged in. This was his creed, the very foundation upon which he had built his business empire.
The meeting ended. He walked out of the conference room, his face an emotionless mask, the executives trailing behind him like frightened ghosts. His private elevator descended smoothly, reflecting his tall, imposing figure—a bespoke suit, an immaculate hairstyle, and a handsome face utterly devoid of warmth.
Buzz—
His phone vibrated softly. It was an encrypted message from his chief secretary: "Sir, the PeopleSoft acquisition is finalized. The founder was buried in debt and committed suicide by jumping off a building."
Ken Ryker didn't even bat an eye. His finger tapped the screen, sending a one-word reply: "Noted."
PeopleSoft, a rival that had been riding high just last month, was now nothing more than an insignificant new piece on the map of his empire. As for the founder's life or death, what did it have to do with him? Business was a zero-sum game. The winner takes all.
The elevator doors slid open. A black Maybach waited silently downstairs. A bodyguard respectfully opened the door for him. He ducked inside, into the climate-controlled 72-degree air and the faint scent of premium leather.
Just as the door was about to close, his heart—a fortress built of data and logic—gave a sudden, inexplicable throb. A strange, ominous premonition seized him. He instinctively looked up and saw, through the window, a mother on the street corner, holding her child and smiling gently.
That smile was so warm it was almost blinding.
In that instant, the world seemed to shift into slow motion. A deafening roar tore through the air. An out-of-control semi-truck, like a rampaging steel beast, smashed through the guardrail and, with a brutal and determined finality, slammed into his Maybach.
The violent impact threw him from his seat. The reinforced chassis twisted and buckled before his eyes. Shards of glass flew like a torrential downpour, and the shriek of grinding metal pierced his eardrums. In the final second of his consciousness, the last thing he saw was the face in the truck's cab, a face twisted by hatred. It was the son of the PeopleSoft founder.
So, this "liability" called emotion… it really could lead to a fatal reckoning.
This was the last, cold, and clear thought that Ken Ryker, the business tyrant, left to the world.
There was no expected darkness, no legendary heaven or hell.
Ken Ryker awoke to a deafening roar. It was as if a thousand engines had started up simultaneously right next to his ear, threatening to split his head open. Then came the flood of scents. The air was thick with the smell of dust baking in the sun, the old aroma of wooden floors, the soft scent of textile fibers… countless odors he had never noticed before were now being force-fed into his nostrils like a dense encyclopedia.
He tried to speak, to demand where he was, but what came out of his throat was a weak, kittenish—
"Meow?"
…What was that?
He tried to stand, only to find his body completely disobedient. He struggled, his limbs clumsily scraping against the floor, and finally collapsed in a most undignified heap. Horrified, he looked down. What met his eyes was not his pair of expensive leather shoes, but… a pair of fluffy, black paws with pink pads.
A chill shot up his spine and exploded in his skull.
He stumbled towards a nearby object gleaming with a metallic sheen—it looked like a trash can. With all his might, he placed his front paws on the cold surface, managed to prop himself up, and saw his reflection.
It was… a tiny, black, fluffy ball, no bigger than his palm. A pair of emerald-green eyes stared back, filled with a very human shock and disbelief. A long, thin tail, as if with a mind of its own, twitched anxiously behind him.
He, Ken Ryker, had become a cat.
A weak, helpless… black kitten that could barely even stand.
"No! This is impossible!"
His mind screamed, but the sound that emerged was still that ridiculous "meow." The violent collision of reason and reality nearly made him break down. His brain, so accustomed to control and calculation, was now being assaulted by unfamiliar instincts. He saw dust motes dancing in a sunbeam and felt an absurd, uncontrollable urge to pounce on them.
No, calm down! Analyze the situation! Ken Ryker forced his CEO brain to function. Was this a kidnapping? A hallucination? Or some kind of high-tech prank?
Just as he was spiraling into a frantic self-interrogation, a cold, emotionless, mechanical voice sounded directly in his mind.
[Villain Redemption System has been activated.]
[Host Bound: Ken Ryker.]
[Character Role: Villain (Trainee).]
A semi-transparent blue screen materialized before Ken Ryker's feline eyes. The font on it shimmered with a fantastical glow, yet the interface design possessed a cold, corporate aesthetic he was all too familiar with.
"Who are you?" he asked in his mind.
[This system is a trans-dimensional management tool used to maintain narrative equilibrium.] The voice remained flat. [A fatal bug has been detected in the destiny of this world's 'heroine,' Anastasia Steele. If she forms a romantic relationship with any of the male leads, it will directly trigger the world's destruction. After calculation, Host Ken Ryker, due to the massive amount of 'karma' accumulated in your past life, perfectly fits the 'Villain' character template. You have been recruited for this purpose.]
Ken Ryker almost scoffed, if he could. "Recruited? I refuse."
[Refusal is invalid.]
A new window popped up on the system interface, exuding an air of "the company reserves the right of final interpretation."
[Your mission is not to harm the heroine, but to act as her destined villain, creating emotional obstacles for her to correct her destructive fate. In short: stop her from falling in love with any male character.]
This was the most preposterous mission in the world! He, Ken Ryker, who had dedicated his life to destroying rival companies, was now supposed to meddle in some strange woman's love life?
As if in response to his disdain, the system neatly laid out his new "career" plan with a familiar, ruthless efficiency.
Host Name: Ken Ryker (Codename: Sootball) Current Form: Black Cat (Mundane Species) Primary Objective: Prevent the heroine from forming a romantic relationship with any designated [Admirer]. Her affection level must not exceed 50.
Mission Currency: Villain Points (VP). The host can use VP to purchase various magical items. Failure Penalty: The system will execute a "pain simulation," with intensity proportional to the severity of the mission failure. If the host fails three consecutive missions, he will be permanently locked in his current feline form.
Ken Ryker scoffed at the so-called "magical items," until his gaze swept across the list of available goods and stopped on a prohibitively expensive, grayed-out icon—[The Mirror of Origin]. Item description: Consumes a massive amount of Villain Points. Allows the host to transform into human form. Those last few words made his heart pound. It meant he had a chance to become human again, but only if... he completed these mind-numbingly boring tasks.
This system was just like another version of himself. Cold, efficient, results-oriented, unconcerned with process or emotion. It was treating him the exact same way he used to treat his subordinates. The irony was suffocating.
While Ken Ryker was still processing this nightmarish reality, the apartment door clicked open.
A girl walked in.
She was wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, her long hair tied back in a casual ponytail. She looked tired, her shoulders slumped slightly, but her eyes were as clean and bright as morning dew.
This is… Anastasia Steele? The system's data flashed through Ken Ryker's mind. His analytical brain kicked in automatically: Inefficient, dressed casually, poor control of facial expressions. An utterly unremarkable target.
Anastasia Steele spotted the small, trembling black kitten huddled in the corner the moment she walked in. A look of delight instantly bloomed on her weary face, as if all her fatigue had been swept away.
"Oh, you adorable little thing! Where did you come from?"
She approached cautiously, crouched down, and reached out a slender finger, intending to tap Ken Ryker on the forehead.
Ken Ryker instinctively recoiled, a threatening hiss escaping his throat that, to his own ears, sounded more like a leaking balloon. When her finger still landed gently on the fluff of his head, he irritably raised a paw and swiped at her—missing completely.
The humiliation! He, Ken Ryker, had been reduced to an attack so pathetically weak!
His resistance seemed to have zero deterrent effect; in fact, it amused the woman before him. "Ooh, you're a little firecracker, aren't you!" she chuckled, retracting her hand to give him some space.
This was a new kind of hell. His dignity was being ground to dust by this small, furry body.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Anastasia got up to answer it. Standing outside was a man in a sharp suit, holding a bouquet of vibrant red roses, a flawless, elite smile plastered on his face. From any angle, he was a perfect, highly threatening romantic rival.
Almost simultaneously, an alarm blared in Ken Ryker's mind.
[Ding! New mission issued: 'Operation: First Impression Destruction.']
[Objective: Prevent the admirer [Christian Grey] from increasing the heroine's affection level.]
[Time Limit: 1 hour.]
[Mission Reward: 20 VP.]
Ken Ryker's emerald eyes narrowed instantly.
Excellent. Let the games begin.
As a former king of commerce, Ken Ryker knew that the most brilliant attacks weren't about brute force, but about making your opponent self-destruct on their home turf. He calmly observed Christian Grey, analyzing him like a target company ripe for acquisition, searching for his most vulnerable financial loophole.
Christian Grey smiled as he entered the living room, casually draping an expensive coat over the back of the sofa before presenting the flowers to Anastasia. The two began to talk, while Ken Ryker moved like a silent black shadow, slipping noiselessly to the side of the sofa.
When Anastasia turned to get some water, Christian Grey relaxed back against the cushions, letting one hand rest casually on the armrest.
Now.
Ken Ryker shot forward like a bolt of black lightning. He made no sound, simply using all his strength to extend his tiny claws and slash viciously at the hand wearing the expensive watch.
"Hiss—!" Christian sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively jerking his hand back.
This was the moment Ken Ryker had been waiting for.
The instant Christian's hand swung, Ken Ryker let out a shriek so shrill it could have shattered glass. He threw his tiny body backward, crashing into the corner of the coffee table at an exaggerated angle before hitting the floor with a heavy thud.
It all happened in a flash.
"Oh my god!" Anastasia rushed out with a glass of water, only to see the scene: Christian Grey clutching his bleeding hand, and the poor little black kitten, curled up motionless on the floor as if it had stopped breathing.
"What… what did you do to him?!" Her voice trembled with shock.
"I didn't do anything! It attacked me first!" Christian was both stunned and furious, trying to explain, but his defense seemed pathetically feeble in the face of the "carnage" before them.
Just then, Ken Ryker "weakly" stirred on the floor. He painstakingly lifted his head, looked at Anastasia with those emerald eyes brimming with "terror" and "grievance," and then… began to limp, dragging one of his hind legs while letting out pathetic little whimpers.
It was an Oscar-worthy performance.
Anastasia's heart was instantly squeezed. She rushed over, carefully scooping the "critically injured" kitten into her arms, and glared at Christian as if he were a monster. "He's so tiny, what could he possibly do to you? How could you be so rough with a little kitten!"
Christian's face turned beet red. He looked from the scratches on his hand to the "victim" trembling in Anastasia's arms—who was secretly peeking at him with one eye—and was utterly speechless. He wanted to explain, but any words would now sound foolish and cruel.
Finally, in a dead silence, Christian left the apartment in disgrace. Before he left, he shot a venomous glare at the black cat. The cat immediately buried its head in Anastasia's arms and let out an even more pitiful whimper. He muttered through gritted teeth, "You… you demon cat."
The moment Christian Grey was gone, the system's victorious notification sounded in Ken Ryker's mind.
[Mission successful! Reward: 20 VP.]
[Host has demonstrated exceptional strategy and execution. Bonus Reward: Skill 'Pounce' Lv.1 unlocked.]
A long-forgotten sense of pride, of absolute control, washed over him. He had won. Even in this humiliating form, he was still the invincible Ken Ryker.
However, the look of relief he expected to see on Anastasia's face never appeared.
The girl slumped onto the sofa, her expression not one of relief, but of an even deeper despair.
Buzz buzz—
Her phone rang. She answered it, her voice trembling uncontrollably. "...Carla, what? ...Mr. Grey decided to… pull the investment? But… but he was our last hope! Without his company's partnership, our family's workshop… it's going to go bankrupt…"
BOOM!
Those words exploded in Ken Ryker's mind like a clap of thunder.
Christian Grey… wasn't a suitor trying to woo her. He was a crucial business partner, and the meeting Ken had just sabotaged was Anastasia's last chance to save her family's business.
His "victory" had brought about her ruin.
Anastasia couldn't hold it together anymore. She put down the phone, buried her face in her knees, and her slender shoulders began to shake violently. Her suppressed sobs were, to Ken Ryker's ears, an… extremely irritating noise.
Just then, the girl lifted her tear-streaked face, reached out, and pulled the tiny, black culprit into her arms. She buried her face deep into his soft, warm fur, and choked out in a barely audible voice:
"At least… I still have you, little guy…"
Ken Ryker went completely rigid. He could feel her hot tears soaking his fur, a sticky, damp sensation that made his entire body uncomfortable. He struggled, trying to escape this absurd embrace, but this body was too weak. Her arms were a soft prison, trapping him in place.
He felt not a shred of sympathy or guilt. He felt only rage—rage at the system's faulty intelligence, rage at himself for making a judgment based on a flawed assumption, and rage at this woman for soiling his victory with her pointless grief.
This wasn't a victory at all. It was a complete and utter tactical blunder, an infuriating failure caused by an uncontrollable emotional variable.
[System…] he asked in his mind, his consciousness cold and sharp.
[…Redefine, 'liability'.]