Mark shot up in bed. He gasped.
His stomach burned. It tasted like bile and cheap chemicals.
He looked around. Damp basement. Concrete walls. Smelled like mold.
Pain spiked in his skull.
Memories hit him. He had transmigrated. He was Mark now. 22 years old.
The original owner was trash.
For four years, he lived like a dog for a woman named Sarah.
He worked three jobs to pay for her tuition. Construction. Delivery. Dishwashing.
He ate scraps. He drank tap water. He glued his shoes together.
He sold his blood to buy her gifts.
And Sarah? She used him.
Mark accessed the memories.
He saw her texts to her friends.
'The ATM is here. He smells like sweat. At least he pays for my nails.'
She laughed at him behind his back.
Yesterday was the end.
Mark bought a ring. He waited at the school gate.
Sarah walked out. She wasn't alone. She held onto Mike. A rich heir.
Mike kicked the flowers from Mark's hand. "Is this the dog?"
Sarah didn't defend him. She sneered.
"Look at you," she said. "You have calluses. You look like a beggar. Mike drives a Ferrari. You have nothing."
She got into the car. Mike threw a $100 bill at him. "For the taxi."
Humiliated. Bankrupt. Broken.
The original Mark came home. He swallowed pills. He died.
"Pathetic," the new Mark sneered. He wiped sweat from his face.
His eyes were cold.
In his past life, he was a top psychiatrist. A manipulator.
He knew the human mind. He knew how to break defenses. He had countless lovers. They were toys.
'Suicide over a woman?' Mark shook his head. 'I would have broken her mind.'
A robotic voice echoed.
[Resentment Detected.]
[System Initiating...]
A blue screen appeared.
[System Activated.]
[Core Directive: Conquest.]
[Rules:]
1. Conquest: Have sex to gain Energy.
2. Status: Higher Status (Wealth, Fame) equals higher rewards.
3. Intensity: Stronger emotions (Shame, Pleasure) equal multipliers.
[Warning: Soul Corrosion active.]
[Mission: Conquer a woman of D-Class Status or higher.]
[Time Limit: 30 Days.]
[Penalty: Death.]
"Thirty days?"
Mark checked his phone.
Bank: -$0.50.Debt: -$15,000.
He was broke. Starving. He looked like a junkie.
He checked the internet.
He searched 'Taylor Swift'. Zero results. He searched 'Harry Potter'. Zero results.
Mark smiled.
'Parallel world. Cultural desert.'
He had the skills of a manipulator. He had the memories of Earth. Money and Fame would be easy.
But first, survival.
[Newbie Gift Pack detected. Open?]
"Open it."
[Reward: The Pillar of Life.]
Pain exploded between his legs.
"Fuuuuck!"
Mark fell to the floor. He gritted his teeth. Fire surged in his veins. Muscles spasmed.
One minute later. The pain stopped.
Mark stood up. He pulled down his boxers.
"Holy shit."
The original Mark was average.
This was a monster.
It was thick. Veiny. Heavy. Even flaccid, it hung 10 inches down his thigh.
It looked dangerous. A weapon.
"Great," Mark chuckled. "I have a monster in my pants. Sarah... you have no idea."
Mark walked to the cracked mirror, looked in.
A skeleton stared back.
His skin was pale. His cheeks were hollow. Dark circles hung under his eyes like bruises.
He looked like a corpse.
"Disgusting," Mark muttered.
He knew women. He knew psychology.
Visuals were everything. The first three seconds determined the interaction.
A high-status woman wouldn't look at his crotch. She would look at his shoes, his hair, his skin.
If he walked up to a CEO looking like a junkie, she wouldn't sleep with him. She would call security.
"I have a 10-inch weapon," Mark thought. "But I can't walk around naked. I'd be arrested as a pervert."
He needed to package the goods.
He turned to the closet. It was a cardboard box.
He kicked it open.
Rags.
Torn t-shirts. Stained jeans. A waiter's uniform with grease spots.
Mark dug to the bottom. He pulled out the best thing there.
A university uniform. Cheap polyester. Faded blue blazer. Grey slacks.
It was pathetic.
Mark laughed coldly. "You bought her Gucci. You bought her Prada. And you wore this?"
The original owner was truly brain-dead.
Mark threw the rags aside.
"Money," Mark decided. "I need money. Now."
He couldn't crash the Alumni Gathering looking like a high school student. He needed a suit. He needed a haircut. He needed food to fill out his face.
He stripped naked.
He stepped into the tiny bathroom. The showerhead was rusted.
He turned the handle. Freezing water blasted him.
Mark didn't flinch. He scrubbed his skin raw. He washed away the sweat, the grime, and the smell of the loser who died here.
He dried off with a rough towel.
He put on the white shirt. It was loose on his skinny frame.
He pulled on the grey slacks.
Problem.
The "Pillar of Life" was heavy. It took up space.
Even flaccid, the 10-inch monster coiled down his left thigh. It created a visible, aggressive bulge in the cheap fabric.
Mark adjusted it. But it was impossible to hide completely.
"Let them look," Mark smirked. "It's advertising."
He put on the blazer. He buttoned it to hide his thin chest.
He checked the mirror again.
Still skinny. Still pale. But clean.
He looked less like a junkie and more like a starving student. It was an improvement.
Mark grabbed his phone.
He needed a long-term plan. Status meant everything.
He opened the browser. A banner ad flashed.
[Dream Voice: Rise from the Bottom.]
A reality talent show. The biggest in the city.
Mark tapped the link. He started the application.
Name: Mark. Age: 22.
[Bio / Backstory:]
Mark typed fast.
He wrote it all down. The orphanage. The construction jobs. The dishwashing. The four years of starving. The blood selling. The betrayal at the school gate.
He didn't sugarcoat it. He made it raw. He made it pathetic.
He uploaded a selfie. Hollow cheeks. Pale skin. Dead, haunted eyes.
He sneered.
"Perfect," Mark thought. "Producers love tragedy. They feed on misery. My life is ratings gold."
He hit [Submit].
He knew he would be picked. With the songs from his past life and this sob story, he would crush the industry.
But then, he saw the date.
[Next Audition: 5 Days.]
Mark frowned.
Five days was too long.
He was starving now. He owed debt collectors now,He needed quick cash.
He had a plan. He was a manipulator, after all.
He opened the heavy steel door.
Sunlight hit his face.
Mark stepped out into the alley.
The hunt began.