The next morning—
Ray woke up with a heavy head.
He reached blindly to the side of the bed, fumbling for his phone, then pressed the power button.
10% battery.
"Fuck."
He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Forgot to turn on sleep mode. Again."
Ray plugged in the charger, then glanced at the screen as the phone slowly came back to life. The video app was still running on autoplay.
The title was clearly displayed:
The Downfall of the Oil King: A Slippery Empire
Ray stared at it for a few seconds. The thumbnail showed a famous rapper in a white suit standing next to a mountain of baby oil bottles.
"This guy…" he muttered. "How many documentaries about him came out this week alone?"
He rubbed his face hard.
"God damn it. The algorithm is obsessed."
The narrator droned on, explaining the downfall of a music mogul who dragged half the industry into his freak-offs.
Ray let out a long sigh. Patience tested first thing in the morning by internet brain-rot.
And today—
Still a double shift.
Ray headed into the bathroom. Flicked the light on. Turned the faucet.
He splashed water on his face, patting his cheeks a few times until the heaviness in his head eased up a bit. Cold water dripped from his chin.
He looked up at the mirror.
His body looked solid. Broad shoulders, defined arms, chest muscles tight against his skin. Not jacked like a steroid-pumped bodybuilder—but lean, functional, and dangerous.
He turned slightly, checking himself from the side.
"This body…" he muttered. "…built by poverty and forced labor."
Gym janitor life. Carrying forty-five–pound plates back and forth. Scrubbing floors. Running up and down stairs. Forced workouts every damn day, for free.
Without thinking, Ray struck a quick pose in front of the mirror. Flexed his bicep. Tightened his core.
Two seconds of silence.
"But damn," he whispered. "I look cool as fuck."
He clicked his tongue, shut off the water, and walked out of the bathroom with a slight swagger.
—
In his tiny apartment kitchen, Ray threw together a pathetic breakfast.
He grabbed a plastic shaker, poured in some lukewarm water, then dumped in a scoop of cheap whey protein.
"Boss gave this as a bonus last month," he muttered.
He shook it fast and downed it in one go.
Glug. Glug.
"Ugh… tastes like chalk and sadness."
As he lowered the shaker, Ray froze.
His eyes locked onto the air in front of his chest.
The fingerprint icon was still there.
Floating. Silent. Pulsing faintly—like a glitch in reality.
Ray swallowed.
"Still there, huh."
He stared at it for a few seconds, jaw tightening.
"If this shit's actually real…"
Hesitating, he raised his hand.
"…fuck it."
Ray pressed the icon.
Tap.
[Ding!]
The transparent panel popped back up right in front of his eyes. Same message as before.
Ray let out a slow, shaky breath.
"…Okay," he muttered. "So I'm not dreaming. Or I'm dreaming very consistently."
Ray tapped the brain icon on the panel.
[Ding!]
The interface shifted. A new screen popped up—longer, heavier, more serious.
---
[Common Sense Altering System]
Main Function: Altering Human Common Sense
Description:
This system allows the Host to modify, twist, or rewrite people's common sense, either individually or in groups, based on feature parameters.
---
Ray frowned.
"People's common sense?"
The panel scrolled on its own.
---
You may choose 1 (one) Mission per day.
Available Mission Tiers:
[Simple]
[Medium]
[Hardcore]
---
He let out a quiet breath.
"Yeah, that sounds unhealthy as hell."
His eyes dropped lower as a new button appeared.
[CONTINUE]
"…Alright."
He tapped it.
[Ding!]
---
Initial Bonus Granted.
+100 Alter Points
Alter Points can be used to:
• Complete Missions
• Upgrade active feature duration
---
Ray raised an eyebrow.
"…Points. Of course. It's always points."
The panel shifted again.
---
Available Features:
Global Alter — 10 minutes (Unlocked)
??? (Locked)
??? (Locked)
---
Ray squinted.
"…Why are those censored?"
Right on cue, new text appeared.
---
Additional features will unlock when the Host reaches a certain level.
Current Host Level: 0
---
Ray swallowed.
"This is straight-up a game."
A second later—
---
Would you like to view Host Status & Stats?
[YES] / [NO]
---
Ray hesitated for half a second.
"Might as well."
He hit YES.
[Ding!]
The panel changed instantly.
---
[HOST STATUS]
Name: Ray
Age: 24
Job: Gym Janitor
Physical Condition: Fit
Mental State: Chronic Stress (Low Awareness)
Level: 0
EXP: 0/100
Alter Points: 100
Last Sleep Aid: Medieval History Documentary (The Fall of Rome)
Last Source of Pure Happiness: An ASMR video of a mature woman counting down from ten to one, complete with soft moaning sounds and splashing water effects.
---
Ray froze.
"Yo! Why the hell did you scan that too?!"
No response. The text just glowed innocently.
Ray covered his face with one hand.
"Okay," he muttered into his palm. "This shit has zero ethics. Zero."
He dropped his hand, staring at the panel again. His embarrassment slowly faded—replaced by something sharper. Something darker.
"But if this thing can really mess with people's common sense…"
Ray took a deep breath.
A slow, wicked grin crept onto his face.
"That's actually interesting… heh… heheh."