Jason Carter let out a ragged, blood-soaked laugh that rattled in his chest like loose change in a dying engine. Crimson trickled from the corner of his mouth, slow and sticky, painting his chin the colour of cheap merlot spilled across white silk.
"That woman is a bitch," he said, voice thick with satisfied venom.
Somewhere behind him a bright pink fan bus lurched forward on the rain-slicked street. Glittery decals covered its sides and the word "OnlyFans" stood out in bold, unapologetic font.
Inside, the shoot was in full swing. Famous pornstar Mia Khalifa rode the other man hard, her ass bouncing in a hypnotic rhythm under the harsh ring lights.
The newbie driver, fresh out of whatever half-assed training programme had handed him the keys, couldn’t look away. His eyes locked on that bouncing ass in the middle mirror. Mouth slightly open. One hand still on the wheel. The other already working his zipper. He pulled his dick out and started stroking in time with every bounce, completely lost in the view. The bus rolled straight through the red light like the road didn’t exist.
BOOM.
The OnlyFans bus folded his sleek black sedan like an origami swan made of bad decisions and poor timing. Metal screamed. Glass exploded outward in a glittering storm. The world flipped, spun, and kept flipping. His body whipped against the seatbelt with a wet, bone-jarring crack. The car tumbled across the asphalt in long, deliberate rolls, each one dragging fresh fire through his ribs, his spine, everything.
The airbag finally decided to show up with a muffled whump, far too late to be heroic. Blood poured down his forehead in warm, sticky rivers, stinging his eyes and turning the shattered windshield into streaks of red. Distant screams drifted in. Horns blared. Tires screeched. Somewhere inside the pink bus a camera was still rolling and someone yelled, "Cut! Cut, you absolute idiot!"
It all felt miles away, like the universe had already started fading him out on a low budget.
He coughed, tasting copper and the bitter aftertaste of every bad decision he’d ever made.
Only minutes earlier he had finished with Sophia right there in the passenger seat of his car. She was still catching her breath when she climbed out, legs a little unsteady, cheeks flushed. He had given her the kind of dick her husband had never managed in all their years together, the kind that left her quiet and dazed and reaching for the door handle like she needed air. Another married woman. Another life he had happily wrecked.
His final one, it seemed.
A bitter, bloody smile tugged at his lips. What a miserable way to check out. Thirty-two years old. He had gone through relationships the way most people go through cheap matches, leaving wrecked homes and a trail of furious exes behind him.
Yet no furious husband with a loaded gun had finished him off. None of the powerful enemies he had collected in the cutthroat world of high-stakes finance either. Just some random OnlyFans bus driver who could not keep his hand off his own dick.
’Karma is a bitch after all,’ he thought as the edges of his vision darkened.
Memories flooded him in those final seconds, sharp and merciless.
Olivia Hayes. His first love. The girl he had trusted with everything. The one whose betrayal had torn his family apart and driven his mother to jump from that high-rise rooftop. The wound had never closed.
Then Chloe Morgan. The blind date who had spun a single vicious lie that nearly destroyed his reputation and career in one brutal swing.
Hatred burned hotter than the pain ripping through his chest. His fingers twitched weakly against the crumpled door.
’If I get another chance, I will make every last one of you regret the day you crossed me.’
Darkness swallowed him whole.
For a long, weightless moment there was nothing. No pain. No sound. No thought. Just an endless black void that felt like the end of everything.
Then~
Air slammed into his lungs like a punch.
Jason’s eyes snapped open with a violent, choking gasp. He bolted upright so hard the old bedsprings screamed beneath him, the sound sharp and metallic in the quiet room. His chest heaved. Heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape. Cold sweat slicked every inch of his skin, soaking the thin sheet tangled around his waist.
For several long seconds he could only drag in ragged, desperate breaths, eyes wide with raw panic. The world felt too bright, too solid, too real.
’Alive. I am alive. But how?’
Slowly, the room came into focus.
Pale morning light filtered through threadbare curtains, casting dusty beams across a cramped bedroom that smelled faintly of old wood and laundry detergent. A faded oak wardrobe stood against the far wall, its surface scarred with scratches he knew by heart. A rusty standing fan hummed quietly in the corner, one blade slightly bent. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling like lightning frozen in place.
His stomach dropped.
"No... fucking way."
The voice that came out was hoarse and younger than he remembered. He knew this room. Every damn detail. The loose screw on the fan. The water stain shaped like a crooked smile on the ceiling. This was his aunt’s old house, the rundown two-story in a quiet suburban neighbourhood where he had lived at eighteen, broke and full of fire.
Heart pounding, he threw off the thin blanket and stumbled to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door.
The reflection that stared back stopped him cold.
It was him, but not the hardened thirty-two-year-old version. This was an eighteen-year-old face. Smooth. Unlined. Bright. The athletic build still carried the lean hunger of youth. No shadows under the eyes. No scars from bar fights or boardroom betrayals.
He lifted a trembling hand to his cheek. The mirror copied the motion perfectly.
"Impossible..."
Then it hit him harder. His vision. Crystal clear. No blurry edges. No squinting. He blinked rapidly, but the room stayed in perfect, razor-sharp focus. Back then he had been half-blind without his thick glasses. Now he could count the dust motes floating in the sunbeams.
A thunderbolt of realisation slammed into him.
"I’ve... I’ve really been reborn?"
The words hung in the quiet room.
Then—
[DING!]
A cold, mechanical voice echoed directly inside his skull.
Jason nearly jumped out of his skin.
"What the hell?!"
[DING!]
[Host detected.]
[Identity confirmed.]
[Simp]
[Supreme Rebate System Activating...]
A translucent blue holographic screen materialised in front of his eyes, glowing with crisp futuristic text. He rubbed his eyes hard, but the interface did not vanish.
"A... system?" he whispered, voice thick with disbelief.
As someone who had devoured web novels and light novels during late-night binges in his first life, he knew exactly what this meant. A cheat code. A golden ticket. A second chance wrapped in digital glory.
But the name made his expression sour instantly.
"Supreme Rebate System?" He frowned. "Wait... what the hell. Did you just call me a simp?"
Silence.
His outrage grew.
"Me? I’ve turned wives into complete bitches and willing little sluts. Stolen girlfriends, fiancées, even married women right out from under their husbands. I was the storm that wrecked relationships, not some lovesick fool throwing money at women who never gave a damn. Do I look like a simp to you?"
Two seconds later:
[DING!]
[Host evaluation complete.]
A list of cold statistics appeared.
[Lifetime spending on women: $2,276,000.]
[Total emotional returns: $0.]
[Total financial returns: $0.]
[Host classification: Ultimate Simp.]
His triumphant smirk froze and cracked.
"Excuse me?"
The system continued.
[You spent millions chasing validation.]
[You gained nothing but empty nights and broken promises.]
[Textbook advanced simp behaviour.]
He nearly choked on his own spit.
"Advanced simp behaviour?! I was dating them!"
[Correction: Host was haemorrhaging cash with zero ROI.]
Jason stared, stunned. Then the system dropped the real hook.
[The Supreme Rebate System rewards strategic spending on qualified beauties.]
[The more you spend, the greater the wealth rebates.]
[Rebate multiplier scales with target rating:]
[8.0–8.5 beauties — 2x]
[9.0–9.5 goddesses — 10x]
[9.5 and above super goddesses — 100x, plus mystery gift packages.]
[Example: Spend $1,000 on a 9.0-rated goddess. Upon successful conquest, receive $10,000 in return.]
[Higher-rated targets are harder to win, but pay out exponentially more.]
[Spend wisely. Grow richer. Break the cycle.]
He blinked. Then blinked again.
The anger melted away, replaced by a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his young face.
"Wait... so if I wine and dine beautiful women, I get paid back? The more I spend, the richer I become?"
[Correct.]
His pulse thundered. A wild, predatory laugh built in his chest and exploded out.
"Hahahaha! Holy shit! Hahahahahaha!"
The laughter bounced off the cracked walls of the old bedroom. If anyone had walked past the house right then, they would have thought the kid inside had finally lost it.
Maybe he had.
He had died in a mangled wreck. He had woken up eighteen again. And now he had a system that turned being a charming bastard into a wealth-generating machine.
This was not just a second chance. This was a goddamn cheat code for life.
Jason clenched his fists, eyes burning with new purpose.
No more getting played. No more watching snakes like Olivia Hayes and Chloe Morgan destroy everything he cared about. This time, he would be the one holding all the cards.
He would make them regret ever crossing paths with him.
[DING!]
[Congratulations, Host.]
[You have received a Beginner Gift Pack.]
He straightened, excitement crackling through him like electricity.
"Open it."
The screen flared brilliantly.
[DING!]
[Opening Beginner Gift Pack...]
[Reward calculation in progress...]
He held his breath, the weight of destiny pressing down on his shoulders.
Whatever came next would change everything.
The second life of Jason had officially begun.