Staring at the screen full of profiles on these psychos, Jasmine Sinclair got so mad she snatched a nearby pillow and hurled it at the monitor. "What the hell is this garbage!"
"You damn system, what’s the big idea? Weren’t we supposed to stick to the plan where I play the green tea and just lay low until the finale? We haven’t even started, and you’re already adding new missions?"
"And what’s this about ’in light of my recent performance’? Was my performance just now not good enough or something?"
[Host, your performance just now was excellent. The female protagonist’s affinity value for you has already increased by 10 points. If we let you keep this up, the male protagonist won’t have a role to play in this book anymore.]
"What’s that supposed to mean? So it’s a bad thing that I did *too* well?"
Jasmine Sinclair had no idea what this damn system was being so passive-aggressive about.
’Is it a crime to get on the female protagonist’s good side?’
[Based on an emotional tendency analysis, it has been detected that the female protagonist’s affinity value for you is rising too quickly. There is a risk of an emotional shift.]
"I don’t get it. Speak plainly."
Jasmine Sinclair didn’t understand what "risk of an emotional shift" meant. She was just trying her best to be a green tea younger sister and please her big sister.
[It means this system believes there is a possibility that the female protagonist might be... bent... by you, Host. In order to prevent such a morally depraved incident from occurring, I have specially applied to the main system to add a romance mission, ensuring the book’s primary romantic storyline does not deviate.]
"Hah. So to put it bluntly, you’re just scared I’ll get into a yuri relationship with the female protagonist, so you’re making me go date five psychos?"
Jasmine Sinclair gave the system’s screen a massive eye-roll.
’Great. So now I have to be a green tea *and* a Siren. And all the fish in my pond are psychos. There’s even a pair of twins. What’s that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to have a little fun with both brothers?’
’Okay, okay, okay. So we’re playing it that wild, are we?’
System 777: [Host, those supporting male characters who go mad in the shadows... you deserve them.]
Jasmine Sinclair: "..."
Jasmine Sinclair was so angry she laughed. What, did they think she was running Arkham Asylum, stuffing every psycho they could find in her direction?
’What’s this "you deserve them" crap? So I guess that means I’m not worthy of the handsome, upstanding, and well-behaved guys, is that it?’
This damn system really knew how to be passive-aggressive.
And all these books were written by that damn Jessica Adler. She must have really owed Jessica Adler in a past life to still be unable to escape her even after transmigrating into a novel.
Late that night, the villa’s front door creaked open just a crack. Jasmine Sinclair poked her head out, glanced left and right, and after confirming no one was there, she slipped outside and headed for the black motorcycle parked in a corner of the garden.
It was bad enough that the damn system had added a romance mission, but it had also issued a daily task. If she failed to complete it, points would be deducted.
She’d originally planned to just let it all rot and take the point deduction; after all, her score was already zero.
But then the damn system told her that if her score was negative when the book’s story concluded, she would have to continue transmigrating and working to pay off her debt. Only after clearing her balance could she return to the real world.
’This transmigration system is more terrifying than any capitalist,’ she thought. ’At least capitalists sign contracts with their wage slaves. This piece-of-crap system is taking a page from the overbearing CEO playbook and engaging in forced love—oh, wait, no, forced *binding*.’
It had dragged her here without even asking if she was willing. What was the difference between that and an overbearing CEO forcing the female protagonist into bed with him?
It was all the fault of damn authors like Jessica Adler, writing such trashy novels that they even corrupted the poor systems.
The damn system had even "thoughtfully" selected a few potential worlds for her, like *Survival on a Deserted Island: The Overbearing Gorilla Fell for Me*, *A Slave for Thirty Thousand Years, and the Entire Cultivation World Begs My Forgiveness*, *Transmigrated to a Beast World as the Vicious Female with a Million Beast Husbands, a Bride Every Night*, *I Had 88 Babies at Once, and My Sterile Husband Spoils Me to the Heavens*, and *The Crippled Prince’s Mute Substitute Bride*.
One glance at those titles was enough to tell they were garbage. And of course, they were all written by Jessica Adler.
So that damn author had written all those trashy novels just for her, huh?
This "daily task" was bullshit. To put it bluntly, it was just a mission to get herself killed.
It wanted her to follow the original novel’s plot and sabotage Clara Sinclair’s motorcycle. In the original story, when Clara Sinclair found out the original owner had damaged her "wife," she got so angry she shoved the original owner’s head into a bathtub and nearly drowned her.
Reaching the corner of the garden, Jasmine Sinclair’s eyes lit up at the sight of the bike. "Whoa, what a gorgeous machine."
Its silver-and-black frame radiated a metallic texture, brimming with a wild energy. It looked like a slumbering beast of steel; one twist of the throttle, and it would roar to life, ready to race with speed and madness to the ends of the earth.
’As expected of our great female protagonist’s ’wife.’ It’s just too damn cool.’
Jasmine Sinclair couldn’t resist stroking the chassis. It was cool to the touch and felt amazing, like caressing the muscles of a dark-skinned, athletic guy who’d just stepped out of a walk-in freezer.
’Being single this long really does turn you into a pervert,’ she thought. She was actually falling for a motorcycle. In her mind, she had already personified it as a dark-skinned, athletic guy with a buzz cut and bulging muscles.
Inside the System Space, 777 was rendered speechless as it watched its host’s heart rate spike to 180.
It had just nipped that budding yuri romance in the bud, and now its host was already swooning over a motorcycle.
’Good grief, is she trying to start a human-motorcycle romance? Looks like this Host is truly desperate. She’s even trying to get with a bike.’
’System 555’s host might be a pervert, but at least they stick to living things. My host wants to get with inanimate objects.’
’The pressure on humans is getting worse and worse these days. The hosts I’ve been bound to recently? They either died from overwork or were keyboard warriors in some novel’s comment section. The hosts from the old days mostly died in accidents, like car crashes or getting struck by lightning.’
’The most ridiculous one died of excitement on her way to hire some male models after winning a 500 million grand prize. Their physical conditions are a mess, and not a single one of them is mentally stable. Even the unhinged protagonists in these novels aren’t as crazy as my hosts.’
’System 444’s host was no saint, either. Instead of engaging in the proper palace intrigue, she castrated the Emperor, took the throne for herself, and established a reverse harem. Then she just sat back and gleefully watched all the men fight over her, arguing that she’d only modified the plot ’a tiny bit’ and hadn’t changed the core theme of palace intrigue at all.’
While System 777 was frantically roasting all the unhinged hosts in the System Space, Jasmine Sinclair had already started her work on the female protagonist’s "wife."
"Baby, I don’t want to do this either. Don’t blame me. If you have to blame someone, blame that damn system. It’s the one making me hurt you."
Jasmine Sinclair squatted in front of the bike, murmuring gentle apologies while viciously stabbing its tire with a fruit knife.
’I don’t want to hurt the female protagonist’s ’wife’ either, but what can I do? I need to earn points!’
She had no desire to have a cross-species romance with an overbearing gorilla on a deserted island, nor did she want to be a slave for thirty thousand years. She especially didn’t want to challenge the limits of human biology by having eighty-eight babies at once. As for the romance between two cripples, she’d pass. The million beast husbands idea was a little tempting, she had to admit, but her body just wouldn’t be able to handle it!
"If I were you, I wouldn’t bother wasting energy stabbing the tires. Just cut the brake line. A fatal crash would be much better, don’t you think?"
Just as Jasmine Sinclair was diligently sabotaging Clara Sinclair’s "wife," a gloomy male voice suddenly spoke up from behind her.