He went utterly still.
The artificial calm shattered, replaced by a surge of pure irritation.
"What the hell did you just say to me?"
The system ignored his outrage.
Bitch Stealer System initiating.
Cane stared. He read the words again. And a third time, just to be sure. Bitch Stealer System.
He thought the name was disgustingly crude.
The system name was generated according to the host’s base personality framework. It is a reflection of you.
He deadpanned at the floating text. "Are you introducing yourself or insulting me?"
The system offered no clarification. Instead, more text scrolled into view.
Host identity confirmed: Cane Valerian.
Narrative role confirmed: Minor Antagonist.
Survival probability under original plotline: Pathetic.
The dread returned, a cold weight in his stomach.
Host survival is contingent on damaging the protagonist’s narrative destiny. The protagonist’s plot progression is tied to successfully acquiring heroines. Each heroine possesses scripted encounters and romance flags. To weaken the protagonist, Host must steal, corrupt, interrupt, or claim these flags.
He did not like the sound of that. He liked the phrasing even less. Before he could formulate a question, a new window popped up, bright and demanding.
Quest Issued: Take a peek at Aria Vale’s panties.
He froze.
He read the quest title again, convinced his mind had finally snapped. The words did not change. His brain latched onto the name. Aria Vale. The protagonist’s childhood friend. The first girl in the story, the sweet, loyal, unfailingly supportive one who reunites with Vinny during the Royal Academy entrance exams. She was the first to believe in him, the first to defend him against bullies like... well, like Cane Valerian.
And this system wanted his first act of survival to be peeking up her skirt.
His face hardened into a stiff mask. He looked from the absurd quest objective to his reflection in the mirror — the face of a doomed scumbag. The only sounds in the vast, silent room were the faint ticking of an ornate clock and the blood roaring in his ears. His new life, he realized with a sinking feeling, might just be even more humiliating than his death by chicken car.
He forced himself to move.
It wasn’t acceptance of his situation, not truly.
The bedroom was too rich, the polished wood too dark, the silver trim on the furniture too bright. Every immaculate surface was a mirror showing him a face that wasn’t his, reminding him that this new body came with a reputation already rotting in public. He was a wealthy, hated, doomed idiot.
Cane yanked open the heavy wooden door.
The first thing he saw was a woman glaring up at him.
She was short. Extremely so, barely five feet tall, with a compact frame that seemed even smaller beneath the corridor’s towering ceiling.
Her hair was the colour of fresh strawberries, a messy, shoulder-length cut framing a sharp, pretty face.
Her eyes, a warm golden brown, narrowed with immediate hostility.
She had a small nose and soft lips twisted into a permanent scowl.
Her body however, conveyed an erotic contrast.
A fitted academy blouse lay almost flat against her chest, but below a narrow waist, her hips flared dramatically.
The pleated uniform skirt did nothing to hide the swell of her thighs or the roundness of an ass that made the hem sit noticeably higher in the back. Quite frankly, it was massive. And she had no titties whatsoever.
Cane’s borrowed memories supplied her name without him asking.
Elana Valerian. His step-sister.
The girl who had spent years treating the original Cane like something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. A pathetic litany of memories surfaced, him folding when she snapped, sulking when she insulted him, retreating from every fight or argument.
Her glare sharpened. "Stop staring at my ass, pervert."
His eyebrow twitched.
He had glanced, maybe. He had also been busy processing a death-by-chicken-car, sorting through a stranger’s memories, and recognizing her face. He looked down at her, his expression flat.
"I wasn’t staring at shit."
Elana blinked, her fury momentarily replaced by genuine surprise. It lasted a second before her eyes narrowed into slits.
"Hahh?" She dragged the sound out, as if his voice had personally offended her ancestors. "Are you talking back to me?"
A moment of irritation, pure and undiluted, rose in his chest. It wasn’t borrowed from the original Cane. It was his. The system’s forced calm had vanished, and every second in her presence made him understand how this body’s original owner had turned into such a mess.
She rolled her eyes with practiced contempt, then flipped him off. "Whatever. Stare at it all you want, pervert. It’s not like a loser like you will ever touch it."
She turned with an exaggerated toss of her red hair and started down the corridor. Her walk was deliberately bratty. She swayed her hips on purpose just to mock him. Just before she disappeared around the corner, she glanced back, her middle finger raised high again.
"Loser."
Then she was gone.
Cane stood in the doorway, both of his eyebrows twitching uncontrollably.
His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
One thought rose above the others, clear as a bell.
What a little bitch.
He exhaled a sharp breath through his nose.
Give me a quest for her, he thought, directing the demand at the system.
No.
The simple text appeared in his vision. Cane scowled.
Current Host is too stupid to multitask. Focus on the active mission before trying to start side quests with every brat who hurts your feelings, you fucking dumbass.
His eye twitched harder. You’re the one who called yourself the Bitch Stealer System.
And why the fuck was this system so rude?! Surely he wasn’t like that!
The system ignored him, flashing the current objective again.
Quest: Take a peek at Aria Vale’s panties.
Cane grimaced. The system was right. Unfortunately. He had to find Aria Vale, the protagonist’s childhood friend, one of the story’s major heroines, and somehow complete this absurd, crude quest.