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The river beneath the bridge flowed quietly, its surface smooth and undisturbed. The asphalt road, freshly cleansed by rain, gleamed under the dim glow of streetlights. Young people exposed their ankles as they stepped through puddles, blending carelessly into the post-rain night. Despite the deep autumn chill, the air carried a deceptive warmth. Wet leaves mingled with the soft illumination of lampposts, creating a serene yet saturated tableau. Across the river, the outer walls of skyscrapers flickered with advertisements and civic slogans. Above, drones occasionally formed intricate patterns in the sky, drawing crowds who snapped photos to commemorate the moment. Couples embraced spontaneously, caught in the fleeting magic of the evening. In the distance, where the river disappeared into the horizon, the aggressive light pollution of Magu City gradually faded, giving way to the subtle, gentle glow of this quieter new city.
Under the bridge sat an enforcer who had just saved a life less than half an hour ago. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him. His physical strength and innate talents had been significantly diminished since arriving here. His first impression of this world? Fatigue.
It seemed fitting for this city’s atmosphere. A notification flashed before his eyes:
“You have successfully entered the real world—a completely different experience from Magu City. It may be painful, but we hope every choice you make leaves you feeling that it was worth it. Emotions are so beautiful, and we look forward to receiving unique and wonderful feedback from you. Have a pleasant journey.”
He had chosen to face nine near-death experiences to meet her, guided perhaps by fate. Being part of humanity’s progress, even as a created being unfamiliar with true human emotions, felt like his talents were finally being put to proper use. If he could truly grasp complex emotions—not mechanically following instructions or reacting reflexively—he might finally erase that “romantic” aspect from his character settings. As for becoming Jiang Huan’s superior—Li Bode thrived on challenges and had endless curiosity for the unknown. Whatever he didn’t know, he could learn. After all, he could read ten lines at a glance, possessed extraordinary comprehension skills, and could excel at any task.
“Achoo!”
This round of reasoning failed. Li Bode sneezed violently, a leaf landing on his head. How pitiful. Too pitiful.
Standing under the bridge, buffeted by the cold wind, he was grateful for his well-trained body, which allowed him to withstand the sudden drop in temperature. He wore only his gray suit, while joggers passing by were bundled up in down vests. Already physically drained, shivering from the cold and too weak to move, he longed to find a place to lie down and sleep. A drink of water would be nice too.
“Eros.”
“Here!” The die glowed blue in the midnight darkness, its voice energetic, contrasting sharply with his exhausted state.
“How much gold do I have left? I want to buy some clothes.”
“It’s been prepaid—you still owe 5,000 coins. While currency is universal in the real world, that function hasn’t been activated yet.”
“...Fine, I’m not afraid of the cold.”
“If you want a house, completing ten tasks will let you choose your own property.”
He had intended to stubbornly reply that he didn’t need one, but his legs trembled from fatigue, and his stomach growled audibly. An enforcer reduced to hunger and cold after gaining a physical body—it was embarrassing. Completing ten tasks would earn him a home, though he wasn’t sure what kind of tasks they’d be. If they involved combat or making judgments, he was confident he could handle them. Passing by a dessert shop called Petit Soirée , he noticed an employee struggling to carry leftover bread. He stepped in to help, earning profuse thanks—but no affection points. Only interactions with Jiang Huan counted toward his score.
The bread emitted a rich aroma of butter, flour, and cream, but he wouldn’t be swayed by such temptations. Just as he turned to leave, a notification popped up.
[Task 1-3: First Impressions Overhaul! Shake off the negative affection score! Your character, Bai Jingchuan, has an affection score of -1000 in Jiang Huan’s heart. Increase it to 0 within 72 hours. Extending the time or achieving additional affection gains may trigger random item drops and influence whether she changes her perception of you. Every choice affects your future destiny—proceed with caution.]
________________________________________
“You know, Bai Jingchuan sleeps in the office.”
“Really? For real?”
“And he only wears the same suit. I got close once and sniffed—it smells like tea and fresh grass. But looking at how hard he works, he’s even more like a god now.”
Someone secretly snapped a photo of Bai Jingchuan sitting by the lake, his hair disheveled. The picture exuded a breezy charm, capturing the man in his thin suit, nose and ears red from the cold, evoking the image of a refined yet broken gentleman—heartbreakingly pitiful.
When Jiang Huan saw the post titled “Oh my god, a random snap turned into a life-defining photo—I thought I was looking at the cold male lead from an art film,” she almost doubted her eyes. What was the producer thinking? His hair tousled by the wind, his reddened nose and lips carried an unexpected allure. Though Jiang Huan had vowed never to fall for any real-life man, at that moment, she couldn’t help but think: the producer was unprecedentedly impressive. Bai Jingchuan should immortalize this scene as a QR code on his tombstone.
[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: +100.]
But this did nothing to change her belief that Bai Jingchuan was a workaholic freak. After all, he had sent emails to the entire project team at 10 PM and left messages on DingTalk: “Sorry to disturb everyone late at night. Please submit your current progress by tomorrow evening. Thank you.”
How rude.
[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: -50.]
But working late meant Love Continent might actually survive this time.
[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: +100.]
Each team member underwent individual evaluations, personally conducted by Bai Jingchuan.
“The holographic lover project has gone through several iterations. Initially, it was supposed to be a virtual city where users could customize faces and companions. But considering the need for compelling storylines and the high user retention among female players, the company decided to focus solely on Love Continent . New plots emerge with each map, and interactions and dates with the male leads increase. Players can unlock content through gacha mechanics. Several producers have come and gone, and the boss has always been dissatisfied. Complaints keep piling up, so the company is considering shutting down Love Continent .”
“What do you think is the reason for the company wanting to shut it down?”
“It doesn’t make money.”
“Isn’t that a sufficient reason?”
“Compared to other projects in the company, yes. But it doesn’t mean it can’t be profitable. Here’s all the data on companion-based games for women.” Jiang Huan handed over a PowerPoint presentation filled with bar charts. “This compares iOS and Android revenue streams. Some channels aren’t included, but you can see that the female-oriented market isn’t doing badly. Dress-up games and dating sims constantly compete for rankings. Plus, we have the best technology. As long as the story doesn’t break character or offend players, and the visuals and emotions are appealing, we can attract users genuinely seeking virtual romance.”
Her explanation was professional and data-driven, but Jiang Huan herself felt powerless. To male producers obsessed with numbers, these figures were insignificant compared to blockbusters like Honor of Kings or Peacekeeper Elite . Not to mention games that relied on purchasing IPs, which required minimal effort, yielded quick profits, and had short cycles—no need for prolonged emotional investment. Still, Jiang Huan believed Bai Jingchuan must have experienced love at some point. Surely, anyone who had ever loved wouldn’t dismiss its significance. She ventured to ask, “You’ve been in love before, right? You must understand the feeling of connection and devotion.”
“No.” Bai Jingchuan replied coldly. “I don’t need personal experience to validate something. My energy is limited—I only do what I want.”
So typical. Bai Jingchuan was hollow, not even pretending otherwise. Jiang Huan could already foresee the future—a man who didn’t understand love leading an otome game project was doomed to fail.
[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: -50.]
“If you’re staying here just for a job, there’s no need to stick with Love Continent . You could work on world-building for other departments if your abilities are sufficient.”
He lowered his head to review documents, the office silent. When he looked up again, Jiang Huan was standing before him, leaning over his desk. Her proximity was oppressive, leaving him no room to avoid her gaze. She demanded an answer. Bai Jingchuan remained composed, his smile tinged with… provocation. “Do all of you writers need to personally experience love to write romantic stories? Is that why you hugged me and said such cheesy lines in the office?”
Furious but trying to maintain composure, Jiang Huan responded politely, “Please pretend that incident never happened.”
“My memory is excellent.”
Jiang Huan practically fled from Bai Jingchuan—his directness was unbearable. Shouldn’t such things be handled delicately?
Unwilling to admit defeat, Jiang Huan tied her hair into a high ponytail and resolved to stay in the office until she wrote a satisfactory scene—one that would make Bai Jingchuan blush and feel flustered. Writing on the large computer screen felt too embarrassing and prone to distractions, so she switched to pen and paper. Inspiration flowed smoothly, and ideas poured out. Lost in her work, she eventually dozed off. When she woke, she opened her eyes to see Bai Jingchuan standing before her, holding a sheet of paper covered in her handwriting. He looked up after reading it and asked, “Is this a love letter?”
“What?”
Bai Jingchuan handed her the paper. Still groggy, Jiang Huan’s eyes widened as she read: “The signal from the planet is faint, but I’ll keep calling out to you. I want to cross every distance to see you, Bai Jingchuan. It’s wonderful to meet you again.”
The last stroke trailed across the entire page, interrupted by several inkblots where the pen had paused.
At 2 AM, the writer had collapsed from exhaustion, inadvertently including his name. And what was all this? What meeting again? What faint signal? She must have been delirious from lack of sleep! Jiang Huan performed a circus act with the crumpled paper in midair, explaining frantically, “Let me explain—it’s not what it looks like! I was writing our dating dialogue; the heroine was confessing passionately. You believe me, right?”
“Do people still use paper for work nowadays?”
Though innocent, Jiang Huan felt somewhat powerless. “I—I like handwriting!”
“Oh?” The producer loomed over her, his shadow concealing his expression, clearly unconvinced. Jiang Huan grabbed her bag and phone. “I’m leaving.”
“At this hour? I’ll drive you.”
“No, I’ll take a taxi home!”
[Jiang Huan’s affection level towards you: +1000.]
________________________________________
After a sleepless night, Jiang Huan arrived at the office at 8 AM, dark circles prominent under her eyes, ready to continue working overtime. Bai Jingchuan, still wearing the same suit from the previous day, stood in line at a street corner—waiting for a jianbing. Jiang Huan hid nearby, watching him curiously. His suit made him stand out awkwardly in the queue, or rather, too strikingly handsome. People around him surreptitiously took photos, but he paid no mind, intently observing the toppings at the jianbing stall, leaning forward and pursing his lips as if inspecting each option. When it was finally his turn, the towering 184 cm man stood before the vendor, prompting even the owner to glance up. “What would you like, handsome?”
“One jianbing with an egg.”
“Oh, the deluxe version. All the toppings?”
“Yes, add everything.”
Every movement of the vendor seemed miraculous to Bai Jingchuan—spreading the batter into a pancake, folding it with toppings, and packaging it—all felt like top-tier performance art. Thrilled with his fully loaded jianbing, Bai Jingchuan hadn’t taken a bite when a dog, having escaped its leash, charged into him, knocking him to the ground and biting him. The owner rushed over, panting. “Why does it always chase after girls? Do they even care? And now it’s eating random things again—stubborn mutt! Oh no, I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t keep an eye on it. Please give me your contact info so I can compensate you…”
Suppressing his anger, Bai Jingchuan quickly walked into a nearby convenience store to place an order. Jiang Huan followed behind, noticing how strange his bursts of irritation seemed. Whether it was being touched without consent, having his food knocked over, or someone trying to exchange contact information, he clearly displayed discomfort and distaste for human interaction. Inside the convenience store, Bai Jingchuan’s enthusiasm waned. Holding a sandwich and a carton of milk, his mind seemed elsewhere. Jiang Huan grabbed the same breakfast—the company cafeteria wouldn’t open until 9 AM, and she was starving.
Perhaps in an attempt to lift his spirits, Bai Jingchuan bought a bouquet of flowers. Together, they entered the elevator, where Jiang Huan pretended not to notice his earlier awkwardness. She planned to scroll through her phone until they reached the 14th floor. However, they weren’t alone—another man holding a sandwich joined them: the boss.
In the gaming industry, unconventional hours were the norm. Encountering these two at 8 AM in the elevator meant there was no need for yawns or extra coffee—everyone was wide awake. The boss was a quintessential otaku: brilliant but deeply introverted, a successful yet top-tier socially anxious individual. During the rapid ascent, the boss unexpectedly broke the silence: “Are you two getting along well?”
“Jiang Huan is an excellent girl, and I currently enjoy working with my team.” Bai Jingchuan handed her the bouquet. “This is a thank-you for your ‘love letter’ last night.”
The bouquet consisted of mermaid-gradient roses, shimmering blue-purple under the light. The meaning of roses was universally understood. Jiang Huan turned her head away, her face contorted in despair. What are you saying…? Mentioning this in front of the boss would surely be misinterpreted as office romance. Who falls for their superior? Even in otome games, such scenarios were met with resistance. Frantically gesturing with the flowers, Jiang Huan tried to explain: “Boss, it’s not what you think! I was writing our dating dialogue, and I must’ve been too tired when I wrote his name—it was a mistake, a misunderstanding!”
Though she had worked at the company for years, the boss likely didn’t recognize her. Elevators were places where no one wanted to make eye contact, but this situation forced him to glance at her again. “So, do you like him? I mean, do you like the current producer?”
The question sent chills down Jiang Huan’s spine. Of course, she thought, this is what happens when a socially awkward boss tries to smooth things over. Smiling stiffly, she replied, “Absolutely! Teacher Bai is the best producer we’ve had so far. I hope Love Continent succeeds, and he stays with us forever.”
The word “us” slipped out too quickly, accidentally becoming “he stays with me forever.” Before Jiang Huan could clarify further, the elevator reached the 14th floor. Exiting, the two went their separate ways—one left, one right—emphasizing their lack of familiarity. Jiang Huan carried the gradient roses into the office, where Akira teased, “Oh, Jiang Huan, finally found someone?”
“No, just another scammer.”
Her hand froze mid-air as Jiang Huan realized the truth: both of them were liars, neither speaking honestly. It felt like a turn-based battle, each side observing the other’s moves. What combinations would they use? Would they rely on quick combos or passive skills to accumulate damage before unleashing a big move? Would they prioritize survival with full health or go all-in with reckless output? Their personalities differed, and so did their strategies. Bai Jingchuan was clearly a tactician, a master schemer who observed her overtly and covertly, his words layered with deception, never revealing his true thoughts—a perfect fit for the workplace.
He was difficult to deal with, but Jiang Huan couldn’t help but want to engage. She had never encountered a man like him—young, breathtakingly handsome, seemingly brimming with charm, yet utterly hollow inside. While others might believe he was capable of love, Jiang Huan didn’t. Her logic was simple: why use her heart when her brain could handle this turn-based battle? Did she really think she could genuinely pursue him?
To be pursued meant opening oneself up to emotional pain. Bai Jingchuan, get ready to cry.
________________________________________
Interlude: The Producer’s Perspective
Bai Jingchuan sat in his office, reviewing the day’s events. He wasn’t blind to Jiang Huan’s reactions—her defiance, her curiosity, her occasional flashes of vulnerability. Each interaction was a puzzle, a layer of complexity that intrigued him. Though he projected calm detachment, internally, he was piecing together her character, much like solving a game.
Her outbursts, her attempts to explain away awkward moments, her determination to prove herself—all of it fascinated him. She wasn’t just a subordinate; she was a challenge, a dynamic opponent in this unspoken duel. And while he prided himself on rationality, there was something about her fiery spirit that unsettled him.
The notification from the system confirmed his progress:
[Current affection score: -1000 → +1000.]
A significant shift, but Bai Jingchuan knew better than to trust surface-level changes. Jiang Huan’s emotions were volatile, unpredictable. Winning her trust—or at least neutralizing her hostility—would require more than calculated moves. It would demand understanding, perhaps even vulnerability on his part.
But vulnerability wasn’t something he was accustomed to. In Magu City, emotions were tools, variables to be manipulated. Here, in the real world, they were raw, untamed forces. Could he truly grasp them? Or was he destined to remain an outsider, observing but never fully participating?
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