'Hired? For real?'
Ortega found himself at a loss for words. He could not believe what he was hearing. The feeling of the smooth platinum between his fingers grounded him in the moment. He closed his eyes, and all the heaviness in his chest was gone. He wanted to laugh and cry, but more than that, he needed privacy to savour this euphoria.
Laura walked close, reached past him, and pushed the elevator button. It whirred open behind Ortega, and he stood there for a moment before backstepping inside.
As the doors closed, Laura mouthed, 'you're welcome.'
That jolted him. He was supposed to say thanks—didn't get the chance, because the doors sealed before he could let out the words, drowning him in soothing elevator music as he rode.
Then a stupid grin plastered across his face.
Suddenly, a fist bump.
"Yes! I knew it. Triumph!"
He did a little boogie and spun. The rush was mad, and the fire burned hotter in his eyes. Job secured. Next... domination!
Then came the ding.
And it wasn't the elevator.
'What was that?'
A sexy-ass female voice whispered in his ear:
{Congratulations, host.}
He jumped and spun. "Who are you?" he bellowed.
However, the voice continued—
{You have been awarded the Corporate Devil System. Try not to grin too hard 'cause this isn't a fucking cheat.}
{Would host like to accept?
A. Yes
B. Yes}
***
Ortega got home fast. When he did, he shut the door behind him and flopped onto his unmade bed. Luckily, he discovered he could minimize the damn thing.
He wasn't stupid—he'd read a lot of progression fantasy. On his jobless days, he'd binged web novels and knew how this shit went.
He took his time. XFashion was more mysterious than he'd thought. There was more to the cosmetics company than met the eye. Apart from its billion-dollar net worth, it had a reputation, of course—for being a female-dominated workplace. The reasons they rarely hired men were unclear. So it was curious when they suddenly opened a spot for male employees. His window.
Ortega lay face-up on his bed, flexing his feet as he finally clicked 'yes'.
And Ortega was happy he did it at home—because a powerful headache slammed into him. It felt as though fingers clawed his brain open like a tangerine and poured info that had never existed.
When the pain subsided, he blinked. He was lying on the floor, clothes strewn everywhere, room messier than before.
Then he stood. The dizziness cleared, and the window appeared—showing his stats:
{Name: Ortega Dyke
Rank: Nil
Current Evaluation: A chronic spendthrift and indebted motherfucker. Attractive young man, broke lifestyle.
Hacks: Social intellect, physicality, ambitious presence, strategic cunning.
Flops: Arrogant. Self-centered. Lazy.}
Ortega scoffed at the system's appraisal. He definitely wasn't lazy—just felt that work was something that should be done on his terms, and by that he meant delegating to lesser subjects.
He balled his fists, unclenched them, and sighed, disappointed. 'No special power.'
Aside from his new understanding of the system's basics, he pretty much remained the same.
Maybe not. He felt his crotch—anticipation lighting his face.
***
Ortega sighed after confirming he received no upgrades down there, pulled his trousers up, turned from the mirror, and sat on his bed, dreaming of his first few days at work. Then he slept.
And there, the dreams got realer. More intense.
Salome, Laura, and the almighty Velvet.
By the time he got up to clean his room, it was already late evening. He sat in a cleaner space minutes later, deep in thought. One week was all he had till his first day. By then, something about him ought to have been better.
He rolled in bed that night, restless.
He woke up earlier than usual, thanks to the banging that wouldn't let him sleep. He rolled out of bed—Mr. Yugo again. He wasn't ready to deal with the old man today. So he just sat at the edge of his bed till the knocks subsided. Then came a final loud bang that made him wince, followed by retreating footsteps. Relief.
'This is only temporary,' he told himself—wanted to believe. But there was a feeling that if he didn't address this directly, he'd lose massively.
Then the window popped up in front of him:
{You need money.
Get a side gig.
Have some funds ready by weekend.}
That was it. It was no different from a goal planner. He clicked his tongue, and just as he was about to dismiss the interface, something appeared:
{Reward: Perception Upgrade.}
Ortega jumped to his feet. Perception upgrade? What does that mean?
{It means you'll be able to notice patterns. Patterns tied to money and opportunity a little more efficiently than most, dumbass.}
Ortega cringed. Was the insult necessary?
Anyway, that was good. One week might seem a short time but the experience gained if he stayed locked in would be beneficial later on. It was a good start.
He was a bit down that he wasn't an OP protagonist, though.
He groaned, already imagining the toll it'd take.
'No!' He killed the hesitation.
'Twas just one week.
How hard could it be?