Today, the universe decided to stop kicking Leo Vance in the teeth and finally handed him a win. A big one.
To keep his head above water, Leo maintained a double life in the digital world. He had his "Official" Western identity—a high-end freelance illustrator and fanfic author—and his "Ghost" identity for the Japanese market. He'd just finished a grueling commission for a client back in the States, a big-name web novelist with tens of thousands of paid subscribers.
Ping!
The sharp, distinct chime of a Discord notification echoed through the room. Leo leaned over, his mouse gliding across the pad. It was the client, checking in on the final manuscript.
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," Leo muttered, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. It had that satisfying, tactile clack-clack-clack that usually helped him focus. He typed out a quick, professional-yet-casual reply, attached the high-res file, and hit send.
The payoff was sweet: five hundred dollars. For a single illustration that took him two days of focused work, it was a killer rate. Leo had a strict "pay-to-play" policy—full payment upfront, or he didn't even sketch a thumbnail. In the beginning, that arrogance had cost him jobs, but once his portfolio started speaking for itself, people stopped complaining and started paying. If he actually put his face to his work and did the whole "influencer" thing, he'd probably be making six figures, but anonymity was his shield in a country that didn't always love outsiders.
He closed the chat, leaning back and feeling the tension in his shoulders start to bleed away.
University life in Tokyo was a weird mix of high-pressure and total boredom. As an art major, he only had classes two days a week, and even those were half-days. It gave him an absurd amount of free time—time he spent painting, grinding out fanfiction, and occasionally trying to write his own original novels.
The problem was, Leo knew he wasn't a "Chosen One" of literature. Painting and music? Those were skills he could grind. If you practiced your scales or your brushwork every day, you got better. Period. But writing? Writing felt like a divine gift he'd only received a half-portion of. He'd published a few original stories on platforms like Royal Road and ScribbleHub, but the results were... meh. His best story had about 1,800 followers; his worst barely broke 300. It wasn't even enough to cover his coffee habit.
"If I didn't love this crap, I'd have quit a year ago," he sighed, the air escaping his lungs in a long, weary hiss.
Just as he was about to get up for a glass of water, his body suddenly went haywire. A wave of profound lethargy crashed over him, making his limbs feel like lead pipes. He slipped from his chair, his knees hitting the tatami mats with a dull thud. Before he could even swear, a white-hot spike of pain driven straight into his skull.
[Excessive resentment detected. System initialization: Premature.]
[Modules: Active. Exchange Shop: Active. Fusion Safety: Active. Initial Ability Selection: Ready.]
The voice was cold, mechanical, and vibrated inside his teeth. Leo squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead pressed against the cool mat. He'd spent years writing about guys getting "Systems" and "Cheat Codes," but he never expected to actually hear one.
This thing—this nameless, faceless System—was bigger than anything he'd ever written. It wasn't just a stat sheet; it was a cosmic passport. It could bridge the gap between reality and fiction. All it needed was a "medium"—a movie, a show, a game—and it could drop him right into the middle of the story.
Suddenly, the "laid-back" life Leo had been forced into felt like a joke. Why be a background character in the real world when you could be the protagonist of every world?
Leo took a jagged breath, forcing himself back into his chair. His hands were shaking, but his heart was hammering with a sudden, violent hope. He pulled up the mental interface the System had provided.
[Initial Benefits: Choose Three (One from each group).]
Group 1: Bloodlines
The Ancient Qi Cultivator: The foundation of the universe is "Energy." Cultivate it to transcend mortality. Move mountains. Erase worlds.
The Witch: Manipulate the raw rules of reality. Note: Permanently solidifies gender as Female.
"Are you kidding me?" Leo scoffed, rubbing his temples. "I'm not trading my manhood for a power-up. Witch is out. Give me the Qi."
Group 2: Physical/Mental Augmentation
Super Soldier Serum: Peak human physicals. Immediate self-defense. (Diminishing returns in late-game).
NZT-48 (Permanent Modification): Unlocks the full potential of the brain. God-tier learning, analysis, and processing.
Leo hesitated. Being Captain America sounded cool, but he was a long-term thinker. "If I'm smart enough, I can find a way to get strong later. I'll take the brain boost. NZT-48, let's go."
Group 3: Aesthetics
Option A: "The Pretty Boy" (Effeminate, soft features).
Option B: "The Classic Alpha" (Masculine, rugged, well-defined).
"Option B. Obviously," Leo muttered. "I'm not trying to join a K-Pop band."
The moment he locked in his choices, the world exploded.
It felt like being tossed into a blast furnace. Every cell in his body was being ripped apart, scrubbed clean, and stitched back together. He didn't know if minutes or hours passed, but when he finally opened his eyes, the world didn't look the same.
He felt... sharp.
His brain was firing on all cylinders, processing the hum of the fridge, the distant sound of traffic, and the texture of the air all at once without any effort. It wasn't just "intelligence"—it was clarity.
Then there was the Qi. He could "see" it now—a faint, shimmering haze that clung to everything in his room. It was the raw matter of existence. He could feel it slowly being pulled into his pores, a cool, refreshing stream of energy that settled deep in his marrow.
He stood up and walked to the bathroom, stripping off his hoodie. He stared into the mirror and blinked.
His face hadn't been replaced, but it had been... optimized. His jawline was sharp enough to draw blood, and his eyes were a piercing, vibrant blue. His physique had shifted from "slightly out-of-shape student" to "professional athlete." Lean, functional muscle rippled under his skin—not the bulky, useless mass of a bodybuilder, but the whip-cord strength of a fighter.
"Holy hell," he whispered, tracing a hand over his new abs. "This is actually happening."
He sat back down at his computer, his mind already racing. He opened his media player. The paused frame of Saekano was still there.
[Anchor to unknown coordinates. Medium: Video carrier. World Name: None.]
The System was a "solo" version—no competitors, no survival games, just him and a set of rules. He earned "tokens" by changing the plot. If he saved someone who was supposed to die, or ruined the life of someone who was supposed to succeed, the System paid out.
And the fastest way to get paid? Target the main characters.
Leo looked at the screen, a smirk tugging at the corner of his new, rugged mouth. He thought about Aki Tomoya—the guy who used people's hearts to build a video game.
"You want to maximize your gains by using people, Tomoya?" Leo whispered. "Let's see how you handle a real player."
He reached out and touched the monitor, his hand sinking into the screen like it was made of water. The room around him dissolved into streaks of light and static.