Could he even trust the system with something like this? That was the thought circling his brain like some drunk pigeon that refused to leave. Yeah, the thing had saved him from splattering across the pavement like expired lasagna. Yeah, it had patched up his spine like it was doing light housework.
But this wasn't bones and blood. This was… vulnerability. Emotional nudity. The kind of shit that makes people curl up under blankets and binge late-night infomercials.
"What if it's a trap?" Phei muttered into the room, voice shaking just enough to embarrass him. "What if you're just fucking with me? Like some cosmic prank show. 'Haha, surprise, you're an idiot.'"
[SYSTEM HAS NO MOTIVE TO DECEIVE HOST.]
[HOST SURVIVAL EQUALS SYSTEM SUCCESS.]
[HOST DEATH EQUALS SYSTEM TERMINATION.]
He blinked. That actually… made sense. Cold sense. Business-level sense. Like the system was explaining quarterly earnings. If he died, it got unplugged from existence. If he lived, they both got a gold star. No twisted mastermind vibes there.
"Fine," he said, even though his voice cracked like a busted speaker. "Fine. Activate it."
[CHARM SPEECH LV.1 ACTIVATED]
[DURATION: 23:59:58 REMAINING]
[GOOD LUCK, HOST.]
For a moment nothing happened. Nothing. He just stood there like a dumbass in the middle of his sad little room, waiting for lightning or power surges or maybe an anime sparkle aura. Instead, the universe gave him a whole lot of nothing.
Then he said, "Wait."
His voice. His damn voice.
It sounded… different. Soothing. Warm. Smooth in the way expensive singers sound when they're whispering about heartbreak on vinyl. Not deep or fake-sexy, just… inviting. Like caramel that melted right. Even he wanted to hear himself speak.
Phei slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "Holy… shit," he whispered. And even the whisper sounded like it belonged on late-night radio. "No way. This is real? This actually—"
But then his brain did what it always did: slammed him straight back into panic city.
What if this was it? Just a voice upgrade? Nothing else. No persuasion magic. No 60% reality-distortion. Just new audio settings. Like some Walmart version of charm.
That fear came fast and ugly, clamping onto him so hard his hands trembled and his breath sped up.
He could already imagine the disasters. Him stepping up to someone—anyone—and opening his mouth, only for the "charm" to flop like a bad joke. He could destroy whatever microscopic reputation he still had.
He could make himself the household clown. The neighborhood weirdo. The academy's cautionary tale.
But he didn't have time to be scared. Tick-tock. Twenty-four hours. Well, twenty-three and fifty-eight now. Every second he wasted was like flushing opportunity down the toilet and waving goodbye as it circled the drain.
And yet the thought still slipped out: "What could go wrong, right?"
He actually barked a laugh. The bitter kind. The kind late-night comedians throw right before they roast a celebrity's entire career on national TV.
Everything could go wrong. Everything often DID go wrong around him.
This whole plan could get him kicked out of the house. Expelled from the academy. Turn him into the town's cautionary bedtime story. "Remember that kid who tried to seduce his own family? Yeah, that one—absolute psycho."
But then again… he'd already jumped off a building. A week from now, that future version of him had literally walked to the roof and said "fuck it." He'd been ready to die. So what was one more catastrophic mistake? Worst case, he ended up exactly where his timeline already promised: dead. Best case, he changed shit.
So yeah, the path was hell either way. Just… different decorations on the walls.
"Okay," Phei whispered, trying to unclench every muscle in his body. "Okay. I can do this. I can—"
No. No he absolutely could not. He was terrified enough to sweat through a winter coat.
But he had to choose. Had to pick the first target like he was drafting players for a team he didn't even want to coach.
He sat on the bed, mind racing so fast it felt like smoke might start leaking out of his ears. The system had listed options like it was reading from a cursed menu: step-family females, the hot neighbor with the attitude problem, or the academy's queen-bee nightmares.
Fine. He'd break it down. Like he always did. Logic mode. The only coping mechanism he still had intact.
Victoria. Nineteen. Eldest. College girl who thought she was God's favorite.
Pro: she wasn't home most of the time, so if he fumbled the bag, he might only have to see her every other holiday.
Con: she was vicious. Wise in the art of psychological warfare. The kind of pretty that made people cruel. She'd probably laugh in his face and then call the cops for good measure.
Delilah. Eighteen. Twin to Danton.
Pro: she was predictable in schedule, always around, easy to find.
Con: she was unpredictable in every other way. She'd shot him with paintballs until he bruised like a banana. And she and Danton were emotionally welded together. If he messed up with her, Danton would go full attack dog.
Sienna. Seventeen. Same age, same school.
Pro: most likely option not to instantly kill him. Saw her every day; familiarity existed.
Con: she'd smashed his laptop like it was a piñata. Treated him like leftover trash. She might not even register he was talking to her unless someone pointed out he existed.
Melissa. His aunt. That one made nausea roll up his throat. Beautiful, yeah. In an expensive perfume, cold-aristocrat, venomous-snake-in-human-skin way.
But she'd basically turned his childhood into a labor camp.
Thinking about seducing her made him want to peel his own skin off. Hard pass. Nuclear pass. Only-if-the-world-was-ending-and-a-gun-was-to-his-head pass.
The Hot Rude Neighbor - He didn't even know who that was. The system had mentioned it, but Paradise was huge. Lots of neighbors. Which one? The one to the left with the daughter who was always sunbathing?
The one across the street with the mom who jogged every morning? The family two houses down with the girl who always wore headphones? Too vague. Too risky to just guess.
Academy Belles - This was a whole category. Girls like Sierra, who'd blackmailed him. Or Madison, who'd laughed when Brett shoved him into a locker. Or Amber, who'd "accidentally" spilled coffee on him three times in one semester. They were all gorgeous. All cruel. All completely out of his league even WITH a magic voice.
Phei groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Every option sucked. Every single one was a potential disaster that could blow up in his face spectacularly.
But he had to choose. The clock was ticking. 23 hours and 54 minutes.
Think, goddammit. Think.
Who would be the easiest? Who would be most receptive? The system said the ability worked better on targets in "heightened emotional or aroused states."
Okay. So he needed someone who was already somewhat vulnerable. Someone who might be emotionally available or... or horny? Jesus, he couldn't believe he was thinking about this clinically.
Sienna was always on her phone, probably texting some guy. Maybe she was frustrated? Teenage girls got frustrated with relationships, right? That was a thing?
Or maybe one of the academy girls. Someone he'd seen flirting with guys, someone who was clearly interested in... that kind of stuff. Madison had a different boyfriend every month. Sierra was always posting thirst traps on Instagram. They were clearly sexually active, or at least thinking about it.
But approaching them was suicide. They hated him. Actively, intentionally hated him.
Unless...
Phei's mind caught on something. The ability said it decreased effectiveness on "neutral or hostile" targets. But what if he caught them at the right moment? Like, what if Sierra was having a fight with her boyfriend and she was angry and upset and vulnerable? Would that count as "heightened emotional state"?
It was a gamble. A huge, terrifying gamble.