A week passed.
Not quietly.
Not peacefully.
But without death, which Blake considered a measurable success.
However, the system did not grant him rest. It granted him humiliation.
On Monday:
[ Mission: Poke Myles Cortez's shoulder ten times. ]
[ Time Limit: 6 hours. ]
[ Penalty: Favorability decay. ]
'Not even a reward?'
Blake had stared at the mission for a full minute before attempting it.
The first poke had been disguised as a mistake. "Sorry, I thought you dropped something." The second was framed as an attempt to get his attention. By the fourth, Myles had turned his head slightly and looked at him.
"Is there something you need?"
Blake had smiled too brightly. "Just checking if your beautiful self is actually real."
Myles had regarded him for a beat too long and simply turned his head away.
At least he didn't swat Blake's hand aside.
He simply returned to his notes.
By the tenth poke, Blake's face was burning, but the system chimed obediently.
[ Mission Complete. ]
"Fuck you!"
On Tuesday:
[ Sit next to Myles Cortez for the entire school day. ]
[ Time Limit: 1 day. ]
[ Penalty: Favorability decay. ]
That one had required strategy.
Blake arrived earlier than usual and took the seat beside Myles before anyone else could claim it. Myles had paused when he entered the classroom, his gaze lingering briefly on Blake's bag occupying the adjacent chair.
"You're early."
"Trying something new."
Myles didn't comment further. He simply sat.
For the rest of the day, Blake existed in hyper-awareness of proximity...the subtle warmth radiating from Myles' arm, the faint scent of something clean and cool, soap maybe, the quiet sound of pen against paper, their elbows brushing occasionally when they both reached for textbooks.
Myles never shifted away.
On Wednesday:
[ Call his name softly during class. ]
[ Time Limit: 4 hours. ]
'I feel my dignity fading away.'
"Myles," he had whispered during a lull in the lecture.
Myles' eyes flicked toward him.
Blake had no follow-up prepared. Actually, he did, but looking at such a villainous face deeply overwhelmed him.
"…Huh, nothing."
On Thursday:
[ Brush lint off his sleeve. ]
Blake had done it without preamble.
Myles had looked down at the contact, then at Blake.
"There wasn't anything there," he said.
"There is now!" Blake replied, his voice thin.
'Where the fuck is my reward? Please Spoon, I beg you!'
On Friday:
[ Stand within 10 centimeters of him for ten minutes. ]
That had been the worst.
Blake had hovered beside him near the lockers, pretending to scroll through his phone while students moved around them. Close enough to feel the subtle shift of Myles' breathing.
"You're impressively attached to me," Myles had said without looking at him.
Blake's heart had nearly ruptured.
"Am I?"
"Yes."
And that had been it.
There was no accusation or rejection.
Just observation.
By the end of the week, Blake's baseline embarrassment tolerance had expanded beyond what he believed humanly possible.
Which made it all the more cruel when the system chose Saturday morning to destroy him.
He had just woken up when the familiar translucent interface unfolded before his eyes.
[ New Mission Assigned. ]
Blake squinted at it through sleep-blurred vision.
Then he fully woke up.
[ Mission: Kiss Myles Cortez on the cheek. ]
[ Time Limit: 7 days. ]
[ Current Favorability: -8 ]
[ Penalty: ??? ]
[ Reward: Skill from spinning wheel. ]
The room felt too small.
"Kiss?!" He fell off the bed.
Not brush hands.
Not poke.
Not proximity.
A kiss.
On the cheek!
It wasn't even that outrageous, technically. People did that. Friends did that occasionally.
"But we ain't friends! We aren't anything at all! Fuck!"
They were two classmates connected by increasingly questionable physical contact and a system that treated Blake's life like a game.
At least he had seven days.
That was generous.
Actually, that was horrifying.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
How was he supposed to escalate from lint-brushing to kissing without looking unhinged?
He buried his face in his hands.
"This is harassment, you crazy fucker," he muttered.
[ Mission parameters are optimal for narrative progression, Dear Host. ]
"I am not in a narrative! I am in a nightmare."
The system did not respond.
***
Monday arrived too quickly.
Blake went to school with a plan: act normal. Do not look like someone plotting cheek-based assault.
Easier said than done.
He found himself studying Myles' face more than usual. The line of his jaw, the smooth plane of his cheekbone, the exact location where a kiss would land.
'Stop, you idiot!'
He forced his gaze away.
The favorability had climbed slowly over the week, from -10 to -8.
'This is pathetic. It's been one whole week! Does he want a princess treatment or something?!'
Besides, Myles hadn't smiled once. Not even accidentally.
But he seemed to tolerate Blake's close proximity.
Which somehow made it worse.
Second period passed uneventfully.
Then, in third period, their civics teacher clapped her hands sharply to gather attention.
"I have an announcement," she said, adjusting her glasses. "You'll be working in pairs for your midterm presentation. The topic is the meaning of justice in modern society."
A low murmur spread across the classroom.
"You'll analyze how justice is defined, who defines it, and whether it is applied equally. You may use historical, legal, or philosophical frameworks. Presentations will be next Friday."
Next Friday.
Seven days.
Blake's stomach dropped.
Pairs.
He didn't even consider pretending to deliberate.
He turned immediately.
"Myles."
Surprisingly, he was already looking at him.
Blake flinched. "Do you have a partner?" he asked.
"Not yet."
"Do you want to—" He stopped himself from sounding desperate. "Work together?"
The pause lasted barely half a second.
"All right," Myles said.
Relief flooded Blake so abruptly it made him lightheaded.
"Great."
The teacher began assigning the remaining students, but Blake barely heard her. He was too busy thinking.
This was a golden opportunity.
After class, they remained seated while others filtered out.
"What angle do you want to take?" Blake asked, trying to sound focused and academic instead of like someone calculating cheek proximity.
Myles leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Justice as an institutional construct," he replied. "How systems claim neutrality while reinforcing imbalance."
Blake blinked.
"…That's intense."
Blake studied him for a moment.
'I mean, he is a villain, after all. I wonder if he ever thought about going to the good side.'
But Blake didn't even know the reason why he was the final boss in the first place.
'How I regret not reading that goddamn book.'
Myles' gaze met his.
"What do you think about it?"
"Yes, I agree," Blake said quickly. "We can research legal cases. Or maybe compare theoretical justice to real-world outcomes?"
"Okay."
Their conversation flowed more easily than Blake expected. It was structured and purposeful. Myles spoke concisely, but when he did, his thoughts were sharp and layered. Blake found himself leaning forward unconsciously, drawn in.
He forgot, briefly, about the mission.
Until the bell rang.
Students began packing up again.
Blake's pulse ticked upward.
This was his chance.
They couldn't exactly complete a full project discussion during lunch breaks. They needed a place to meet.
He hesitated, and Myles noticed.
"You were about to say something."
Blake cursed internally. "Was I that obvious?"
"Yes."
Blake swallowed.
"About the project… do you want to meet somewhere after school? To outline it?"
"Where?"
His mind scrambled.
"My house?" he blurted.
Myles held his gaze steadily. "No," he said.
Blake's stomach sank.
"Oh."
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Myles' eyes.
"You should come to mine instead," he continued.
Blake froze.
"…What?"
"My house," Myles repeated.
Blake's thoughts collided violently.
'Wait, I have to go to the final boss's house for a school project?!'
He had never even imagined Myles having a house, truthfully. He thought he had a villain lair or something.
But now he was being invited.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Your parents won't mind?"
"It won't be an issue."
That answer did not clarify anything.
Blake felt like he'd stepped onto unstable ground.
'This wasn't part of the plan.'
He had expected reluctance. Resistance. Maybe even suspicion.
Instead, Myles had drawn him closer.
"Okay," Blake said slowly. "Then… after school tomorrow?"
"That's fine."
They walked out of the classroom together.
Blake's thoughts churned.
'This could help. It's a private space and definitely less crowded.'
Yet...
His mind supplied images of the novel's darker chapters described by the fans. He risked a glance at Myles as they descended the stairs.
Myles walked with the same steady composure as always, his hands in his pockets, his gaze forward.
If there was hesitation in him, it didn't show.
"Why not my house?" Blake asked suddenly.
Myles was quiet for a step. Two.
"It'd be more efficient for me," he said at last. "If you're going to insert yourself into my schedule repeatedly, I might as well control the variables."
Blake's breath caught.
Control the variables.
That didn't sound like someone passively tolerating attention.
'What if he plans to kill me?'
He hadn't forgotten about that possibility just yet.
The system flickered faintly at the edge of Blake's vision.
[ Emotional trajectory unstable. ]
He ignored it.
As they reached the front gates, Myles paused.
"We'll meet tomorrow at the bus stop near my house. Don't be late," he said.
"I won't!"
He walked away without another word.
Blake stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
A week to kiss him.
And tomorrow, he would step into Myles' territory.
The mission timer ticked quietly in the corner of his sight.
Seven days.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Blake wasn't sure whether the system was pushing him forward, or guiding him directly into something he wasn't ready to face.