I’m Bruce, the most notorious good-for-nothing playboy in the Capital City.

My stepbrother happens to be the lofty CEO of a corporate empire. He indulges my every whim—street racing, reckless spending, stirring up trouble—and then quietly cleans up every mess I leave behind.

I used to believe that kind of extreme pampering was love.

Then a Favorability System bound itself to my mind.

**[Scanning target: Dennis. Current Favorability: -99. Emotional Analysis: Disgust.]**

**[Warning: Host is currently under a "Spoil-to-Destroy" plan. The target will legally seize your shares and eliminate you upon your coming of age.]**

That negative number hit me like a plunge into ice water.

So all his kindness was nothing but meticulously crafted poison.

Just when I "risked my life" to save him from an avalanche and prepared to disappear for good, the system chimed again:

**[Target Dennis, Favorability +100. Emotional Analysis: Possession.]**

He looked at me, his gaze crazed and desperate. "Bruce, did you really think you could get away?"

***

Lying in bed, I stared up at the million-dollar crystal chandelier overhead, feeling like a deflated balloon. Every breath left me in a hollow, leaking hiss.

-99. Disgust.

Those two words pierced my brain like venom-tipped needles, turning my whole world inside out.

The system’s voice droned on.

**[Warning: Target Dennis's "Spoil-to-Destroy" plan against the host has been active for eight years. Its objective is to legally seize the 11% of Dennis's Group shares held in your name upon your 22nd birthday, citing mental incompetence and erratic behavior, followed by… host elimination.]**

Eliminate.

Such a cold, clinical word.

A violent shiver seized me. I bolted upright.

Impossible.

This can’t be true.

How could Dennis possibly *disgust* me?

He’s always been so good to me.

My eyes swept the room. Everything in this bedroom, lavish as a presidential suite, down to the smallest trinket, had been handpicked by Dennis. He always said I deserved the best.

**[The host need not deceive himself.]**

The system’s tone was flat. **[Recall: last Wednesday, the midnight snack you personally prepared for Dennis. Did he eat it?]**

I froze.

That day, on a whim, I’d tried cooking for the first time and simmered a pot of soup for him.

He’d smiled, praised me for growing up, even patted my head.

But the next day, taking out the trash, I saw the soup pot—completely untouched—sitting in the kitchen bin.

The butler had explained, *Sir had an unexpected international meeting. He was too busy and forgot.*

**[Last month, for your birthday, Dennis gifted you that eight-million-dollar Patek Philippe. When you handed it to him to help you put it on, did he subtly avoid touching your fingers?]**

My heart turned cold, inch by inch.

Yes. He took the watch, but pinched it by the edge of the dial with his fingertips. Carefully. As if my hands carried some fatal disease.

**[Three years ago, after your mother—Dennis’s stepmother—passed away and Mr. Oliver fell into depression, it was Dennis who brought you into the Dennis household. But are you aware that Dennis’s own birth mother died of depression, brought on by Mr. Oliver’s emotional affair with your mother?]**

*Boom.*

The last thread in my mind—the one called "Trust"—snapped completely.

So that was it.

My mother was Oliver’s cherished memory, while Dennis’s mother remained the forsaken regret he could never release.

He wasn’t a saint—he was a vengeful demon.

Every kindness he’d shown me was just poison wrapped in honey.

A deep chill settled into my bones, turning my hands and feet to ice.

*Knock, knock.*

A familiar, gentle voice came from the other side of the door, one that now sent shivers down my spine. “Bruce, are you awake? Come down for breakfast.”

I nearly stumbled in my rush to answer it.

Outside stood Dennis in a sharply tailored gray suit, his eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses as deep as the sea, a faint smile resting on his lips.

Seeing me disheveled—clothes rumpled, hair a mess—he reached out naturally to straighten my collar.

I flinched back.

His hand froze mid-air, a flicker of coldness passing behind his lenses.

**[Target: Dennis. Favorability -1.]**

**[Current Favorability: -100.]**

**[Emotional Analysis: Extreme Disgust.]**

That glaring “-100” flashed before my eyes. An invisible fist closed around my heart, squeezing until I could barely breathe.

He withdrew his hand, his smile unchanged, his tone still gentle. “What’s wrong? Didn’t sleep well?”

My mouth opened, but my throat was too dry for sound. All I could do was shake my head frantically.

“Hurry and get ready. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” He spoke with casual ease, then turned and descended the stairs.

Leaning against the doorframe, I felt my back soaked with cold sweat.

I finally understood: this house I’d lived in for eight years wasn’t a warm harbor. It was a gilded cage, meticulously crafted just for me.

And Dennis was the elegant butcher holding the key.

Armed with the truth, every move I made became cautious.

I no longer dared to act out recklessly. Instead, I started trying to please him.

When he returned from long meetings, I’d greet him at the door with his slippers.

Knowing his stomach was sensitive, I learned to make nourishing soups.

I even picked up the financial magazines he read, though the complex graphs and jargon made my head spin.

I thought that if I became obedient and sensible—if I stopped being a hopeless mess—he might… just might… change his opinion of me.

But reality slapped me hard.

When I handed him his slippers, he’d smile and take them, only to set them aside and pull another pair from the closet.

The soup I made? He’d take a small sip in front of me, praise me with a “Our Bruce is growing up,” and pour the rest down the drain the moment I turned away.

**[Target: Dennis. Favorability -1.]**

**[Current Favorability: -101.]**

**[Emotional Analysis: Extreme Disgust.]**

Staring at that brutal number, despair washed over me like a tidal wave.

Why?

Why did my efforts only deepen his disgust?

**[Because in Dennis’s plan, the host should remain a complete and utter waste.]**

The system’s voice was merciless. **[Any sign of you “improving” deviates from his control. It irritates him. It makes him wary.]**

I understood.

In his eyes, I didn’t even have the right to become better.

I had to live—and die—as the “waste” he’d designed, until he had drained me of my last shred of value, and only then would I be disposed of.

I gave up completely, reverting to the lawless young master I used to be.

I started spending more lavishly than ever, dropping a million in a single night at the clubs.

I gathered my old “friends” for a wild pool party at the mansion, turning the place upside down.

Dennis didn’t stop me. He just stood in the wreckage of the living room after the party, watching me with a calm, unreadable gaze.

His stare unnerved me. I puffed out my chest, defiant. “What are you looking at? Spent your money, so you’re upset?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked over, reached out, and wiped a smudge of cream from the corner of my mouth.

His fingertips were cold. The touch was fleeting, but it raised goosebumps all over my skin.

"Get some rest." With that, he went upstairs.

**[Current Favorability: -101.]**

The System's prompt echoed. At least the favorability rating hadn’t dropped further.

Laughing until tears streamed down my face, I collapsed on the sofa.

Only when I played the hopeless, worthless waste of space could I barely hold onto the bottom line of his favorability.

How pathetic.

"Bruce, you and Dennis just now... everything okay?" Jeffrey, my best friend, sidled over, concern etched on his face.

Seeing his sincere expression, a flicker of warmth stirred in my chest.

In this ice-cold house, he was the only one I could truly confide in.

**[Friendly Reminder: Scanning target, Jeffrey.]**

**[Current Favorability: -50.]**

**[Emotional Analysis: Disdain, Exploitation.]**

**[Character Background: Jeffrey was bought off by Dennis three years ago. He is responsible for guiding and encouraging the Host to engage in various outlandish behaviors and regularly reports the Host's activities to Dennis.]**

My smile froze.

My best friend... another of Dennis's planted informants.

As Jeffrey chattered on with his "concern," a wave of nausea washed over me.

It turned out that not a single person around me had ever been genuine.

I was a complete and utter joke.

That night, locked in my room, I asked the System earnestly for the first time, "Is there any way out for me?"

**[Yes.]**

The System's answer kindled a sliver of hope.

**[Based on data projections, three months from now, Dennis will go skiing in the Northern Snow Peaks, where he will encounter a minor avalanche.]**

**[Mission Issued: Host is to rescue Dennis during the avalanche.]**

**[Mission Reward: Upon completion, the Host may choose to leave this world. The System will erase all traces of your existence and open a brand new life for you in a parallel world.]**

Leave this world?

I was stunned.