My Scumbag System Chapter 1: Welcome to Your New Life, You Fat Fuck

[Failure Penalty Administered: Acute Testicular Torsion (Duration: 3 minutes)]

"FUCK!"

Pain never struck me like this in the past. Stabbings had come my way before—twice to the shoulder, once in the thigh. Fingers got shattered, three of them, in a messed-up interrogation. Agony was something I knew well. It felt like a close buddy.

But this torment? Total destruction blasting through my groin.

"System!" I croaked. "What the fuck is happening?"

[Penalty in progress. 2:43 remaining.]

Glowing words burned in my sight, ridiculing me. Flashes of memory hit hard: the cold touch of a tumbler on my lips, rich eighteen-year-old Yamazaki whiskey pouring smoothly down. The heavy heft of my custom Beretta, grip fancy with mother-of-pearl. Silk tie perfectly tied at my neck, standing tall in my penthouse with New York's skyline sparkling below.

Those old scenes smashed into my grim now. This frail, quivering body huddled on flooring that stank of old chips and filthy clothes.

Eyes pried open through tears, I blinked hard. The room sharpened into blurry view. A teen's messy den, zero signs of anything useful or good ever going down. Junk food trash built mini peaks over all spots. Walls stuck full of posters showing doe-eyed anime babes in stances blending tween and grown-up vibes.

"Jesus," I wheezed, trying to push myself up.

Palms spread on the carpet, horror froze me staring down. These weren't my hands. Mine stayed tanned and tough, knife scar slashing right knuckles. These looked ghostly, doughy, nails gnawed short, Cheeto crumbs crusted in the lines.

Crawling to the desk, a dead computer screen loomed. Its dark face barely showed my image.

No. Not mine. Belonged to another.

Back at me leered a pudgy mug, cheeks fat and slick with grease. Limp red hair greasy strands over chunky glasses. Extra chin. Skin like dough, untouched by sun. Mug of a youth shunned by light, sweat, and human regard.

"Not possible," I gasped. "Not fucking possible."

[Penalty in progress. 1:17 remaining.]

Fresh waves of hurt exploded, like the System smiting my refusal. Down I went again, teeth grinding into my lip till blood hit my tongue. Had to be a twisted dream, some mind trick. Final recall: rage boiling over as I cursed those crap light novels, that one with the sad-sack hero snagging every babe...

Oh no.

"I’m him," I whispered. "I’m the pathetic loser."

[Penalty in progress. 0:32 remaining.]

Zero ticked on the clock, and relief crashed in so fast I nearly blacked out.

"Haah.... Haah... what was that?"

[Penalty complete. I trust the lesson was... impactful?]

"Who the fuck are you?"

[I am Nel, the Administrator of your personal System, Kaelen Leone. Or should I call you Satori Nakano now? That is the name that belongs to this body, after all.]

Up on shaky legs I rose, teetering while getting used to the weird bulk shift. Like dropping from V10 power to a weak four-banger.

"Put me back in my body right fucking now."

[Unfortunately, that’s impossible. Your original body is currently being prepared for cremation in Tokyo. Acute aortic dissection, brought on by a combination of being poisoned, hypertension, and your little tantrum.]

Stumbling to the closet door's mirror, my fresh nightmare stared full-force. Bloated big, Pillsbury Doughboy style.

"No," I whispered, pressing my hands against the mirror. "No, this isn’t happening."

[Oh, but it is, Mr. Leone. Or rather, Mr. Nakano. And we have much to discuss about your new circumstances.]

Spinning from the hated image, I couldn't take more. "Why? Why would you do this to me?"

[Because you’re entertaining! Your rage when reading about fictional worlds, your contempt for protagonists who had everything handed to them... and now you get to live that very reality you despised. The twist? You’re not the hero. You’re the pathetic side character who exists to make the hero look better by comparison.]

Utter nonsense. Kaelen Leone was me—silver-tongued hitter for Yamaguchi-gumi, awe inspired by a single stare.

Reduced to this flabby blob.

"I’ll kill myself."

[1-minute penalty for threatening self-harm: Acute Testicular Torsion.]

"Wait a sec— AHHH!"

[Self-harm threatens the gods entertainment Satori. You can not violate our contract.]

"We don’t... have a... contract," I ground out between clenched teeth.

[Oh, but we do. Your soul was weighed and found wanting. Your life was one of selfish pleasure and casual cruelty. You’re here to learn, to grow... and to amuse me in the process.]

"Okay... okay. I’m listening," I gasped out. "Just fucking explain."

[Now then, shall we discuss your situation properly? Welcome to New Vein City! A world filled with Gate and superhumans. Your immediate goal is to gain enrollment in the prestigious New Vein Academy, a training ground for Hunters who battle the Abyssal Beasts that threaten humanity.]

"Let me guess," I grumbled under my breath. "I’m gonna be the weakest there."

[Perceptive! You are what’s known as a Zero, someone with no measurable Aspect. The lowest of the low. In fact, let me show you your current status.]

A see-through blue panel materialized in front of me, suspended in the air like a hologram.

Name: Satori Nakano

Title: Fat Fuck

Level: 1

Class: [NONE]

Strength: F-0

Dexterity: F-0

Agility: F-0

Endurance: F-0

Magic: F-0

Active Abilities (0/2):

Passive Abilities (0/4):

Traits: [NONE]

"Fat fuck... did it take you all night to come up with that one?"

[It did not. Two months from now you’ll be taking the entrance exam for the New Vein Academy Hunter Program. Right now, you’d be laughed out before you even stepped through the door.]

"So I’m supposed to get fit and become the hero?" I questioned, heaving myself up to my feet once more. "That’s how these things usually go, am I right?"

[Not quite. You see, the original Satori is meant to be cannon fodder. But you are not the original Satori.]

Leaning against the wall for support, I mulled over this revelation. "So what’s my role now?"

[That depends on you. The System I’ve attached to your soul is called [The Scumbag System]. It rewards... let’s call it ’morally flexible behavior.’ The more entertaining your actions, the more Schema Points you earn. Those points can be exchanged for power.]

Yet another panel popped up:

[Schema Points (SP): 0]

[You’ll need those points. Because while you may be starting as cannon fodder, you have potential the original Satori never had: your mind. With those qualities, you might just survive this world.]

My hand rubbed across my face, sensing the strange plumpness of my cheeks. "Fine. I’ll play your game. How do I earn these Schema Points?"

[By embracing your role as the scumbag, of course. Corrupt the pure. Seduce the innocent. Betray expectations. Cause chaos that amuses us, and you’ll be rewarded.]

"That’s it? That was my entire life before this."

[Yes, but now there are rules. Structure. And real consequences for failure.]

Instinctively, my hand darted to shield my groin, recalling the sharp agony. "I noticed."

[Your first task is simple: seduce and corrupt your stepsister, Natalia Kuzmina. She’s a potential A-Rank Hunter-in-training, beautiful, proud, and she despises you. You have until the entrance exam to make her yours. Completely.]