The next morning didn't make sense.
Every channel, every app, every voice note buzzing across group chats was all on the sa weird frequency—last night's freak snowstorm. Like the sky had a glitch. People were posting ti-lapses, debating conspiracies, weather dudes were stumbling through explanations like they'd just discovered magic was real.
And yet... today? The sun ca out like it was on stage.
No frost. No clouds. No leftovers. Just clear blue sky and a golden glare sliding through the heavens like it had sowhere boujee to be. Like it showed up fashionably late and expected applause.
Inside a high-rise condo in the heart of Tribeca, a youth stirred awake beneath silk sheets and designer air.
Jayden blinked into the ceiling of the sitting room where he'd passed out. Stared. Then rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, letting the morning settle. Damn, he felt good. Not just better—good. So good that made you forget your body had been treated like a ragdoll the day before.
No lingering bruises, no soreness, not even that weird ache behind his eyes from too much screen ti. Whatever mattress this was, it had healed him spiritually.
He stretched once, jaw cracking slightly, and rolled onto his side.
No, he didn't doubt a single thing that happened yesterday. Not even a little. Because you don't wake up in this kind of condo by accident. It was real. All of it. The system. The docunts. The power.
He sat up slowly, covers falling from his chest like dramatic symbolism.
The morning light poured in from the smart glass walls, draping the living room in that aesthetic, warm-toned glow that made everything look like it belonged in a Netflix original about billionaires with emotional issues.
Jayden yawned. "Alright..." he muttered, voice still rough from sleep, "what now?"
He opened his inventory. It was all still there—perfectly arranged like the system had Marie Kondo'd his life.
The tablet. The Limitless Card. The Harem God Card, still glowing faintly like a perv in standby mode. All the files, keys, devices from the White Dragon Group. No losses. No glitches. Still stacked like a digital armory waiting to be used.
"Should I check the Copy and Paste function first?" he asked himself, voice trailing off into a thoughtful hum.
He stood, feet landing on cool marble floors that were polished enough to see your future in them. Wandering into the living room, he took it all in again—but this ti, with clearer eyes.
The TV wasn't just big—it was fucking cinematic. The kind that talked to you. The sound system built into the wall was already on standby, sensors reacting to his footsteps like it wanted to vibe with him. The panel under the TV had a sleek directory manual—black cover, gold font—detailing every piece of tech in the entire place.
Jayden skimd it while wandering the room.
The lights? Voice-activated.
The curtains? Programmable to match the sunrise.
The fridge? Could order groceries by itself.
The oven? Could preheat with a whisper.
And then there was a cleaning bot—small, sleek, deadly efficient—doing laps around the base of the couch like a silent little assassin against dust.
"Even the damn coffee machine haw a personality I guess. Everything in this place could probably kill if it wanted," he muttered, not even mad.
But his focus was back now. Crystal clear.
The system gave him sothing special. Sothing unfair.
He walked over to the kitchen island, hands in his pockets, and grinned like a kid standing in front of a cheat code.
No more dreaming. No more stalling.
It was ti to test the Copy and Paste function.
"It's was ti to cheat the system—and get away with it." Jayden grabbed the slim remote from the coffee table—matte black, touch-responsive, too sleek for its own good—and pointed it at the beast of a TV.
The screen lit up without hesitation, reacting to his presence like it already missed him.
"Pull up AI generated images of lean built body types," he said, voice casual but curious.
The AI chirped a soft acknowledgnt, and a series of images appeared almost instantly—digital n, posed like catalog models, each with slightly different builds. So more cut, so softer, so weirdly proportioned like the AI was still learning what real humans looked like.
Jayden scrolled through them with a half-raised brow. None of them were bad, exactly. But they didn't hit. Too symtrical. Too plastic. Too "Photoshop on steroids."
He sighed. "No, not these. Gim realistic lean builds—athletic, masculine, like AI-generated models but make 'em believable. Not Ken dolls. I want clean muscle, defined abs, nice shoulders. Not bodybuilder big, but strong. Naturally hot. Like they just casually ruin people's self-esteem by existing."
A beat passed, then the screen blinked.
And this ti—oh yeah. The images hit different.
Jayden's lips tugged into a grin. "Perfect," he muttered.
These weren't overdone. These were lethal.
The AI had cooked. Lean, chiseled torsos, every line of muscle showing just enough without overcompensating. Defined chest, clean cut abs, V-line sharp enough to kill soone, and that balance of aesthetic and strength—like these guys didn't just look good, they could run ten miles, take your girl, and still show up at brunch looking unbothered.
One in particular stood out. Almost divine in proportion. A male god, or an immortal from so otherworldly soap opera. That kind of visual that made gym rats question their life choices.
Jayden tapped the image and zood in slightly.
"Yeah... yeah, you'll do just fine."
Then without ceremony, without dramatic music, without hesitation—he grinned like a villain who just found the backdoor to heaven itself.
"Copy and Paste."
[Ding! Copying and Pasting host's desired Physicality as his own!]
Jayden stood there, shoulders square, eyes locked on the screen. He couldn't believe it. Actually, no—he could. This was exactly the kind of power the system promised, and now it was real. Tangible. Working.
"It's fucking working!"
He laughed. Not so smug little chuckle—nah, he laughed. Big, ssy, joyful noise that filled the living room like a middle finger to every insecurity he'd ever carried.
Then—
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