Daily Love Roulette System

3 - The Fake Boyfriend Protocol

The brick of the student union bit into Fajar’s back, a cold, gritty reminder of his precarious existence. Anya didn't release his collar. Her knuckles were white, her eyes narrowed into lasers of pure, analytical focus.

"Talk, Fajar. And make it quick, because my patience is currently shorter than that ridiculous ‘honey-bunch’ nickname you came up with."

Fajar gulped, his throat feeling like he’d swallowed a handful of dry sand. "I swear on my GPA, I didn't know who you were until two minutes ago. The system, this neon hellscape, just... it highlights names. It gave me an objective. I’m a puppet, okay? A very stressed-out puppet."

Anya let go, but her eyes stayed locked on him. "A puppet? That’s your best opening line?"

"It’s the truth! Look, check my phone if you don’t believe me." He thrust his screen toward her.

Anya swiped it away with a scoff. "It’s encrypted by a server I haven’t even been able to ping. You really expect me to believe you’re just some random guy who got picked by... what? A random number generator for trauma?"

"You can see it too, can't you? The screen? The countdowns?" Fajar asked, his voice cracking.

Anya crossed her arms, her posture shifting from aggressive to guarded. "I see a flicker in the periphery. A glitch in the local network that shouldn't exist. I thought I was hacking the campus mainframe, but you... you’re the physical anchor for these prompts."

"I'm an anchor? I feel more like a chew toy," Fajar groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

[ MANDATORY QUEST UPDATE: Maintaining the ruse. ]

[ OBJECTIVE: Convince Anya to continue the act for the next 15 minutes. ]

[ PENALTY: Your search history, including ‘how to tell if my cat is secretly a government drone’, will be broadcast to the university loudspeaker. ]

Fajar’s face went white. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Please, no."

Anya arched an eyebrow. "What now? Did the screen tell you to start crying?"

"It’s threatening my browsing history," Fajar hissed, leaning in close. "Anya, listen to me. We have to keep doing this. Just for fifteen minutes. If we don't, everyone in this building is going to find out about my... uh... deeply embarrassing curiosities."

"You have something to hide?" Anya’s mouth quirked into a smirk. "Let me guess. Fanfiction? Or just basic, pathetic insecurity?"

"Both! Maybe! Look, just help me out. Please. I’ll do whatever you want."

Anya tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over him with an unnerving, clinical calculation. "Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous offer, Fajar."

"I’m desperate! My life is literally being held hostage by a neon blue box!"

"Fine," Anya said, her tone suddenly chillingly professional. "But if I’m going to play along with this ‘lovestruck girlfriend’ routine, there are terms."

"Terms? Like a contract?"

"Like a hostage negotiation. First: you stop calling me ‘honey-bunch.’ It makes me want to drop you off a bridge."

"Deal. What else?"

"Second: you handle the awkward socializing. I do the thinking. You’re the mascot, I’m the brain."

"I can be a mascot," Fajar agreed, trying to look heroic and mostly just looking constipated.

"Third," she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper that sent a jolt of electricity straight down Fajar’s spine. "You have to actually look like you’re in love. No more awkward shuffling. Keep your hands where people can see them, and for heaven’s sake, stop shaking."

"I’m not shaking, I’m... vibrating with passion?"

Anya rolled her eyes, but she didn't step back. "Pathetic. Try holding my hand. If we’re going to be seen, we might as well be convincing."

Fajar stared at her hand. It was pale, steady, and smelled faintly of lavender. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and interlaced them with hers. Her skin was cool, a stark contrast to his burning palm.

[ QUEST STATUS: SUCCESS IMMINENT. ]

[ HEART RATE: 175 BPM. ]

"You’re sweating again," Anya noted, not pulling away. "Relax. You’re holding a girl’s hand, not a live grenade."

"It feels like both," Fajar admitted, his heart trying to break free from his chest. "Why are you helping me, anyway? If you’re the ‘Architect,’ shouldn't you be fixing this instead of playing along?"

Anya’s expression darkened. "I’m not fixing it because I can’t find the source code. I need you close. You’re the only physical interface I have to this thing. You’re my only lead, Fajar."

"So, I’m basically a research subject?"

"Essentially. But you’re a research subject that just bought me an oat milk latte, so keep walking."

They began to stroll toward the campus quad, their hands locked in a way that felt both entirely unnatural and dangerously electric. Fajar felt like he was walking on air and quicksand simultaneously. Every time Anya looked at him, he felt like she was reading his internal monologue.

"What are you thinking?" she asked suddenly.

"That you have a very commanding presence for someone who spends their life in a library," Fajar replied, hoping he sounded smooth.

"And you have a very limited capacity for lying, Fajar. You’re thinking about how fast your heart is beating."

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me? It’s deafening." She squeezed his hand. "Stop thinking so much. You’re ruining the performance."

Just as Fajar opened his mouth to retort, a loud, familiar, and utterly unwelcome voice cut through the air.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold the phone!"

Fajar skidded to a halt, his grip on Anya’s hand tightening. Standing on the sidewalk, holding a half-eaten breakfast burrito and staring at them with his mouth wide open, was Dika.

Dika, the loudest guy in the dorms. Dika, the man who considered 'privacy' to be a suggestion rather than a right.

"Fajar?" Dika blinked, looking from Fajar’s panicked expression to their interlocked fingers. "Is that... is that Anya? The girl who refused to even look at the Dean’s son last week?"

Anya didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into Fajar’s side, her head resting casually on his shoulder. "Hey, Dika. Did you need something?"

Dika dropped his burrito. "I... I was just going to ask about the lecture notes, but clearly, I’ve walked into a cinematic universe."

Fajar felt his soul leave his body. "Dika, it’s not…"

"Not what?" Anya interrupted, her eyes glinting with a mischievous, terrifying light. She looked up at Fajar, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. "Tell him, Fajar. Tell him what we were just talking about."

Fajar looked at her, then at Dika’s stunned face. The System pinged.

[ NEW MANDATORY QUEST: Confirm the relationship. ]

[ OBJECTIVE: Tell Dika you are madly in love with Anya. ]

[ TIME REMAINING: 00:59 ]

Fajar stared at the blue text, then at the girl who was currently holding his future hostage.

"Well?" Dika prompted, grinning like a predator. "Is it true? Are you two actually, like... a thing?"

Fajar looked at Anya. She looked back, daring him to fail.

"Yeah," Fajar choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "We're... we're a thing."

Dika let out a howl of laughter that echoed across the entire quad. "The apocalypse is here! Fajar got a girlfriend! Someone call the news!"

As Dika sprinted off to tell the entire campus, Anya pulled Fajar into an alleyway between the buildings, her face instantly returning to that sharp, cold mask.

"Congratulations," she whispered, pinning him against the wall once more. "You just committed to the lie. Now, keep that heart rate down, because we have a lot more than 'dating' to do."

"What could possibly be worse than this?" Fajar asked, his head spinning.

Anya pulled her phone out, the screen glowing with a series of complex, shifting symbols that Fajar had never seen before. "We’re going to find out who’s controlling these missions, Fajar. And if they want a show? We’re going to give them a performance that burns the whole system down."

Fajar looked at her, realizing with a sinking, terrified thrill that he was no longer just a victim of the game. He was an accomplice. And the worst part? He didn't want to let go of her hand.