I Got Reincarnated With The Ultimate Suffering System

How Do I Get Rid of my System?

Quinn sat in the corner of the food hall, chewing on a tofu slice that might’ve doubled as drywall. The silence hadn’t fully returned. There were still whispers, stares, snorts of laughter. One boy pretended to retch every time he looked Quinn’s way.

Someone threw a potato at him.

It bounced off his shoulder with a wet thunk.

He didn’t flinch.

[SP Gained: +3]

[Bonus: “Unprovoked Tuber Assault” – +2 SP]

[New Title Unlocked: “Canteen Clown” – Social standing: -1, Crowd Control: +10% when singing terribly]

Quinn sighed and popped the last bit of tofu into his mouth. “It tasted like betrayal.”

[Or possibly actual mold.]

[Chance of intestinal distress: 74%]

He pushed the tray aside and leaned back against the cracked wall. The ache in his ribs had dulled to a background throb. His left eye still didn’t open all the way.

But for the first time since arriving in this insane, pig-scented world, he didn’t feel completely powerless.

“System,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk about that skill.”

[Choose Your Reward:]

A glowing translucent screen hovered in front of him, the options pulsing like tiny neon temptations.

A. Spirit Pulse Strike

An energy-infused punch that consumes SP. Hits harder if delivered while in pain.

B. Endure Reversal

Absorbs incoming damage and reflects a portion back at attacker. Requires direct hit.

C. Grovel Dodge

Instantly dodge attacks targeting below the waist. Automatically triggers yelp sound effect.

Quinn stared at the third one.

"...Why is that even an option?"

[Data shows Host’s groin is a frequent target. Optimizing survivability.]

“Remind me to never let you design combat strategies.”

[Your sarcasm powers me.]

He tapped the second option.

B. Endure Reversal.

It didn’t make him stronger. It didn’t let him fly or hurl fire. But Quinn had been absorbing hits his whole life, words, fists, fate’s middle finger. Now, finally, he could give something back.

[Skill Acquired: Endure Reversal (Lv. 1)]

When struck, store a portion of physical impact and convert it into backlash energy. Usable once every 6 hours. Requires standing your ground like a pissed-off tree.

[Also unlocked: Passive Notification Fatigue – You are now 11% less annoyed by pop-ups.]

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or just Stockholm Syndrome,” Quinn muttered.

He stood up. The dining hall had emptied out, save for a few stragglers and one old disciple picking tofu from his teeth with a dagger.

Outside, the moon hung low over Wulan Sect’s crumbling rooftops. Faint glimmers of cultivation light arced in the distance, the disciples training, sparring, chasing power.

Quinn shuffled past the training square and toward the servant dorms, each step triggering a protest from his legs. His body needed and wanted rest badly.

The path was uneven, lined with cracked stones and broken promises. A lone lantern flickered near the pig pens, casting shaky shadows that made even bushes look judgmental.

Quinn’s wooden clog, yes, still only one, clacked against the stone. The other foot was wrapped in a torn rice sack, tied with twine. Fashion in Wulan Sect was cutting-edge like that.

He passed a training platform where a trio of inner disciples sparred with gleaming swords. They didn’t see him.

Of course they didn’t.

He was invisible here. A joke. A “fungus.” Just another cog in the sect’s great celestial meat grinder. But that was fine. Cogs could jam the whole damn machine if you wedged them in deep enough.

The dorm creaked when he pushed the door open. The place was basically a stable with beds, slatted bunks stacked three high, reeking of sweat, dust, and despair. Blankets were optional. Privacy was fictional.

Most of the others were asleep, snoring softly, some twitching mid-dream. One guy was mumbling about dumplings.

Quinn limped to his assigned corner, a bottom bunk with missing slats and a stain he had long since decided not to investigate.

He lay down. The mattress was straw wrapped in regret. His bones sank into the uneven lumps with a familiar grunt.

[SP Gained: +4 (Chronic Discomfort)]

He stared at the ceiling. He reached deep into his robes and pulled out the single treasured item from his starter pack of eternal disappointment, the paper fan with a hole in it.

It was torn, stained, and probably cursed. But it was his.

He tapped it gently against his chest.

“…System,” he whispered.

[Listening.]

“I don’t get it. Why me?”

[Be more specific.]

“Why would some ancient cosmic AI choose me to inherit a suffering-powered growth system? I’m not a hero. I’m not smart. I’m not strong. Hell, I’m not even really tall.”

There was a pause.

[Precisely.]

Quinn blinked. “...That’s the answer?”

[You’re forgettable. Broken. Disposable. The world already threw you away. That makes you perfect.]

“Gee. Thanks.”

[You’re welcome.]

He chuckled weakly. “You’re a terrible therapist.”

[Emotional Wound: +2 SP]

[Bonus: Existential Dread – x1.1 multiplier]

There was a long silence between them.

Outside, crickets chirped. Somewhere in the distance, a spirit boar farted in its sleep.

Quinn stared at the wooden beam above him.

“I used to think life owed me something,” he said quietly. “Like… if I just held on long enough, something good would happen. Karma. Destiny. All that crap.”

[It didn’t.]

“No. It didn’t.”

Another silence.

Then…

[You’re here now.]

He closed his eyes.

Yeah.

Yeah, he was.

The next morning arrived with all the grace of a brick to the face.

Literally.

A rock, maybe a large potato, maybe both slammed into his forehead.

“Rise and shine, mold-boy,” Lin Fei’s voice sneered from across the dorm. “Breakfast isn’t going to serve itself.”

Quinn rubbed the fresh bump. “Not you again. You really like me, huh?”

“Like you, what a joke!.”

[Ding! SP Gained: +12

Subcategory: Petty Violence / Unjust Wake-Up Protocol]

Quinn sat up slowly. His body protested, but a faint pulse stirred in his chest.

He stood, straightened his tattered robe, and shuffled toward the kitchen shack.

Breakfast duty was simple.

Boil rice. Try not to burn your hands. Get screamed at by Elder Mei. Serve disciples who would treat you like disposable cutlery.

Quinn did it with a plastered smile and an internal monologue of profanity.

He dished out bowls with the grace of someone mentally elsewhere. Spirit rice. Sour r****h. Half a boiled egg for the important ones.

Someone sneered at his hunched posture. Someone else asked if the smell of failure was included free.

He took it all.

[SP Gained: +14]

[Status: Building Resentment. Highly Flammable.]

When the line dwindled and the trays were empty, he sat on an overturned bucket outside the shack, fanning his face with the holy paper fan.

His reflection wobbled in a puddle near his feet. Swollen eye. Bruised cheek. Dirty robes.

And a spark of something... else. He’d survived his first few days.

He’d been beaten, humiliated, sneezed on by a spiritual pig, mocked, starved, and force-fed tofu shaped like despair.

“I’m really tough,” he said to no one in particular.

[SP Gained: +2]

[Reward: Smidge of Determination – You now taste 0.4% less like defeat.]

He snorted. “Don’t let it go to your circuits, System.”

[Too late. Running arrogance.]

Quinn leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Just to rest for a moment.

He planned to begin training the next day…