My God-Tier Slacker System Is Out Of Control

Chapter 3 The Prophet in Polyester

"Look, I’m not saying the mammoths aren't cool, but could you please stop touching my sleeves? This is polyester, man. It’s highly flammable and emotionally fragile," Doni said, prying his arm away from a weeping paleontologist who looked like he wanted to propose to Doni’s sneakers.

"But the intuition, Mr. Kusuma! The raw, primal connection to the Earth's crust!" the scientist wailed, waving a muddy trowel dangerously close to Doni’s ear. "You’ve changed history!"

"Yeah, I do that. It’s a curse," Doni muttered, spinning on his heel to find a way out of the mud-slicked nightmare. His eyes immediately locked onto Dona, who was leaning against her sedan, looking like a judge from a high-society execution. "Hey! Sharp boots! Can I go home now? I think I have a scheduled breakdown at 6 PM."

"Not even close, 'Bloodhound,'" Dona replied, her voice smooth but cutting like a serrated knife. she gestured to a silver envelope resting on her dashboard. "Neo-Couture is launching their 'Ethical Elegance' line tonight. Their CEO, Valerie Voss, saw the news of your... discovery. She’s convinced you have the 'Eye of Truth.'"

"The 'Eye of Truth'? Is that like a weird pinky-eye infection? Because I don't want it," Doni sighed, staring at his dirty shoes. "I just found a giant bone, Dona. I didn't unlock the secrets of the universe. I literally just wanted to break a drill so I could go back to playing Stardew Valley. Why is that so hard to understand?"

Dona stepped closer, the smell of expensive perfume clashing with the stench of excavated swamp. "The CEO of Titan Global is breathing down my neck for that flash drive. You’re lucky that discovery grant made you a public figure in under ten minutes. They can't just 'disappear' you if the cameras are watching. Neo-Couture’s gala is the most televised event of the season. You go, you 'consult,' and you stay alive. Got it?"

"So my life is basically a high-fashion meat shield strategy now? Sweet. Awesome. Totally living the dream," Doni groaned. He felt his pocket—the flash drive felt like a burning ember against his thigh. "What does she even want me to consult on? Buttons? The structural integrity of sequins?"

"Valerie is paranoid. She thinks someone is sabotaging her logistics. She wants someone with your... unique ability to spot things others miss. She calls it 'Vibe-based Analysis.' I call it 'Accidental Competence.' Be ready in two hours. A tailor is waiting at your apartment. And Doni?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't die. I heard you the first time," Doni grumbled, walking toward the exit. "Man, I should have just become a florist. Nobody kills florists."

***

Two hours later, Doni felt like a stuffed turkey in a five-thousand-dollar suit that was tighter than his budget after a Steam summer sale. The fabric was so stiff he could barely bend his knees. He was standing in the wings of a massive, hollowed-out cathedral that had been converted into a high-fashion battlefield. Lights pulse in rhythmic, aggressive bursts of violet and neon white.

"Mr. Kusuma? Oh, thank the heavens! You're here!" A woman with hair as white as a blizzard and skin like polished parchment floated toward him. This was Valerie Voss. She gripped Doni’s shoulders, staring into his soul. "The aura... it's so... chaotic! So authentic! I can feel the energy of the Earth clinging to you!"

"Actually, that’s just mud I couldn't get out from under my fingernails, Ms. Voss," Doni said, trying to regain his balance. "Listen, I’m really just here for the snacks. And to not get shot. Can we skip the aura talk?"

"Modest! I love it!" Valerie chirped, her eyes darting around the frantic backstage area. "Something is wrong, Doni. My lead models are nervous. The energy of the runway feels... jagged. Foul. Walk the catwalk before the show starts. Tell me what your 'God-Tier' instincts tell you."

Doni looked at the runway—a long, shimmering pier of glass and steel suspended over a dark, mysterious void. It looked incredibly fragile and expensive. A perfect target. This is it, Doni thought, his eyes lighting up. If I break this, Valerie will look like a fraud, the investors will pull out, and everyone will realize I'm just a walking disaster. No more 'prodigy' status. Just 'the guy who broke Fashion Week.'

[SYSTEM CHIME: DETECTING DELIBERATE SABOTAGE INTENT.]

[CURRENT MISSION: RUIN NEO-COUTURE'S PREMIERE. REWARD: TOTAL SOCIAL BLACKLISTING.]

"Oh, I'll walk it," Doni said, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "I'll walk the hell out of it. Give me five minutes. I need to 'connect' with the structural vibrations."

"Go! Commune with the stage!" Valerie whispered, mesmerized. She retreated to shout at a stylist, leaving Doni alone on the darkened stage.

Doni stepped onto the glass catwalk. It felt solid. Too solid. He looked down and saw a thick steel support beam directly beneath the center pivot point. If I kick the hell out of that hydraulic stabilizer, the whole thing will tilt like a drunk boat. Valerie will be humiliated, and I'll be fired by morning. Goodbye fame, hello unemployment benefits!

He saw Dona watching him from the VIP section, her eyes narrowing as she watched him move toward the central pillar. He gave her a mocking little wave. "Watch this, 'Efficiency Expert,'" he muttered under his breath.

He reached the pillar. He didn't just kick it. He did a full, dramatic theatrical stomp, pouring every bit of his frustration into his right heel. He targeted what looked like a loose bolt—the "Achilles' heel" of the entire architecture. Crash, you expensive piece of junk! CRASH!

THWACK!

His heel hit the metal with the force of a small explosion. But instead of the catwalk collapsing into a pile of glass shards, a low, tectonic rumble echoed through the cathedral. It wasn't the sound of steel bending. It was the sound of something... opening.

"Wait, what?" Doni blinked, feeling the floor drop two inches. "No. No, tilt! Collapse! Why aren't we collapsing?!"

A loud hiss of pressurized air hissed from the floorboards. The "loose bolt" Doni had kicked wasn't a structural stabilizer. It was a manual override latch—a legacy switch from when the cathedral was used for smuggling during the colonial era. A section of the runway—roughly thirty feet long—suddenly slid back like a retractable sun roof, revealing a gaping maw in the middle of the "Ethical" fashion stage.

Valerie Voss ran onto the stage, her face pale. "Doni! What are you—"

She stopped. Everyone stopped. From the hole in the floor, the smell hit them first. The metallic scent of chemical dyes. The stagnant heat of a room without ventilation. The frantic hum of industrial sewing machines. And then... the sound of hundreds of sewing needles hitting fabric in a panicked, unrelenting rhythm.

"What is that smell? It’s... it’s unbearable!" a socialite from the front row screamed, covering her nose with a silk scarf.

"Is that... a basement?" another guest asked, leaning forward.

Doni looked down into the pit he’d just opened. Below them, barely ten feet down, was a hidden floor. It wasn't a dressing room. It was a sweatshop. Rows of children and haggard adults were hunched over machines, surrounded by mountains of "Neo-Couture" labels. They were drenched in sweat, working under flickering neon tubes that were illegally tapped into the city’s power grid. The "Ethical Elegance" line was being manufactured by literal slaves right under the feet of the people buying it for five thousand dollars a pop.

"Holy crap," Doni whispered, his jaw hitting his chest. "I was just trying to break a beam. I wasn't... I wasn't trying to find a human rights violation."

A drone camera, programmed to follow Doni’s "consultation," hovered directly over the pit, broadcasting the live feed to six major news networks and the giant screens outside in the city square. The silence in the cathedral was absolute, broken only by the frantic click-clack of the machines below as the workers looked up, blinded by the stage lights, their faces pale with terror.

"Valerie..." an investor stood up, his voice trembling with rage. "You told us these garments were made in a wind-powered atelier in Switzerland. You told us your brand was built on 'Soul and Sunlight!'"

"I... it's a mistake! It's a... set up!" Valerie screamed, pointing a shaky finger at Doni. "He did this! He's an anarchist! He's—"

Dona was suddenly there, her heels clicking on the glass as she walked past Valerie like she didn't exist. She stood next to Doni, staring down into the sweatshop. She looked at Doni, then at the drone camera, then back to Doni. There was something different in her eyes now. Not just suspicion. A flicker of... something like respect, or maybe just pure, unadulterated shock.

"Unbelievable," she whispered, her voice reaching the live microphone on Doni’s lapel. "You didn't just find a geological bed, Doni. You found the biggest corporate fraud in the history of the textile industry. With one kick."

"I really need to start checking the floor plans before I kick things," Doni said, his voice reaching millions of viewers worldwide. "Seriously. Can I go now? I’m having a really, really bad day."

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: MISSION FAILED SPECTACULARLY!]

[Objective: Ruin Reputation. Result: Exposed a Global Human Rights Scandal. Total Brand Collapse Initiated.]

[REWARD: 150,000 USD 'WHISTLEBLOWER INTEGRITY AWARD' & HUMANITARIAN KEY TO THE CITY.]

[LUCK RANK INCREASED: LEVEL 4 — 'THE UNWITTING AVENGING ANGEL.']

"One hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" Doni’s eyes glazed over. "Are you kidding me? I just became a hero for trying to destroy property?! Is the universe high? Who’s in charge of this simulation?!"

Police sirens began to wail outside the cathedral. The gala turned into a riot. Valerie was being swarmed by security and angry investors. Doni was shoved toward the backstage exit by a group of tearful human rights activists who were trying to kiss his hands.

He broke free, sprinting into the cool night air of the alleyway, Dona trailing right behind him. He leaned against a dumpster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Stay away from me, Dona! I mean it! Every time I’m around you, I end up saving the world by accident! I hate the world! I just want a nap!"

"You just bankrupted a three-billion-dollar empire in under three minutes," Dona said, stopping a few feet away. She wasn't holding her tablet. She was holding a handgun—small, silver, and pointed directly at Doni’s chest. "But you also made the Titan Global Board very, very nervous. That sweatshop? It was washing money for their shadow accounts. You didn't just whistleblow a fashion brand. You cut the fuel line to a multi-national syndicate."

Doni froze. The cold air suddenly felt like liquid nitrogen. "Oh. Cool. Great. So... more death threats? Can I add those to my frequent flyer miles?"

"Give me the drive, Doni. Now. Before the 'real' cleanup crew gets here," Dona said, her finger tightening on the trigger. Her face was a mask of cold professionalism. "I don't care how lucky you are. You can't dodge a bullet."

Doni reached into his pocket, his heart thudding like a trapped bird. But as he pulled out the flash drive, his foot slipped on a patch of black ice in the alley. He flailed, his arms windmill-wheeling through the air. The drive flew from his fingers, spinning toward a nearby sewer grate.

"No!" Dona yelled, lunging forward to catch it.

The drive bounced off a brick wall, performed a perfect three-sixty in the air, and landed... directly inside the mouth of a passing stray cat that had just opened its jaws to meow at a discarded tuna can. The cat, startled by Dona’s sudden movement, bolted down a narrow crevice between two buildings, the drive securely clamped in its teeth.

Dona stared at the empty crevice. She looked at Doni, who was currently lying flat on his face in a pile of cardboard boxes. The silence in the alley was heavy with the sheer absurdity of the moment.

Doni lifted his head, a single piece of packing peanut stuck to his cheek. He looked at Dona’s gun, then at the spot where the cat disappeared.

"Look, I know how this looks," Doni panted, trying to crawl away from the garbage. "But I think we both need to accept that God hates you as much as he loves annoying me."

Dona lowered the gun, her hand actually trembling with frustration. "I... I can't. This isn't physics. This is... this is a glitch. You’re a glitch in reality, Doni Kusuma."

"Whatever, I'm a glitch with a humanitarian award," Doni snapped, standing up and dusting off his five-thousand-dollar ruined suit. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find that cat. I’ve always been a cat person."

Just then, a voice echoed from the shadows at the end of the alley. It was deep, modulated, and dripped with the kind of menace that didn't come from an efficiency expert.

"Actually, Doni, you’re going to come with us. The Board decided your 'luck' is too dangerous to remain in the wild."

Three men in tactical gear stepped out of the darkness, their rifles equipped with suppressors that gleamed under the streetlights. They weren't there to negotiate. They were there to end the glitch.

Doni looked at the men, then at Dona, then at the glowing blue window that had just reappeared in his vision.

[WARNING: LUCK THRESHOLD EXCEEDED! ERROR! ERROR!]

[GOD-TIER SLACKER SYSTEM IS REBOOTING... NEW DEFENSIVE PROTOCOL: THE SONIC SNORE SURGE.]

"Uh, guys?" Doni said, his eyes widening as he felt a sudden, uncontrollable urge to yawn. "I don't think you want to be near me when I’m tired. Seriously. Things tend to explode."

"Put your hands up, kid," the lead gunman barked, stepping into the light. "Your luck just ran out."

Doni’s jaw unhinged in a massive, tooth-cracking yawn that shook his entire frame. As he felt the darkness of the system-forced sleep beginning to pull at his consciousness, he looked at Dona with one last, desperate smirk.

"Wanna bet?"