Resonance Harem: I Level Up Through Sincerity

Ch 6. Opportunities

Back upstairs, I showered until my muscles stopped screaming in all caps. Text buzzed.

Unknown number: It’s Jade. Need someone to hold pads at warm-up. You die easy?

I stared at the screen. My first instinct was to try to be cool. My second instinct was to faint.

Mira whispered, “Sincere.”

I typed: Yes, I die easy. I can still hold pads. Tell me when.

Three dots. Then: Tomorrow at 6 pm. Don’t be late.

Mira purred. “RSN stabilized. Decay timer happy.”

I pulled up the panel. The Jade timer ticked from 14 to 14 (scheduled contact). Iron Will pulsed a little brighter. Or maybe that was me projecting. Whatever.

I flopped in bed, phone on my chest, and stared at the ceiling. My body hurt. My pride hurt less. That felt new.

A soft scrape at my door. I frowned and got up.

A note slid under. I picked it up.

Thanks for moving the other deliveries. —C.V.

I laughed again. “I won’t sniff it either,” I said to no one.

I crawled back into bed and turned off the lamp.

“Hey, Mira?”

“Hm?”

“What happens if I juggle too many Links?”

“You lose them,” she said. “The limit on that is vague though. It depends only on you on how many women you can create a Link and not fake it.”

For once, sleep didn’t feel like a trapdoor. More like a save point.

The building exhaled a weird whistle through the vents.

I smiled in the pillow. “Told you the whistler is real.”

“Go to sleep, newbie,” Mira said.

I went.

***

Morning hit me like a sack of bricks labeled Leg Day. I groaned, rolled over, and checked my phone.

One text from Jade: Don’t forget tape.

Message from QuickDrop: Great job! Want another?

“Stack bonuses,” I muttered, and thumbed open the app. Another electronics pickup. Same store. Same drop-off. VOSS, C. Again.

I stared. “She’s testing me.”

“Accept it,” Mira said. “Be useful and leave.”

I accepted.

By the time I got back to the sixth floor with the new, smaller box, my arms had filed for emancipation. I knocked.

The camera clicked. “Say the name.”

“Evan,” I said. “Package for Clara Voss. Not sniffed.”

The chain stayed on. Door cracked. The same eye.

“You get paid per joke?”

“I wish,” I said.

“What is it today?”

I checked the label. “Thermal paste and… fans.”

“How many grams?”

“Three?”

“Brand?”

“Arctic… something-90?”

“MX-6,” she said. “Good.”

“You going for push-pull now?” I asked, proud I remembered words.

“Maybe,” she said. “My case is negative pressure. I’m sick of dust.”

“That makes two of us,” I said, flicking a speck off my shoe. “My apartment is a dust theme park.”

“Then clean it.”

“I did. Once. In 2019.”

Her eye did the micro-laugh again. Another small ping flicked my skull.

[RSN +1]

Clara Voss — Tech Path

Resonance (RSN): 9 → 10

“Set it down. Do not step off the mat.”

I did, and she signed off.

“Hey, random question.”

“No,” she said.

“Fair.”

I held up my phone anyway. “There’s a building group chat for people who care about—uh—elevator functioning. Do you want me to add—”

“No.”

“You can lurk.”

“No.”

“Copy.”

I slid the phone away.

She stared at me a second longer. “Your Wi-Fi name is still bad.”

“I know.”

“Fix it.”

“New SSID ideas: LAN Solo.”

“Marginally better.” She inhaled slowly. “Goodbye, Evan.”

She started to shut the door.

I raised a hand without thinking. “Hey, if the whistler gets loud, I have earplugs. I buy them in bulk.”

“Fine,” she said. “Leave them at my door. In a sealed bag.”

“I promise not to—”

“Sniff them? Yes, I know.”

Door. Close. Chain. Click.

Mira’s voice chimed in, “That’s your cue.”

“To… stand here and be weird?”

“To walk away,” she said. “Let potential stay potential. You’ve got pads to hold, tape to buy, and a Link not to neglect.”

“Stack bonuses,” I said, softer.

“Stack them.”

I tucked the phone away, turned, and finally—finally—took the elevator down.

Time to not screw this up.