2025-11-23 20:47:36The dining hall of the Li hotel gleamed like a museum. Crystal chandeliers reflect light over polished oak tables, silverware arranged like soldiers on a line up and faces twisted in smug superiority.
In the middle of it all stood Rafe Miller, the family’s disappointment and disgrace.
He was the only one not wearing a designer suit because he was wearing a plain white button up shirt, to match his black cheap suit pants, which was similar to what the carters wore, because he was waiting tables, not sitting in one.
He knew something was wrong when his beloved ‘wife’ forced him to come to the business meeting saying it would be “a great way to start the year.”
He should have known it was another scheme to humiliate him.
He stood next to the table where his in-laws, wife, and highly respected guests sat, attending to their needs, like a perfect nobody.
“Pass the red wine.” One of the high valued guests called out to Rafe.
He grabbed the wine from the tray he held up and handed it to the man.
Without looking the man yanked it from him, his hand greasy from the chicken he was tearing into.
Rafe frowned, but he couldn’t do anything about it, even if he tried.
To the Li’s Rafe wasn’t even seen as family or even a guest. He was seen as a charity project.
Across from where he stood, Clara Li, his wife of three long years, scrolled through her phone without a glance in his direction. Her red lips curved upward when a message popped up.
She giggled softly, a sound Rafe hadn’t heard directed to him in months.
At the head of the table, Lord Richard Li, her father and the CEO of Li holdings, cleared his throat.
“Rafe,” he began in that heavy, self-satisfied voice. “I assume you’ve found a job since last month’s….discussion?”
Forks clinked down the table as attention turned to him.
Rafe raises his eyes. Calm. Composed. “Not yet, sir.”
A collective sigh rippled around the table.
Clara’s cousin, Jordan, leaned forward with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. He was tall, perfectly groomed, and most insultingly, Rafe’s former best friend.
“Still unemployed? Mate, you’ve been living off this family for two years. What are you even doing all day?”
Laughter burst from the table. Even Clara chuckled, not bothering to defend him at all.
Rafe’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He’s grown used to this routine. The humiliation, the mocking, the endless reminders that he was nothing.
Lord Richard leaned back in his chair.
“You’ve married into this family by luck, Rafe. But luck only takes you so far, before it eventually runs out. We need men with ambition, not dead weight.
Rafe’s chest tightened, but his face stayed neutral.
Jordan smirked, grabbing the opportunity to humiliate Rafe again.
“Let’s toast to ambition, then! And maybe one day, Rafe here can finally buy himself a proper suit.”
“Even his fellow waiters are wearing expensive clothes and watches.”
“He’s so poor! What a disgrace!”
Clara’s laughter cut deeper than any insult. She looks radiant tonight. Long black hair, emerald earrings, a red silk dress that glowed under the chandelier. She used to smile at him like that. Now, the smile belonged to someone else.
Rafe gripped his tray tighter. His knuckles whitened.
“Don’t just stand there filling space! Work for your money….” Victoria Li ordered him.
Victoria was Clara’s mother and honestly the most frightening.
Behind her fancy gold jewelries and designer clothes lay the most ruthless being in the whole Li family.
Rafe moved immediately, making his way to the kitchen before any more people would overhear the hurtful things they said to him, though he doubts no one hasn’t.
“If only they knew how hard I’ve tried to fit in.” He thought.
Before he got married to Clara, he had everything. Money, fame, power, influence.
But one wrong business deal, one wrong investment, one overlooked detail caused him to lose everything he had two years ago.
Now he’s left with nothing but endless humiliation and embarrassment from the people he expected to support him.
He rushed back outside trying his best to balance the tray on his hands, but unfortunately he wasn’t careful enough and a glass of wine fell, spilling on Jordan.
Everyone goes quiet, or so I seemed to Rafe, because he had gone quiet himself.
“You stupid poor bastard!” He bursts.
“Do you have the faintest idea how much just the pants of this full outfit costs?”
“I apologize, I’ll have it dry cleaned—“
“Dry cleaned?! It’s Dior you fool, you can’t just Dry clean Dior!”
Everyone’s attention is on them now, watching, laughing, mocking.
Clara stands from her seat, walking angling towards Rafe.
“Why do you always have to disgrace me?!” She seethes.
“I’m stuck cleaning up your fucking messes.”
She walks over to Jordan, trying to take off the jacket.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll have it replaced immediately. Rafe can be clumsy and foolish sometimes.”
Those words sting Rafe.
Everything seems to sting him nowadays.
Then Clara’s mother chimed in. “He was even supposed to serve the guests and get paid for it, I mean it’s the least we could do right,”
People around her nod their heads in agreement.
“Now he’s messed it up like he messed up his whole life. Pathetic.” She spits.
He finally lifts his head, watching everyone laughing, pointing fingers and whispering.
He’s about picking up the broken glass before something wet and cold splashes him.
“Now we’re even, you moth!” Jordan yells.
Rafe is soaked with wine, hands trembling with anger. He wanted to punch Jordan in the face, to scream that he wasn’t useless. But the weight of every sneer presses down on him like chains.
He had expected this from his in-laws when he fell off but never from his so-called wife or best friend, now turned enemy.
He wanted to talk back, to remind them of the countless times he’d fixed company reports, balanced their errors, done works no one noticed. But what was the point? In Li's house, truth had no weight. Only wealth did.
Then as he looked down at his bleeding hand which had been cut by the broken wine glass, something flickered before his eyes.
A flint blue holographic box, transparent and pulsing, appeared mid air. Visible to only him.
>{SYSTKE INITIALIZING…..}
Welcome, Rafe Miller.
You have been selected.
First mission: Get dumped by your wife.
Reward: £30,000,000.
Rafe froze. His breath hitched.
The room continued buzzing with laughter, completely unaware of the glowing box hovering over his bleeding finger.
He blinked hard. Once. Twice. It was still there.
>Timer: 00:10:00 — mission Auto-cancels if not completed.
“What the—“
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Goodbye, Rafe Miller
Rafe finally stood up and dragged himself toward the sink and splashed cold water on his face, watching the pink-tinted drops fall into the basin. His reflection stared back, hollow eyes, bruised lip, jaw tight with exhaustion.He had almost died a few minutes ago.He pushed away from the mirror, pacing.It wasn’t just humiliation anymore. They actually wanted him gone.Then, a faint chime.The air in the room seemed to hum. Rafe froze. The reflection in the window flickered, then the System appeared again, lettering glowing faint blue across the glass.[SYSTEM ALERT: USER EXPOSED TOO EARLY] Threat Level: Critical. Observation Detected – Multiple Entities.Recommendation: Relocation Required.Rafe blinked hard, his breath catching. “What do you mean exposed?” he muttered. “You’re saying people know… about you?”The text pulsed.System: “Attention has been drawn to your sudden rise, Rafe Miller. Visibility threatens continuity.”Rafe rubbed his temples, forcing himself to think. His
Run Or Die
London had a strange way of going quiet after midnight.The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still glistened under the orange lamplight, slick and reflective like sheets of glass.Rafe crossed the bridge toward South Bank, the faint hum of the Thames beneath him.His new suit hung perfectly, the expensive fabric hugging his shoulders, a small, quiet reminder that the man walking home tonight was not the same one who once bowed to the Li family’s insults.He felt lighter somehow.Not happy, just… focused.Every step brought him closer to something he couldn’t yet name.His phone buzzed in his pocket.[Sub-Alert: Unusual Movement Detected.]Rafe frowned. “Unusual movement?” he murmured.He stopped at the end of the bridge and glanced behind him. The street was mostly empty, a delivery van passing in the distance, a couple huddled under an umbrella, a lone cyclist gliding past.Everything looked normal.He shrugged it off and kept walking.By the time he reached the narrow str
The First Real Trail
The bell above the door chimed softly as Rafe turned toward the voice.Jacob Levi stood near the entrance of the luxury store, grinning like he owned the place. His navy suit was crisp, his tie knotted perfectly, and his eyes carried that same glint of entitlement Rafe remembered too well.“Rafe Miller,” Jacob drawled, walking closer with that slow, confident stride of someone who never once doubted the ground beneath him. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Lost, are we?”Rafe didn’t respond. He simply adjusted the jacket he was holding, his fingers brushing the fine wool fabric.Jacob laughed, shaking his head. “You always were full of surprises. From begging your wife for lunch money to browsing Hartmann suits? What’s next, a yacht?”Rafe exhaled through his nose, calm. The insults didn’t sting anymore. They just sounded small.“I heard about you,” Jacob continued, stepping closer until their reflections shared the same mirror. “The disgrace of the Li family. Raising a small dying cafe
Risk: Accepted
Rain returned the following morning.It always did in London, falling in slow, apologetic sheets that blurred everything into grey.Rafe sat by the window of his modest South Bank flat, the glow of his laptop screen reflecting off the mug of black coffee beside him. The city outside hummed faintly, buses growling, footsteps splashing through puddles, a siren in the distance.On his screen, a spreadsheet blinked back at him.Company names. Stock prices. Notes scribbled like scattered thoughts.Finance for beginners, the title of the tab read.He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have cared about the importance of a portfolio. Now, he was consuming everything he could, equity, valuation, market trends, leverage ratios.Not because he suddenly adored numbers.But because numbers were the language of those who had ridiculed him. Those he wanted to crush.Clara’s father had once scoffed across their dinner table, his voice dripping with disdain.“You wouldn’t last
The Loading Screen
Rafe cursed under his breath, “Who the hell are you?” and chased after him.The rain hit the pavement in silver sheets as he burst through the cafe door.“Rafe? Where are you going?!”He ignored Amara’s calls, his attention drilled to one person. The system user.“Hey!” Rafe called out. The man didn’t stop.He moved fast, dancing through the crowd like smoke, slipping between pedestrians and puddles with so much precision.Rafe followed, shoving past people, ignoring their protests. His shoes splashed through puddles, breath clouding in the cold air.The man turned down a narrow side street, glancing back once, his eyes glowing faintly blue.Rafe’s pulse spiked. He really is a System user too.“Stop!” Rafe shouted. “You— you know about it, don’t you?”The man didn’t respond. Instead, he darted across the street as a car honked, brakes screeching inches away.Rafe barely cleared the next lane, his jacket sleeve brushing against a side mirror. His lungs burned, but adrenaline drowned mo
Signature: USER-02
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving London wrapped in a grey haze.The streets glistened, buses hissed through puddles, and Rafe moved quietly among the crowd, just another face in the city that had already forgotten him.He stopped by a lamppost to check his phone.A faint blue flicker appeared in his vision.[SYSTEM MISSION #2: PROVE YOUR WORTH]Objective: Earn £10,000 profit in 48 hours without using System money.Reward: unknown.Penalty: Balance deduction – £1,000,000.He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, huh?”Two days. No System funds.Just him, and his brain.And honestly comparing it to what he faced in the Li’s house, it was nothing.By afternoon, he wandered through South Bank’s quieter streets, the ones where old shops clung to life between shiny glass towers. Thaat’s when he saw it: “CLOSING DOWN SALE – 3 DAYS LEFT”, printed across the dusty window of a small café.He paused. The place looked dead — lights dimmed, furniture stacked near t
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