I'm exhausted, man. Seriously, I can't with these ridiculous stories anymore. Five years of her husband treating her like absolute trash, and now, just because she's pregnant, he suddenly wants her back? And she just... goes back? Like, what happened to self-respect?

"Why is it nonsense? If it were you, even you wouldn't resist the charm of the male lead."

Huh? Where the hell did that come from? Am I finally cracking up? I knew it. Told my psychiatrist I was hearing things, but nah, he didn't buy it. Who's laughing now? Honestly, sometimes I think I should be the one giving him therapy. But, I mean, he's really, really pretty. That's the only reason I keep showing up every week.

"You're not schizophrenic... Buzz... I mean, not YET. Hey there, Host 69! I'm Bee 69, your system guide! I'll help you jump into different worlds, complete missions, and earn life points so you can keep on living back on Earth. Any questions? Well, too bad—figure it out yourself! I believe in you, 69! Jiayou!"

Wait, what?! Bee 69? Did this thing just buzz at me? And what the hell are life points? Who wrote this plot? And where's my phone? I need to call my hot therapist because clearly, reading too many weird web novels has finally made me lose it. I try to reach for my phone on the bedside table, but—oh no. I can't move. My arm isn't budging. Actually, nothing is budging. Panic slams into me like a freight train. I try wiggling my toes, my fingers—anything—but my body's like, "Nah, fam, we're on strike." My brain's in full-on fight-or-flight mode, but my body? Useless. Am I paralyzed? How? I didn't even do anything!

"Like I said," the voice buzzes again, a little too casually for my liking, "you need life points to keep living on Earth. Right now, you're in a state like a coma."

I swear, if this bee had a face, I'd punch it. Also, why 69? Really? Out of all the numbers in the world, we got stuck with the meme number? This whole thing screams fake. I refuse to believe I'm stuck with a system called Bee 69. I have too much to live for—like ramen. You think I'm ready to give up on instant noodles? Absolutely not.

Tears well up in my eyes at the thought of a ramen-less existence. Wait—tears? I can still feel them? And I can still feel the fabric of my bedsheets under me. Okay, time to dig for some answers.

"So," I say slowly, trying to keep my voice steady, "you're saying I have to do missions to keep living, right? Alright, cool, whatever. But what if—and hear me out —I don't want to keep living this life? Like, instant noodles are great and all, but, uh, maybe not that great, you know? What happens if I'm like, nah, I'm good?" I was at the therapist for a reason.

The buzzing quiets down, and for a split second, I think maybe I imagined the whole thing. But then I try moving my hand again—still nothing. Bee 69 is probably having some kind of existential crisis. Did no other host ever say no? There have to be others if I'm Host 69, right?

"I talked to my superiors," Bee 69 says, sounding like a customer service agent who hates their job, "and it's been decided that if you refuse, you'll just stay in this paralyzed state until you change your mind."

Okay, first of all, the attitude is palpable. This bee is acting way too smug for something I could literally squash with a newspaper. But I'm not about to let some glitchy system push me around. Nope. I'm just gonna lie here. I've got time. No way am I grinding for points to keep living in my same old lame life. Let's see how long they can let me stay paralyzed.

30 Minutes Later

Alright, I give up. They win. Screw this—I need to pee. And look, I'm not about to pee my pants—yet. A person's gotta be adaptable in these weird situations. It's not like I'm throwing in the towel because I've got no self-respect or anything. Nah, it's more like I'm being the bigger person here. Yeah, that's it.

With a dramatic sigh, I mentally square up with Bee 69. "Alright, listen up, buzzy bee. Can I exchange these life points for something other than my original life? I mean, in all those web novels I read, they've got system shops. You got one of those? Or are you as useless as you sound?" I can't help but smirk, imagining how annoyed it must be. Hehe, take that.

As if to prove me right, a tiny bee with cutesy yellow-and-black stripes suddenly appears in my mind's eye. It's floating there, looking all sassy, and then, yup—eye roll. "Of course there's a system shop, Host 69," it says, voice dripping with sass. "But let's be real—you can't afford anything there. You're broke as fuck. You're practically a 'broke-ass hoe-st.'" Then, in a move I didn't see coming, the bee smirks right back at me.

Okay, real talk: is this bee gay? It's serving some serious sass. The natural kind you can't teach. Besides, calling someone who is in the 30 under 30 list broke is too dumb even for a scam system, so it must mean life points broke.

"Alright, fine. You win that round, but let's get to business. What happens to my body on Earth while I'm out doing these missions? How do I... you know... eat? Poop? Pee?" I ask, now genuinely curious. If I'm gonna be mission-hopping, I at least need the 411 on basic bodily functions.

Bee 69 buzzes nonchalantly. "Oh, you don't need to worry about that, Host. I got you covered. Your body will be taken care of while you're on missions. That's part of my job. It's not just all fun and games, you know—transporting you to different worlds, giving you missions, assigning points... being a system is serious work. There's, like, a lot of requirements to become one, like—"

"Like...?" I press, waiting for the spill. This bee's about to spill the tea on system life, and I'm all ears.

But Bee 69 suddenly zips its little mouth shut. "Uhh... that's classified info. Anyway, Host 69! Are you ready for your first mission? Fighting!" Its voice rises to a high-pitched, nervous squeak, like it's desperately trying to change the subject.

Before I can protest, the world tilts, and suddenly it feels like a giant fishhook yanks me straight out of reality. I'm breathless. The world around me shifts, distorts, and I feel like a fish being dragged out of water—choking, gasping, and completely out of place