A robotic voice echoed in the man's mind, laced with palpable disappointment.
["Host... I'm really disappointed in you. I know I played a part in putting you in this situation, but still, you didn't need to go this far, right?"]
The man, seated on a worn, creaky chair in a dimly lit room, let a faint smile tug at his lips an expression not of joy, but a quiet acceptance of the voice inside his head. Nostalgia coursed through his veins like a dull ache.
He appeared to be in 24 or 25 years old, his gaunt face etched with weariness, sadness hanging over him like a cloud. His tousled hair, the dark circles under his eyes, all spoke of sleepless nights spent wrestling with inner demons. Yet, even through the layers of exhaustion, there was a quiet, undeniable handsomeness about him, one that shone in rare moments of stillness.
"Max," he whispered, in his mind, "you know I never hated you." His voice was steady, though it held the weight of countless unspoken regrets. "I would've made the same choices, even if you hadn't interfered in my life." His tone wasn't bitter, nor was it filled with anger just a cold honesty, the kind that comes from someone who's long since stopped running from the truth.
The weight of disappointment he felt from Max echoed through his mind, but the man's smile only deepened, a self-deprecating twist to his lips. "As for you being disappointed in me... believe me, I'm far more disappointed in myself than you could ever be."
The sorrow that had taken root in his heart years ago reared its head once more, this time more intense, filling his chest with a hollow ache that seemed to resonate through his bones. He could feel Max listening in the silence, the robotic presence holding back, yet attentive.
"You know what, Max? I might've never told you, but... even though you probably already know... I wanted to say it. I need to speak these words, if only for my own sake. Maybe I'm just trying to make peace with everything before it all ends." His voice wavered, his heart feeling heavier with each passing second. "Consider it my last request, will you?"
Still, no response came. But he could sense Max there, that unseen presence giving him permission to continue, and somehow that was enough. His chest tightened as he leaned back in the chair, the worn wood creaking beneath him. He tilted his head up, gazing at the cracked white ceiling, though his eyes weren't really focused on anything in the room. They were distant, lost in the depths of his memories.
"You know, Max," he began, his voice quieter now, "I died in my last life. I was thirteen. A kid. Alone, with no family, no friends, no one to care about me. An orphan." His throat tightened as the memories of that lonely, forgotten life flashed before his eyes. "When I died... I thought that was it. I didn't even think anyone would notice, not that there was anyone to notice."
He paused, trying to suppress the quiver in his voice. His eyes misted over, but no tears came. He'd forgotten how to cry long ago.
"And then, somehow... I found myself here, reborn into this life. At first, it felt like a dream a cruel joke, maybe. I had a mother this time. Can you believe that? A real mother.
I'd never had that before. I didn't even know what it was supposed to feel like." His words were tinged with disbelief, as though even now he couldn't fully grasp the miracle that had been handed to him. "No father, but that didn't matter. Having a mother was enough. It was everything. It felt like... a second chance. Like I'd been given the one thing I'd always dreamed of but had never known was possible."
His chest tightened as the memories resurfaced, unbidden and raw. The warmth of those early years, the joy of simply being loved. For so long, he'd buried it all under the weight of everything that followed.
"For the first few months, I didn't believe it was real. Every day, I thought I'd wake up, and it'd all be gone. That I'd be back in the dark, lonely place where no one knew my name. But it wasn't a dream. It was real. As the days passed, as I felt my mother's love, I began to believe it. And when I finally accepted it... when I let myself feel the happiness... it was like a weight had been lifted. I was free."
He chuckled softly, though the sound held no humor. "I even had a sister, an older sister She... she was everything I imagined a sister would be. We were close. I loved her." His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard, pushing down the emotion that threatened to surface. "Our family was rich, powerful even, but none of that mattered to me. All I cared about was them my mother and my sister. For the first time in my life, I wanted something. I wanted to protect them, to be someone worthy of their love."
He lowered his gaze, his eyes growing distant again as the past replayed in his mind like a cruel movie. "Then, when I was five... something happened. A ding echoed in my mind. A system. Just like the ones I used to read about in books and stories back in my old life. I thought it was some kind of joke at first, some delusion my mind had cooked up. But... it was real. Or at least, as real as anything in this world."
"The system told me that this world I'd been reborn into... was a novel. A story. A fiction. I was just a character in someone else's narrative." He said
"Was anything real? Was I real?" His eyes narrowed as the questions that had haunted him back then resurfaced. "The system tried to explain it, saying this world was as real as any other, just one reality in an endless sea of possibilities. That the people I loved were real, that my experiences were real. But... how could I believe that? How could I trust anything after that?"
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "But what choice did I have? I'd lived this life, loved these people. I had to believe in that. So, I did. I accepted it, in my own way."
A sad, tired smile crossed his face as he remembered his fleeting hope. "I thought maybe the system would help me. Maybe it'd give me powers, make me the protagonist of my own story. You know, like in those books. Someone strong enough to protect the people I cared about."
His smile faded, replaced by a look of resignation. "But no. It wasn't that kind of system. It was a love system. It only rewarded me when I loved someone truly, when I acted selflessly, when my heart was pure." He let out a bitter laugh. "I guess I wasn't cut out for that."
He paused, letting the words settle in
"It wasn't the kind of system I'd imagined. It wasn't overpowered, like the ones I used to read about in those novels. There were no instant powers, no magical abilities. Just… love." He chuckled softly, a bitter smile forming on his lips. "I wasn't disappointed, though. If the system had never existed, I probably would have lived the same way.
At some point, I realized this system was perfect for me, after all. What I wanted most was a happy, loving life. And I could get rewarded for doing what I truly desired caring for the people I loved. It was just the cherry on top."
The man's smile softened, the fondness in his expression undeniable. "After a while, when I got more familiar with the system, I named it Max. I didn't want to treat it like some kind of tool or program. It felt more like a companion, maybe even a friend. Not just something inside my head."
He leaned back in the chair, memories flashing behind his eyes. "Everything was going well. I accepted the system, learned how it worked it was simple, really. Just love. Just treat the people I cared about with genuine love and take care of them. Do selfless things for them."
He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he remembered. "But I never did any of it for the system. I did it because I wanted to. If Max had asked me to love someone just for the sake of rewards, I never would have done it. It had to come from me, from my heart."
He let out a slow, thoughtful breath. "There are so many kinds of love. I treated my family the people I cared about with the love I thought they deserved. I spent years showing them that, trying to make them feel how much I appreciated them. Not because I expected anything in return, but because I truly wanted them to know how much they meant to me."
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sure, the system rewarded me for it. I got skills driving, cooking, playing the piano, and all sorts of things. But I hardly ever used them. I didn't have the chance. Being a kid in a rich family didn't exactly leave me with many opportunities to practice all those skills." He laughed lightly, but there was a hint of sorrow in it. "And well… being so young didn't help either."
His expression grew more reflective, the lines of his face deepening as he remembered the early days. "At first, my mother and sister were overjoyed with the things I did for them. Little acts of kindness, gestures that a gentleman would do bringing them water, opening doors, taking care of their small needs. And I told them how much I loved them. It was awkward for me at first, embarrassing even. But I didn't care. I hadn't had the chance to tell anyone I loved them in my past life. This time, I wanted to make sure they knew."
He sighed, his eyes clouding over with a sadness that felt ancient. "At first, they laughed, they smiled. They pampered me, kissed my forehead, and made me feel like my love was cherished. It was everything I wanted." His voice trailed off, growing quieter. "But over time... something changed. It became routine to them. The little things I did, the love I showed they stopped noticing. It all became so... normal."
His smile faded, replaced by a distant look, as if he were staring at something far off, something unreachable. "When something becomes routine, people start to take it for granted. They forget the feelings behind it. They start expecting it, and the meaning just... fades away." He swallowed hard, the heaviness of those words settling over him like a thick fog. "It was weird for me, watching them change. They still talked, they still laughed, but it wasn't the same. I couldn't understand it."
His voice dropped, filled with a quiet hurt. "My sister... she changed too. I didn't know why at first, but she started drifting away, like she wasn't the same person anymore. And my mother... it was like she stopped receiving my love, like it didn't reach her anymore."
He closed his eyes for a moment, the painful memories stirring inside him. "Eventually, she started ignoring me altogether. It was subtle at first less attention, less affection. But then it grew. She stopped talking to me some days. Her words turned cold. She'd say things like, 'You don't need to do that for me, I can handle it myself.' Or, 'Why are you even here? I didn't ask for your help.'"
His throat tightened, and he clenched his fists. "It was like her love for me was slowly locking itself away. She didn't want me anymore. She didn't need me anymore. It hurt. It hurt more than anything."
He shook his head, the pain evident in his eyes. "But even when it hurt, I didn't stop loving them. I couldn't. I kept trying, kept hoping things would turn around. But love isn't something you can force. It either is, or it isn't. So I just kept giving what I could, not expecting anything in return."
He let out a deep, shuddering breath. "I was around thirteen when things started falling apart, I think. Maybe the changes happened before, but I didn't notice until then."
He rubbed his temples, as if trying to ease the growing weight of his memories. "I became that kid who didn't talk much, who stayed quiet and distant. In school, I sat at the back of the classroom like some lonely kid in desperate need of love and care. Funny, right? The one who's supposed to give love, acting like the one who needs it the most." He chuckled, but it was hollow, devoid of real amusement.
"Then, I met her," he said softly, his expression softening for the first time in what felt like an eternity. "Avey Starline." The name rolled off his tongue like a cherished secret, and a faint smile tugged at his lips a real smile this time, though filled with sadness. "I don't know what it was about her. Maybe it was because she was the only one who came to me when no one else did, when I wasn't acting like how a kid should act. I was just sitting there on the last bench, like a depressed ghost, and she... she saw me."
He paused, his eyes reflecting both joy and sorrow. "She helped me out of those dark days. I didn't know why I was so depressed, so weighed down with sadness. Maybe it was because I was sensitive, or maybe it was the crushing realization that the people I loved no longer loved me back. But Avey... she was different."