Buzz!
Jacob's banana-logo phone—this world's alternate-reality version of Apple—vibrated deep in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Mason's name flashing on the screen. His expression darkened immediately. Mason, his so-called best friend, had bolted when Jacob needed him most. Then again, Jacob couldn't be too mad. After all, he had promised Mason he wouldn't drag him into the mess he'd caused.
Reluctantly, he answered the call.
"Yo, man!" Mason's cheerful voice came through. "What's up? By the way, you made Mira cry, lol. What happened after that?"
"You bastard," Jacob spat through clenched teeth, gripping the phone tightly. "You didn't even bother backing me up."
"Come on, man, I wasn't about to poke that bear," Mason replied, a tinge of helplessness in his tone. "Besides, you're the one who decided to ruin her day—not me."
"Whatever," Jacob muttered, already feeling his irritation start to fade. There wasn't much use staying mad at Mason; the guy always had a way of wriggling out of trouble. "So, why did you call?"
"Oh, right," Mason said, his tone shifting to something more casual. "Do you remember Sam Johnson? Our old class president back in high school?"
"Yeah, of course," Jacob replied without hesitation. He couldn't forget Sam Johnson—the guy had been the epitome of charisma and leadership back in their school days. Even though Jacob hadn't been particularly close to him, Sam had left a lasting impression. "What about him?"
"I ran into him at the premiere yesterday," Mason explained, "and he invited us to his wedding."
"Sam's getting married?" Jacob raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
"Yup. He's inviting a bunch of our old classmates too, so I figured I'd give you a heads-up. I'm hoping you'll come."
"Sure," Jacob said after a moment's thought. "Just send me the time and place."
After Mason messaged him the wedding details, the two chatted for a few more minutes before ending the call. But just as Jacob pocketed his phone, a familiar sound interrupted his thoughts.
[Ding!]
Jacob's lips twitched at the now-familiar notification tone. He sighed and glanced at the empty space in front of him, already bracing himself. Sure enough, a translucent screen materialized.
---
[A new mission has arrived. Do you want to accept it?]
[Y/N]
---
Jacob frowned. The system, as always, was being cryptic. It didn't specify what the mission entailed—just a vague prompt asking him to decide.
He stared at the screen for a moment, then asked, "What is the mission?"
No response. The system remained stubbornly silent, as if mocking his frustration. Jacob groaned, rubbing his temple. It was as if this damn system enjoyed testing his patience.
Now the question was: should he accept the mission or not? It might be easy—or it could be absurdly difficult. Without a single hint to go on, it felt like a gamble either way.
Then it clicked. The timing wasn't a coincidence. The mission had popped up right after Mason's call about Sam's wedding. Did that mean it was related to the event? If so, what was the connection? Something about agreeing to attend must have triggered the mission.
"Interesting," Jacob muttered before pressing the [Y] button.
[Ding!]
[You have accepted the mission.]
---
[Mission: The Mob Boss]
Description:
You have been invited by Sam Johnson to a wedding, but you are a man of sheer aura. You must attend Sam's wedding and pretend to be a mafia boss.
Condition:
Convince at least 20 of your old classmates—including Sam—that you are a mob boss.
Rewards:
+300 EXP
+20 AP
+15 LAP
Penalty:
-100 AP
-2 points on all attributes
---
"What the hell is this?" Jacob gawked at the screen, incredulous. Pretend to be a mob boss? At a wedding? How was he supposed to pull that off? He barely knew anything about the mafia beyond what he'd seen in movies and TV shows. And the mission required him to convince 20 of his old classmates—not exactly a small task.
Jacob's eyes scanned the details again, pausing at the mention of "LAP" in the rewards. "What the hell is LAP?" he muttered. The system didn't offer any clarification. Great—more vague nonsense to figure out later.
Then his attention drifted to the penalty. Compared to previous missions, it wasn't as harsh—just a loss of 100 AP and a 2-point deduction from all attributes. Still, the thought of losing any progress made him uneasy.
"This system is a real pain in the ass," Jacob grumbled. But there was no use complaining now. He'd already accepted the mission, and he'd have to see it through.
The only question was: how on earth was he supposed to act like a mob boss?
After thinking it over, Jacob still couldn't come up with a solid plan. With no other options, he grabbed his phone again and dialed a familiar number. Mason's voice crackled through the line after a couple of rings.
"Yo, what's up? Why're you calling again?" Mason asked, sounding a little perplexed.
"Can you go with me to the mall?" Jacob asked, cutting straight to the point.
"For what?" Mason replied, confusion evident in his tone.
"To make sure I'm well-dressed for the wedding, obviously," Jacob explained, trying to sound casual.
There was a pause on the other end, then Mason spoke again, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Wait... is this really you? The Jacob I know would just grab whatever shirt didn't smell like death and show up."
Jacob sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Enough with the nonsense. Just come with me."
"Alright, alright," Mason said, still chuckling. "I'll meet you there."
The call ended, and Jacob tossed his phone onto the coffee table before slumping back onto the couch. This day had been far more eventful than he had anticipated. With only three days left until the wedding, he knew he had to act quickly. If he was going to pull off this absurd mission, he needed to plan every detail—and step one was getting a suit that could sell the image of a "mob boss."
"Damn it," Jacob muttered, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He still couldn't believe he was about to throw himself into this level of ridiculousness. How in the world was he supposed to convince twenty people, including Sam, that he was some sort of mafia leader?
He rubbed his temples, his thoughts racing. The penalties for failure weren't catastrophic, but they were enough to make him uneasy. He had no intention of losing more AP or weakening his already pathetic stats.
"Looks like I'll have to burn some cash for this," Jacob murmured. His gaze fell to his wallet on the table. He didn't like the idea of splurging on a suit, but there wasn't much choice. If he wanted to survive this mission without humiliating himself—or worse—he needed to nail every detail, starting with his appearance.