Harem… James tilted his head. The letters shimmered a little too much. Soft curves. A pink glow. There was even a rose icon spinning gently in the corner.
Isn't that what emperors in China had? A bunch of wives, gold robes, fans, and grapes?
He glanced at the old man, skeptical. "So what is this—some kind of team-building system?"
The old man's grin spread slowly, like he'd been waiting for that exact question. "Ah yes, very much so. A relationship-focused enhancement model."
He began pacing with deliberate flair, hands folded behind his back, like a man giving a lecture on ancient forbidden knowledge. "This system thrives on bonds. When your teammates care about you, when trust builds… well, that's when the bonuses start stacking."
James raised an eyebrow. "Bonuses?"
"Oh yes," the old man said, holding up a finger. "Stronger attacks. Faster recovery. Emotional resistance buffs. Some abilities even unlock exclusively through partner synergy. Think of it as… soul-deep co-op mode."
James folded his arms, nodding. "Alright. So the more they like me, the more I level up?"
"Exactly," the man said, eyes twinkling. "Except the more they like-like you… the more potent the growth."
James's brow furrowed. "Like-like?"
"You'll be surrounded by strong, beautiful allies. Many of them emotionally charged. Possibly competitive. Potentially very… affectionate."
"Uh-huh."
The old man leaned in now, voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Form a team. Earn their trust. Share intense, meaningful moments—both in combat… and out."
James blinked slowly. "So it's—"
The man threw out both arms, voice booming with dramatic flair. "It's a sex system, James!"
James blinked. Slowly. "Wait… a sex system?"
The old man smiled like a man who'd waited centuries for that exact question. "Yes."
He took a step forward, gesturing grandly as he spoke. "The Harem System rewards you for forming deep, personal connections—and I don't mean just holding hands under moonlight. You want power? Then get women to fall in love with you. Lust after you. Obsess over you, if possible."
He shrugged. "The stronger the desire, the greater the benefits."
James raised a brow. "Benefits like what?"
"Oh, the usual," the old man said casually. "Enhanced strength, speed, sharper instincts, resistance to certain types of damage. Some women grant unique passives. Others? Hidden techniques. The system tailors its rewards based on the bond you form—and how well you perform."
James frowned slightly. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," the man said, crossing his arms. "You fuck the right woman—someone strong, someone rare—and you'll feel it. Like flipping a switch. Stat gains. Perks. Sometimes even legacy abilities, depending on who she is and what you awaken in her."
The glowing Harem word behind him pulsed again, faint rose petals drifting across its surface. There was a sparkle. Maybe a moan. James tried not to notice.
"So… seduce powerful women and sleep with them," James said slowly, as if recapping a contract.
"Win their hearts. Ruin their beds. Reap the power," the man said with a straight face. "You don't even need a harem, technically. But the more invested partners you have—the more they want you—the better your growth."
James let out a breath. "You've got to be kidding."
"Nope. It's all in the system code," the old man replied, inspecting his nails like it was just another Tuesday. "Emotional connection accelerates it. Sexual connection unlocks it. Lust gives you a push. Love gives you wings."
James tilted his head slightly. "I think I'll skip that one," he muttered, eyeing Harem like it might wink at him. "What's the Check-In System?"
The old man's hands slid behind his back, posture settling into something more formal. His tone matched—steady, even, informative.
"You travel to notable or significant locations. When you arrive, you check in. The system records your visit and issues a reward."
James didn't respond right away. The word Check-In glowed with a soft silver hue, rotating slowly in place. It was clean and unassuming, lacking the dramatic flair of the others.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. "And the rewards?"
"Items, abilities, passives," the man said. "Sometimes knowledge-based skills. First-time check-ins provide high-value rewards. Very high-tier. Repeated check-ins yield smaller benefits—experience, minor upgrades."
James shifted his stance, arms still folded. "So… I visit places, and the system makes me better?"
"Yes," the man replied simply. "The more important—or say, revered, ancient, historically rich—the location, the better the reward."
James exhaled slowly, one brow twitching upward. "Sounds like I'd be a tourist."
The man tilted his head. "A tourist?"
"Kinda feels like it," James said. "Go here, go there, pick up souvenirs—except the souvenirs are skills and stat boosts."
He rubbed his chin, and paused. His fingers passed over his jawline and caught the texture—smooth, like it had been freshly shaved. Close and clean, almost surgical. Straight razor, he thought absently. A barber's edge.
He dropped his hand and looked back up. "Would I have to train?"
The man blinked once. "Well… if you managed to reach a few extremely dangerous places, rich in history or significance—probably not. The system would carry the load."
James didn't react much, but the thought settled in. He'd be traveling the One Piece world either way. Landmarks, islands, ancient battlegrounds… the map was wide. It might be an option.
James looked at the glowing word—Training—then back at the man. The word hovered in place, its deep blue hue pulsing with quiet rhythm. A faint hum came with it, steady as a slow heartbeat. Clean lines. Even light.
"So what is the Training System? I assume it trains me?"
"Correct," the old man said.
James nodded once. "When and how?"
The man clasped his hands behind his back, shifting slightly. The folds of his robe settled with a quiet sweep. "Conveniently," he said. "And in a multitude of ways your frog brain struggles to grasp while staring from the bottom of the well."
James blinked. His jaw flexed slightly. What was that supposed to mean?
"It means exactly what it means," the man said, wiggling his eyebrows like he'd just delivered something profound.
James kept his arms folded. The man clearly wasn't planning to elaborate, and pushing wouldn't change that. Another question formed in his mind.
"Don't bother," the man said, cutting in again. "It trains you. That's the end of it."
James exhaled through his nose. The air around him carried a stillness, like the breath before a storm. The idea of it… actually appealed to him. The Check-In System offered rewards for arriving somewhere—simple. But that kind of ease had never shaped him.
He'd earned everything in his life. Scratched and climbed for every step. In the Marines, his fists and footwork spoke loudest. Hands moved with purpose. His body remembered every drill. Every spar. Every bruise.
Later—after the service—he'd thought about going deeper into martial arts. Back then, it lived on the fringe. No organized leagues. No exploding fanbase. Just dedicated fighters in quiet gyms chasing precision, power, and peace.
Then came Ann. Then the kids. His attention turned homeward. Stripes didn't matter as much. Making it home for dinner mattered more. Solid dad. Steady cop. He built a life. One with weight and love.
Still, the thought drifted in sometimes—what if?
The world ahead didn't trade in comfort. It thrived on power. Strength ruled the seas. If he wanted a real shot—at survival, at justice, at reaching her—he'd need more. A path that shaped him, sharpened him. Not gifts. Growth.
Training made sense. Power earned always did.
But not just that. James had given years to walking a beat. The uniform, the badge—his way of showing up for the people around him. Protect and serve wasn't just a slogan. It meant stepping into whatever came next when the call came in.
He saw things most folks only read about. Domestic calls that spiraled. Jumpers on rooftops. Kids left bruised and hollow. The kind of scenes that hung around after you got home. One, in particular, stayed with him—man couldn't handle a divorce, and what followed left James standing in the middle of a house that felt cold even in the summer. Wife. Four kids. All gone. The axe still in the carpet. He hadn't slept right for weeks after that.
Cops didn't talk much about it, but the weight piled up. Some drank more. Some didn't come back. The stress crept in sideways—quiet and steady.
James made it through because of Ann. She didn't let him carry it all alone. Early on, she told him what she expected—honesty, openness, no bottled-up silence. She gave him space to unload and still treated him like he was whole. That made the job survivable.
He looked up at the floating word again. "Justice." That was the word across Marine coats in this world. If he was going to wear that, he wanted to mean it. No act. Just truth.
His mind flicked to that Coby kid. He and Shawn had watched him once—eager, honest, a little green. James grinned to himself. That kind of kid reminded him of a rookie officer still thinking every clean report was one step closer to fixing things.
In his world, authority came with a badge and the backing of the government. In this one, it would come from strength. Real strength.
He rubbed his knuckle against the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. This world demanded power. If he was going to represent justice here, he'd have to earn it.
He looked at his next option—Quest System.
The word floated a little higher than the others, its letters outlined in a faint bronze glow. It pulsed in rhythm with his breath, steady and quiet, like it was waiting for him to acknowledge it. He had never played the kind of fantasy games Shawn enjoyed, but he understood what a quest meant. Tasks. Objectives. Do something, get something. Seemed straightforward enough.
He shifted his weight slightly and glanced toward the man. "So I get things for completing quests?"
"Yes," the man replied.
James scratched his jaw, feeling the roughness of stubble that had somehow carried over with him. "So instead of the check-in tourist system… I'd basically be choosing a to-do list."
"A to-do list?" the man repeated, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah," James said. "Do this, do that. Who decides what I do?"
The man raised a finger and tapped it gently in the air. "The system reacts to your decisions and surroundings. It gives you goals that match your path. Some quests are simple. Some unfold over time. Some may surprise you."
James watched the bronze letters turn slowly in place. His brow twitched slightly. "Still feels like a list."
The man didn't comment further. His expression was neutral, but the way his eyes stayed on James made it clear he wasn't disagreeing.
James gave the word one more look. The glow shifted slightly, like a lantern catching wind. Predictable. Measured. A system that set the rhythm for your progress. Structured effort. That was all fine—but it still felt like a list.
"What's an Experience System?" James asked, letting the question hang as his eyes shifted to the last glowing word.
The man rolled his shoulders once, casual and loose. "Exactly what it sounds like. You do things. You gain experience. As experience builds, you hit level milestones. Each one brings a perk."
James ran his thumb along his jaw, still catching the smoothness from whatever invisible razor had cleaned him up earlier. "Levels? Like game characters?"
The man just looked at him. Then—without a word—made a deliberate frog noise.
James sighed. Right. The well thing again. He decided not to take the bait this time.
The old man grinned, catching the thought, his eyebrows bouncing with amusement. James resisted the urge to groan. The mind reading had become routine now, like an unwanted running commentary.
"So… perks?" James asked.
"Correct. When you reach certain levels—milestones—you unlock perks. They stack with your natural progress. Something extra for reaching the next stage."
James tilted his head slightly. "So each level makes me a bit stronger?"
"Exactly," the man nodded. "Even outside of milestones, each level improves your edge. Tighter reflexes. More efficiency. Things click faster. Then a perk lands when you pass a key threshold."
James tapped his arm lightly, absorbing it. "And the perks—those are based on what I've done?"
"Yes. Everything tracks back to your actions."
James looked at the word again. "Everything levels?"
"Yes. But skill slots are limited," the man said. "You'll only have so much capacity for advancement at a time."
James raised a brow. "So if I wanted to be a cook, I'd have to burn a slot?"
The man shook his head. "You can still learn naturally. Slot limits only apply to tracked skills—the ones that grow through the system."
James nodded once. That actually made sense. "Effort matters?"
"Of course," the man said. "Do things related to the get skill you get experience… do hard things get lots of experience.