Apparently, Lincoln High had devolved into a sports arena where the main event was speculating about my anatomy. This was totally normal teenage behavior, right? Perfectly healthy social development occurring here.
I spotted Jack and his testosterone squad near the edge of the crowd. Jack looked as if he wanted to commit actual homicide with his bare hands, his face the color of a fire engine and radiating enough rage to power a small city. He started moving toward me with clear intent to finish what he had started the day before, when one of his boys grabbed his arm and whispered something urgent in his ear.
Jack froze, glanced around at the audience of phone cameras and expectant faces, and actually backed down. He turned and walked away, his entire entourage trailing behind him like disappointed hyenas who had just been told the hunt was canceled.
The entire hallway witnessed the moment: the great Jack Morrison, golden boy of Lincoln High, backing down from confronting me. And I could literally hear the rumor mill beginning to grind.
"Did Jack just bitch out?"
"Why didn't he throw hands?"
"Maybe Peter was actually telling the truth…"
"Oh shit, what if Jack really was compensating?"
I had actually damaged the untouchable reputation of Mr. Perfect with one idiotic comment. Now everyone was wondering if there was genuine truth to my ridiculous cosmic‑balance theory.
Tommy had filled me in that morning on the group‑chat apocalypse that had unfolded since the previous day. People were demanding Jack prove me wrong, begging Sofia to confirm or deny my claims. Radio silence from both parties only fed the speculation bonfire.
The Morrison‑family dysfunction was trending again, all because I couldn't keep my mouth shut about interdimensional dick physics.
Tommy caught up to me as I reached my locker, with Connor Hayes bouncing behind him like an overexcited golden retriever who had just discovered YouTube fame.
"Dude, you're literally viral!" Connor announced as if he were delivering the Pulitzer Prize. "My video from yesterday already hit sixty thousand views and was climbing!"
"Congratulations," I muttered, spinning my combination with more force than necessary. "You've successfully turned me into a circus act, not made me popular."
"Same thing in 2025, bro! Clout is clout!"
I ignored both of them and grabbed my textbooks, trying to focus on surviving the day without becoming a meme template.
But there was something way more pressing on my mind than my newfound status as Lincoln High's favorite entertainment.
I hadn't gotten a chance to explore the system that morning because Mom was in full "get ready for school or I'm driving you there myself" mode. And now, standing in the hallway circus I had accidentally created, a new message materialized in my vision:
[New Mission: Seduce a girl!
Rewards:100 SP (System Points), Unlock the System "Golden Finger"]
The points made sense—basic video‑game economics. But what the hell was a "golden finger"? The system itself was already like having cheat codes for real life, so what could possibly be better than that? And unlike the previous day's mission, this one didn't offer me the courtesy of a decline button. It was just sitting there, waiting for me to figure out how to complete it.
Given recent developments—going from human spaghetti to actually having some muscle definition, my face no longer immediately repelling the opposite sex, my equipment receiving what could charitably be called a significant firmware update—I had to admit I was curious as hell.
What would happen if I unlocked this "golden finger" feature? If the system had premium content, I needed to earn access to, what other abilities was I currently missing out on? I also didn't know what the system does apart from my own hunch, I'm eager.
I caught more conversations about me as I headed to first period, and nobody was even pretending to whisper anymore.
"Did you see how he was walking? Like he was carrying something valuable."
"Maybe all those rumors were actually true…"
"I mean, I'd be curious to find out."
"He did look different today. Better."
One thing I noticed: the guys still saw me exactly the same way as before—loser, nerd, professional punching bag. It was exclusively the girls whose entire perception had shifted. Whether that would be a blessing or a curse remained to be determined.
Whatever. I couldn't focus on the social‑media disaster when I had a mission to figure out and apparently no choice in the matter but many rewards to get.
I pulled out my phone and opened ChatGPT. I couldn't exactly Google "how to seduce a girl when you're historically one of the most unfuckable guys at school," but artificial intelligence might have some actionable insights.
Time to see if AI could help me crack the code on whatever the hell a "golden finger" was supposed to be.
I slid into my seat in AP History, basically where academically gifted kids went to pretend, we weren't all dead inside from chronic stress and caffeine addiction. Mrs. Henderson was already droning on about the Industrial Revolution—ironic, considering I was about to start my own personal revolution with the help of artificial intelligence.
I angled my phone under my desk and opened ChatGPT, because apparently this was what my life had become: asking a computer program for dating advice like some kind of digital incel.
Me: I needed help with something, and it was going to sound pathetic.
ChatGPT: I'm here to help! What's going on?
Yeah, that artificially cheerful tone was exactly what I needed right then. I decided to lay it all out because fuck it—if I was going to humiliate myself, I might as well go full throttle.
Me: Okay, so I'm sixteen, historically unfuckable, and I need to seduce a girl. Yesterday I got punched by the school quarterback after announcing I have a huge dick (which is true but probably wasn't my smartest moment). Now I look better somehow—like I actually hit puberty properly—and girls are noticing me for the first time ever. I have exactly zero experience with this and need to complete this "mission" without looking like a complete disaster. Help me not die alone.
I hit send and waited for the AI to process what was possibly the most pathetic request in ChatGPT history.