agreed to be a kept man, but I'm still being punished by the system.

Lin Yang’s morning begins the way most bad decisions end: with a pounding headache, a mouth like sandpaper, and absolutely no memory of the night before. What he does remember is that he desperately needs a job—and miraculously, he just landed one. But before he can even process the offer, a translucent interface flickers across his vision, permanently grafting itself to his retina. The system doesn't ask for permission. It simply appears, offering him a stark, clinical view of the people around him: their wealth rating, their overall score, and a future he never asked to see. Still hazy from the alcohol, Lin Yang turns his head on the pillow to face the woman beside him. She is the stunning director who hired him—still fast asleep, her features softened by the morning light. One glance at her holographic stat card sends a jolt of pure adrenaline through his system. Overall rating: 9.0. The number, nestled among a constellation of other impressive metrics, glows with an almost predatory significance. In that split second, practicality overrides every shred of his remaining pride. If he is going to survive this strange new reality, he decides, he might as well leverage his looks and a handsome face to secure a life of comfort. After all, why work hard when you can work smart—or in this case, live comfortably off someone else’s effort? Yet, as Lin Yang quickly discovers, the system does not grant its power for free. The easy life he envisions comes with a hidden cost, and the cosmos has a twisted sense of humor. As he steels himself to put his plan into action, a new, humiliating task pops up before his eyes. He glances at the sleeping director and mutters through gritted teeth, "Massage? What's so special about that...?" His attempted escape from real labor has only trapped him in a different, far more embarrassing kind of servitude, leaving him to wonder if his grand scheme to become a kept man wasn't the worst mistake he's ever made.