CHAPTER 1: DEATH AND REBIRTH.

Gloss POV

I died choking on instant noodles, not because I loved them so much that I wanted them as my last meal, but because the gas had been cut off and boiling water had become a luxury. The kettle hissed once, then coughed out smoke as if it was mocking me, so I ate the noodles dry, straight from the packet.

My throat burned, my chest ached, and before I could even swallow properly, my body dropped to the dirty floor of my expired rented apartment.

Pathetic, right?

That was Sky Templeton, failed writer and professional loser. The kind of man whose obituary would read nothing but “miserable.”

The ceiling above me had thin cracks, with brown stains spreading like a map of disappointment. I stared at them while my lungs begged for air. All I could think about was how angry my landlord would be that I died before paying the overdue rent. He would probably drag my corpse out and list the place again by morning.

That was how my story ended.

I wasn’t always this pitiful. There was a time I believed in stories. I believed they could save me. I poured my heart into every draft I wrote, dreaming of recognition, of being known as a real author. When a publisher reached out and promised to make me the next big thing, I thought my life had finally turned around.

I did everything to pay the advance publishing fees. I borrowed money from loan sharks and friends who probably pitied me more than they cared to admit.

Then the emails stopped coming. Their office “relocated.” My books vanished. My money disappeared. And I was left drowning in debts and depression.

Pretty sad, isn’t it?

So there I was, choking, tears running down my face. I had thought about dying before, maybe jumping off a bridge, maybe something quicker, but I never imagined my life would end like this.

They say when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. But all I could think about was the stupid book that ruined everything.

Yeah, I still remembered it. Level Up My Cold CEO. What a ridiculous name. A cold CEO, a foolish secretary, betrayal, humiliation, and some weak-faced protagonist who still won in the end. I dropped it halfway because I couldn’t stand the secretary character. He was scheming, desperate, and pathetic—a perfect punching bag for the story. He betrayed the CEO, got caught, and ended up ruined.

I hated that character. I hated how spineless he was, how he clung to a man who despised him. I even cursed him in the comments before deleting the app I had downloaded for inspiration.

A weak laugh escaped my lips. Here I was, thinking about someone else’s terrible book while my life was ending. But wasn’t I the same as that spineless secretary? Betrayed, discarded, and useless. A character no one cared about, someone everyone hated.

And then, the darkness came.

I thought death would be silent, but instead, I woke up to noise.

There were footsteps, the sound of heels clicking, papers rustling, and people talking in low voices. My head throbbed, my tongue felt heavy, and my body sank into leather that felt far too expensive to belong to me. The smell of coffee filled the air. Real coffee. Not the instant dirt-water I used to drink.

For a second, I heard something faint. A small chime, soft and distant, like a sound inside my skull.

[System initializing…]

The noise faded before I could make sense of it.

I opened my eyes.

And froze.

The room was bright and sleek, the walls made of glass that reflected a skyline I could never afford to look at from the inside. A long conference table stretched across a polished marble floor. Men in suits sat around it, flipping through papers like soldiers readying for battle. At the head of the table sat a man whose face I recognized instantly.

Dream Lancaster.

The cold CEO. The villain. The man I once swore I would never write about again. And in the glass wall behind him, I saw my reflection.

Only it wasn’t mine.

A sharp jawline. Slicked-back hair. A tailored suit. And in my trembling hands, a set of files that didn’t belong to me.

Realization hit me hard.

I was in the novel.

Not as the main character, not even as a supporting one. I was the secretary. The doomed, pathetic fool who betrayed the CEO and ended up destroyed. The same character I had cursed out before deleting the book.

I was him.

The chair scraped loudly against the marble floor as I stumbled back, drawing confused looks from the people around the table.

Dream’s cold eyes met mine, filled with disgust and contempt. He looked at me like I was something unpleasant he couldn’t wait to throw away.

“What are you doing, Gloss?” His voice was calm, deep, and commanding.

Gloss. He called me Gloss.

That was the secretary’s name.

No. No, no, no.

My words tumbled out before I could think. “I… I wasn’t…”

My chest tightened. My breathing turned shallow. Images and memories that weren’t mine began to flood my head. Meetings. Scandals. Betrayals. Every part of this man’s miserable life slammed into me all at once. Dream’s gaze lingered for a second longer, then moved away like I wasn’t worth his time. He went back to talking, his voice sharp and confident as the room obeyed him.

I sat there, frozen, gripping the files tightly while my hands shook. My surroundings faded into a blur.

This couldn’t be real.

I remembered dying on my apartment floor. I remembered the noodles. The pain. The darkness. And now I was here, living as the character I hated most.

A soft chime echoed again, louder this time.

“Welcome, Host.”

I turned my head, but no one else seemed to hear it. Everyone kept working as if nothing strange had happened.

“System initializing…”

The world around me seemed to ripple slightly, and then a translucent panel appeared in front of me, floating in midair. It glowed faintly, lines of light rearranging themselves like living text.

“Binding Host: 87%…”

“Synchronization complete.”

“The Survival System has been activated.”

“Mission One: Survive 100 days.”

My pulse raced.

“Failure will result in permanent erasure.”

The message lingered in the air before fading.

I pressed a hand against my chest, feeling my heart hammer. Sweat covered my palms as my reflection in the dark glass window stared back at me. Gloss Rivera, secretary. Cannon fodder. A dead man walking.

Only now, I had a system.

One hundred days.

I swallowed hard.

The game had just begun.