Chapter 2

'It's not you who should be thanking me. It's the other way around.'

Anthony mulled it over quietly on his way home. He pulled a small notebook, no bigger than his palm, from his pocket and flipped to a particular page.

Line after line filled the page, densely packed, but one entry stood out.

Do one thousand good deeds (895/1000).

Anthony slid the pencil out from between the pages, erased the "895," and wrote "896" in its place.

'Thank you, Officer. Another chance to atone.'

Maybe it wouldn't be much longer before he was finally free.

The thought eased the weight in his chest, just slightly. He walked the rest of the way home at an unhurried pace, back to the small studio apartment he rented.

Truth be told, the neighborhood wasn't in great shape—overgrown weeds everywhere, ivy creeping up the walls and buildings, giving the place an air of neglect. It was an old complex, older than he was by more than a decade. Besides a handful of nearby workers, only a few elderly residents still lived here.

Back at the apartment, Anthony changed out of his workout clothes, rinsed off in the bathroom, put on something clean, and sat down at the table to eat breakfast.

Only then did he have a moment to summon the System.

Eating his sausage roll, Anthony turned his attention to the interface hovering in the air.

[Joy (0.0%)]

[Anger (0.0%)]

[Sorrow (0.0%)]

[Fear (0.0%)]

[Love (0.0%)]

[Hatred (0.0%)]

[Desire (0.0%)]

Seven characters, representing the seven human emotions, floated in midair, each followed by something like a meter. Every single meter sat empty, each showing a pitiful zero percent.

Anthony frowned slightly.

"System, what is this?" he asked, almost offhand.

Right then, the meter next to "Desire" ticked up a hair, jumping from "0.0%" to "0.3%."

At the same time, a cold, mechanical voice sounded in his ear.

[Greetings, Host. The Emotion System is at your service.]

[As you can see, these seven meters before you represent the seven emotions a person is capable of feeling: joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire. The number following each represents the intensity of that emotion.]

[For instance, when you just asked your question, your curiosity about this System generated a small spark of desire—the desire to know the answer—so the reading rose to 0.3%.]

[According to statistical averages, a healthy adult male's readings typically hover somewhere around 50% across the board. A case like yours, Host, with nearly every reading pinned at rock bottom, is exceedingly rare.]

[As such, this System exists to help you recover your lost emotions until you're restored to a normal human baseline.]

The System seemed rather talkative, rattling on and on without giving him a chance to get a word in. Once it finally wound down, Anthony spoke quietly. "You're saying... I'm not like normal people? That I don't have the emotions they have?"

[Precisely. I urge you, Host, to face reality and accept this System's guidance.]

"No thanks," Anthony replied evenly.

He had no reason to trust some System of unknown origin right away. He even wondered, briefly, whether something had gone wrong with his own mind, whether he'd conjured up this thing to comfort himself.

Still, he had some idea of what it was referring to. Back when he'd just started high school, he'd been in a car accident. He hadn't lost his memory or anything so dramatic, but the aftermath had been bad enough. Damage to certain regions of his frontal lobe had left him unable to generate or regulate emotional responses.

In short, he'd developed what the System called Emotional Deficiency Disorder. And apparently, that was exactly what the seven meters on the interface reflected.

Even so, he had no reason to want those emotions back. Living the way he did now was more than enough.

[My apologies, Host, but I'm afraid this isn't your call to make.]

[Due to unknown factors, this System was installed with a self-destruct protocol from the factory. If it fails to help you live a normal life, it will detonate within your consciousness—and you will die along with it.]

"..."

Hearing this, Anthony only raised an eyebrow slightly.

Death, huh.

He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. "There's a time limit on this self-destruct protocol, I'd guess. How long?"

[Within 365 natural days.]

"So, one year." Anthony sounded almost relieved. "That's fine, then."

[You sound rather confident, Host. Do you believe you can recover your missing emotions within a year?]

"Oh, not really."

[Then why?]

Just then, the System's usually cold, mechanical tone seemed to soften, taking on something almost human.

Anthony smiled faintly at the question.

"Because I've already decided to end my life before this semester is over.

"...You've come too late."

...

The apartment door clicked shut behind him. Anthony slung his bag over one shoulder and stepped out. It was his first day at college, and as a freshman, he had no intention of being late.

Ignoring the System's incessant chatter in his ear, Anthony locked the door with a calm expression and headed downstairs.

Just then, the neighbor's door swung open.

"Anthony? Heading off to register already?"

Anthony looked up to see a woman with the bearing of a young housewife smiling warmly at him.

The woman's black hair was gathered loosely and draped over one shoulder. She wore a loose, homey-looking dress that couldn't quite hide the mature, alluring curve of her figure. Her features were gentle and refined, and a small mole at the corner of her eye lent her an air of understated allure.

"Louise, good morning."

At the sight of her, Anthony's face broke into a small smile.

Louise Bennett waved him over. "Have you eaten breakfast yet? I just made a big pot of chicken noodle soup—come in and have some before you go?"

"No need, Louise, I already ate at home," Anthony said, shaking his head, the smile still lingering on his face. "I have to go register soon, and I might be back a little late tonight. Don't wait up for me."

"Go on, go on, be careful on your way!"

"I will. Thanks, Louise."

As he walked, he pulled up the System interface.

[Joy (0.0%)]

Of course. The System really was a fraud.

Otherwise, why hadn't the reading budged even slightly, right now of all times?

If it needed proof... well, wasn't the smile on his face right now the best proof there was?