My System Always Wants to Force Me to Confess - Chapter 20: You’re Not a Virgo, Are You?

From quiet grind to legacy brew.Jun had nothing—no café, no followers, not even a bed. Just a secondhand kettle and a broken dream.Then came the Barista System.No shortcuts. No instant success. Just slow, intentional tasks... and a promise:Brew. Grow. Endure.Every pour sharpens his skill. Every cup deepens his path.From street corners to pop-ups, from whispered praise to a space of his own—Jun’s grind is just beginning.This is a story of stillness, patience, and the quiet pursuit of mastery.Because greatness isn’t given.It’s brewed—one cup at a time.

In a world without gods, where the laws of magic are written by the mages themselves, balance is fragile, and darkness reigns. Multiple dimensions surround it, watched by beings with dark and greedy intentions. This is a magical universe, unstable, marked by constant changes, betrayals, and bloodshed. At the center of it all, an ordinary man emerges, carrying a biochip capable of deep analysis and data recording. With it, he embarks on a relentless journey of genetic enhancement, seeking to ascend beyond the limits of existence. Without divine protection, without charms to shield him or overwhelming powers, he must survive in a world where threats are ever-present, and the fight for survival is relentless. Here, the only rule is to conquer or be consumed. A dark fantasy filled with dangers, evolution, and the relentless pursuit of supremacy.

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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Ethan Smith walked down the empty street, cigarette in mouth, shaking his head and forcing a bitter smile. Who could have imagined that after three years of marriage, all that remained was betrayal?

He vowed to make that woman regret what she had done and promised to make everyone who had been good to him live a good life.

Yes, it was Emily Taylor, the woman who had helped him out of the abyss of despair when he hit the lowest point in his lifetime.

“Emily, it's time for me to take care of you.”

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