Chapter 1: Sixteen Rejections and a Viral Fall

I spent two years chasing after Natalie Sanders—queen of the campus, heartbreak artist, and now, the record-holder for rejecting me sixteen times.

Two years of my life tossed at her feet—late-night texts, desperate study group invites, bouquets of sunflowers delivered to her doorstep after every storm. Every time, she’d shoot me down with a stare so icy it could freeze a Texas summer. Still, hope’s a stubborn parasite. I kept trying until she stomped out every last spark.

Not only did my reputation crash and burn—making me the college’s number one joke—but I nearly lost my mind in the process.

The memes, the group chats, the drunken frat boys reenacting my failed confessions on the quad—I became campus legend, the punchline at every party. My phone blew up with texts from people I barely knew, every ping another needle in my pride. The nights stretched long and anxious, every shadow in my dorm room a reminder of how far I’d fallen.

The last time, I tried to win her over with a grand confession in a downpour I’d orchestrated myself. She looked down at me with utter disdain. “Jason Miller, quit dreaming. Even if I died, I’d never agree to be with you.”

I’d rented a sound system, paid a couple of freshman theater kids to man the rain machines. There I was, on my knees in the wet grass, holding a bouquet like a lovesick fool in a bad rom-com. My jeans soaked through, cold water crawling up my skin, while the fake rain hammered down so hard it felt like the world itself was mocking me. She stared at me as if I’d tracked mud into her house.

That night, I drowned my sorrows in whiskey and summoned the system: “I accept my fate. Come on, punish me.”

I slouched on the threadbare couch in my off-campus apartment, half-empty Jack bottle on the table, rain streaking the window. The system—a weird, ever-present voice in my head since freshman year—usually chimed in with its cool, metallic calm. I still wasn’t sure if it was real or just my own private madness, but tonight, I dared it to do its worst.

Losing fifty years of my life? Still sounded better than being erased outright.

At that moment, fifty years felt like Monopoly money. I’d give up my future for a scrap of dignity, for the sweet silence of no one whispering about Jason Miller’s latest crash-and-burn.

Who could have guessed, the next second, the system chimed in:

[Whoa there, Jason. Anger levels off the charts. Initiating target switch—don’t say I never did anything for you.]

My phone screen shimmered, a digital pop-up pulsing red. Even half-drunk, my heart kicked at the words. Was this mercy, or some cosmic joke?

Right after, Natalie’s roommate shyly tugged at my sleeve.

Like fate had a sense of humor, I felt a gentle tug. I looked up and saw Aubrey Lee—Natalie’s roommate, the quiet one with the big brown eyes—standing in the doorway, gripping her backpack like it was a life raft.