The Harem Overlord System

Ethan's alarm blared—a most unwelcome reminder that if you screw up one day, life doesn't bother to stop laughing at you. He slapped the snooze button like it had insulted his mother. Twenty minutes later, he finally rolled out of bed, greeted by the sad disco of morning sun struggling through stained curtains.

His head throbbed as if someone had set up a drumline in his skull. Yesterday's existential betrayal still clung to him heavier than his damp sheet. But he had a mission now: compliment a stranger, earn ten points, maybe unlock the mythical Confidence stat. He half-expected mechanical confetti or an on-screen drumroll for "Mission Impossibly Halfway Ridiculous."

He dressed in the least mortifying outfit in his room: a weathered hoodie, jeans that still zipped, and sneakers with questionable soles. For morale. Or at least decent camouflage.

Outside, the world was cluttered with people. Coffee shops, sleepy commuters, glowering drivers—perfect hunting ground for Task #1.

Ethan approached the nearest clone of humanity waiting at the crosswalk. He scanned faces. Who looked least likely to insult him?

A woman with tired eyes and an ungodly mustard stain on her blouse. Jackpot.

He sidled up. Heart thundered like it had a death wish. He cleared his throat. "Hey… uh… nice um, blouse. That… mustard-yellow? Bold choice."

She blinked, startled, then a half-smile, like he'd accidentally made a small deposit in her otherwise shitty day. "Thanks. I guess."

Ethan's mind frantically audited the interaction:

Compliment complete? ✅

Smile received? ✅

Intensity of public humiliation? ⚠️ moderate

He smiled back like a dog offered a steak. "Cool." Walked off, chest puffed a millimeter. Nervous adrenaline was nauseating, but the screen in his head pulsed: +10 points.

He paused on the sidewalk, breath coming in shaky bursts. He imagined the interface glitching to life:

Points 10 / 100

Confidence +0.02

Minimal progress, maximum existential crisis.

"Hell of a start," Ethan muttered. Then: "Getting compliments from strangers—I swear this is ironic punishment for high school."

He checked the system panel again—his personal scoreboard now sported the faintest fleck of green in the Confidence bar. You could practically see it with a magnifying glass.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of mundane errands: bought groceries (bonus: didn't trip), held the door for someone (bold, altruistic move), and smiled at a barista (another 15 points). Nothing glorious, but nothing deadly embarrassing either.

Walking out of the café, system pinged:

New Task Assigned: Introduce yourself to somebody new. Deadline: 24h. Reward: 20 points.

Because nothing says self-improvement like forced small talk. Ethan's stomach dipped. But… this was the path. Or some damned staircase built by trolls.

Mid-afternoon… class. Ethan sat third row, notebook open (mostly doodles and existential quotes, not exactly academic fuel). The new task buzzed: "Introduce yourself to somebody new."

He scanned the room. Options:

Girl with rainbow hair and nose ring—probably smart, maybe scary.

Guy with three laptops—probably tech bro.

Kid in tie—straight-A pretender.

Option two: bro tech dude probably safe. He slid over and offered a forced grin: "Hey, I'm Ethan. I—uh—haven't seen you before."

Bro swivelled, headphones dangling. "I'm Marcus. Working on my final project. You?"

"Just… here to absorb death by PowerPoint." His sarcasm came out too loud.

Marcus laughed. "Nice. You're funny. Cool. What're you studying?"

They talked for five minutes about nothing except classes and group projects. Dead air moments sounded like ticking bombs in Ethan's brain. But he did it. He introduced himself. Fury of relief washed over him when the system chimed: +20 points. Confidence up by… another miniscule lever.

He exhaled. Friend—or at least acquaintance—Marcus nodded before returning to Mars Rover simulations or whatever.

By evening, Ethan realized—this wasn't magic, wasn't instant redemption. But each forced act chipped away at the rock face of his insecurities.

He sank onto his bed, but sleep didn't come easy. The panel glowed above his desk:

Points: 45

Tasks left: 3

Confidence: +0.07

He scoffed. "One compliment, one intro, plus saving $5 and talking to barista—makes sense." His eyes drifted to the crumpled daisies in the trash can. They looked like wilted trophies now.

Inner thoughts scrolled:

This is stupid—also… it kind of worked?

I hate that I feel proud.

God, I need better hobbies.

He yawned. Tomorrow's tasks awaited: probably something humiliating like "Sing a song in public" or "High-five a stranger." And yeah, with the system breathing down his neck, he'd have to do them.

He lay back, eyelids heavy, heart weirdly full—not with delusional hope, but a strange satisfaction: he hadn't exploded. He hadn't failed catastrophically.

He whispered to the flickering screen: "Okay, Overlord. Let's see what other disasters you throw at me." Then he turned his back, letting sleep come. Because surviving was still winning.