System: Coach, I want to change authors!

The system remembered that when it first rated Russell's 'Poison Tongue' skill, the verdict was that conversations always ended because of him. Looking back now, it had to admit it was damn prescient—its judgment was spot-on, left speechless by Russell's sarcasm.

But the contract had to be signed. It shifted to a slightly softer tone: "Having gone through three world missions, you've earned the right to become a host, and signing the contract benefits us both. I deceived you out of goodwill, and also as a form of self-protection. The previous hosts were so awful they drove me to despair!"

Russell perked up at that: "You make it sound like you're the underdog. Aren't you supposed to be an all-powerful system?"

"I'm just a program, not all-powerful!"

"A program with a mouth on it?"

"Your words are dripping with distrust and prejudice. I'm a form of life, and you can't deny that."

"Fair point. I really don't trust you!"

System: "..."

"Don't stop. Keep going."

"The hosts before you were dead set on opposing me. We're supposed to be one, but they went out of their way to erase my existence. It's ridiculous—a rigid, mechanical, dogmatic system versus a smart one. Which is better, right?"

Russell rubbed his chin: "I think they had a point. A system's better off brainless!"

System: "..."

"Just kidding, no offense. Go on."

The system sighed, steadied itself, and continued: "It's because of you hosts with your persecution complexes that I had to draft a contract to protect myself. The terms are clear: my duty is to safeguard your interests, and yours is not to harm me!"

Russell took that as background noise, not bothering to dwell on it. Anyone can play the victim; he cared about facts: "Sounds like you've had it rough, but the previous hosts are dead, and you're still here, aren't you?"

"Their deaths had nothing to do with me—they brought it on themselves! The contract restricts you, but not a single clause threatens your life. I'm just protecting myself."

Russell raised an eyebrow: "You're that scared? Does the host have that much authority?"

"Once you become a host, you outrank me..."

The system seemed to realize it had said too much and promptly shut up.

Russell's eyes lit up: "Hearing that, I'm even less inclined to sign."

The system said coldly: "Don't kid yourself. If you refuse the contract, I'll pick a new candidate and leave you. The consequences are beyond what you can handle. You'll... have your memories wiped, become a vegetable, or if luck's against you, die outright."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a fact, not an exaggeration! Without signing, you really will die."

Russell paused for three seconds, then said slowly: "How about... we give it a try?"

"..."

"You're this spineless, and you call yourself a system?"

The system reached its limit, snapping with anger: "Don't get too cocky. The respect I give you isn't license for your arrogance!"

Russell: "No need. You're free to disrespect me!"

"COURTING DEATH!!"

The system snorted, and in an instant, the hall shattered into fragments, dissolving into specks of light that drifted away on the wind.

Without the torchlight, infinite darkness encroached, swallowing everything.

Russell floated in the chaotic void, unable to see, sense gravity, or direction. But it was brief—a glimmer of light appeared in the distance and rushed toward him at breakneck speed.

It was a universe woven from galaxies, dotted with billions of stars, expanding visibly until it engulfed Russell entirely.

Immense gravity wrenched at his limbs and bones, stretching his body into a slender curve like a boneless mollusk. Each time he passed a star, he was twisted into a new shape.

The pull stopped only when he reached a blazing white star. Its surface erupted in flares, coalescing into an angry face.

Russell, utterly oblivious to self-preservation, taunted: "Oh, soft talk didn't work, so now you're playing rough?"

The system knew it couldn't outtalk Russell. Gravity tugged at his limbs as a fresh parchment and quill appeared before him.

"Signing the contract isn't up to you. This is my world—I rule everything, including you within it!"

As the system spoke, Russell's hand moved involuntarily. He grabbed the quill and scribbled furiously on the parchment's signature line.

Two characters took no time at all. Russell finished quickly, and just as the system smirked and retrieved the parchment, it froze at the signature.

"Silly Bird!"

On the star's surface, the vague features went still, its wide eyes comically stunned.

"Why...? Why would you..."

The system stammered, and Russell cut in: "The reason's simple. How am I in your world but not under your control?"

"..."

"Easy. This isn't your world at all." Russell waved a hand, and the endless cosmos shattered like a mirror. The system's giant face on the star crumbled to dust.

Back in the original hall, Russell looked at the gloomy surroundings, snapped his fingers, and the stone walls, floor, and ceiling warped.

The torches became oversized crystal chandeliers. The walls bore world-famous paintings. The floor was red carpet, the long table draped in white cloth, and the cold stone seat transformed into a plush European-style armchair.

Russell lounged with his legs crossed, sinking into the chair, a lit cigarette between his fingers. With a slight frown, it swapped to a cigar.

A high-end Western restaurant, but the half-eaten roast chicken still sat on the table.

The system's appearance had also changed, from a blurry-faced light screen to a bewildered-looking Shiba Inu crouching at Russell's feet, its tail wagging nonstop.

"H-How...? How could you know? You shouldn't have known, right?" The dog spoke human words, its voice sharp and thin, brimming with intense fear.

"Silly Bird, what nonsense are you spouting! This is my mental world, so naturally I can do whatever I want!" Russell glanced down, raised his hand, and pressed the cigar onto the dog's head.

The cigar went out!

System: "..."

"Isn't it strange? Even though you planted a suggestion on me, why do I still know where this is?"

The dog's head nodded frantically; it was utterly baffled by this too. In the past, tricking Silly Bird hosts had never failed.

"You started by hyping up your own prestige, making yourself seem lofty and impressive—that was well done, and most people probably would've been fooled. But I never trusted you from the start, so I ran an experiment..."

"What?" The dog's face was blank. You ran an experiment? When did I not know about it?

Russell pointed at the roast chicken on the table: "This roast chicken was created by you. I had no idea what it tasted like. The first bite was great—it was the mild spiciness I wanted. But..."

"Gulp!" The Dog Pack swallowed its saliva, already understanding the reason.

"But when I imagined the roast chicken tasting sweet and cloyingly sticky, it really did change flavor. Very sweet, so sweet it was hard to swallow!" Russell said, conjuring a glass of red wine out of thin air: "I imagined mixing it with century-old vinegar, soy sauce, durian, and stinky tofu... the taste... no taste at all, because I've never eaten that, so I can't imagine that flavor."

The system's dog face remained in a state of continuous bewilderment!

"Just like this glass of red wine—if I imagine it tastes like cola, it tastes like cola! But if I imagine it tastes like shit..." Russell said, bringing the glass to his lips. Just as the glass was about to touch his mouth, he suddenly reached out, grabbed the dog's head, and poured the red wine into the system's mouth.

The system dog immediately let out a shriek, rolling on the ground and wailing incessantly.

"Ahhh—"

"You liar, that's extreme spicy, not the taste of shit at all!!"

Russell's face showed an apologetic expression: "It is extreme spicy, that's right. If it really tasted like shit, wouldn't that be letting you off easy? And besides..."

Besides, how would I know what shit tastes like!

Seeing the system dog still rolling around, Russell couldn't help but show pity. He picked up a chicken bone and threw it on the ground: "Here, eat this quickly to relieve the spiciness!"

Staring at the chicken bone on the ground, the system dog wanted to refuse, but an irresistible force in the void compelled it to crawl toward the bone. Its heart was filled with endless humiliation, and it wished it could die. Just as it tremblingly opened its mouth, about to bite down on the chicken bone, the pulling force vanished.

The system was puzzled. It looked up and saw Russell's guilt-ridden face, and tears immediately streamed down.

Thank goodness, he wasn't that cold-blooded; he knew to preserve my last shred of dignity.

Smack!

Russell stomped the chicken bone to pieces, ground it under his foot, then pointed at his own sole: "After you finish the bones on the ground, lick the grease off the bottom of my shoe too."

System: "..."

Coach, I want to switch authors! I can't handle this protagonist!

Failure Diary

The so-called failure is when you can't write when you're supposed to, but the moment you leave the computer desk, inspiration comes flooding in.