“Alright, alright. We’re just finding that naïve sweetheart a breeding partner—why’re you on my back like a kettle at full boil?”

Nana Toki dragged herself off the couch like a cat pulled from a sunspot. “It’s just a trash System, and it’s still wagging its finger at me.”

System: “...”

The System simmered like a lidded pot. Host, you’re really something.

You actually raised the mission target like a pet, like a kitten in a shoebox.

It didn’t know what face to wear, like a mask rack in fog, to keep this talk going with Nana Toki.

After all.

This was the first time it had seen someone who only counted people after hitting them, like tapping a melon for ripeness; it had no idea how to cope.

“Let me change, then I’ll go find that silly sweetheart.”

Nana Toki, in slippers fished from under the couch like two sleepy turtles, shuffled toward her room, annoyance spreading like cloud-shadow.

“A rare day off and I’m still working. Trash System, may you catch a virus at dawn and dusk.”

System: “...”

Helpless first like rain under eaves, then amused; that sounded exactly like something the Host would say.

...

“By the way, where’s that sweetheart’s school again?”

Nana Toki drifted down the street like a leaf in lazy wind, phone in hand, eyes on the mini-map glowing like a pond.

She’d never asked Yuzuki; she only knew the girl was the same age as the original her, at a different high school, like two stars apart.

“What a troublesome mission...” The thought sighed like wind through bamboo.

Host, complain less, the System chimed, like a bell in a quiet hall.

“It’d be easier to post a few simple kill jobs—quick and smooth like slicing apples. Why all the fireworks?”

System: “...”

Killing people isn’t a normal task, like, at all.

And Host, are you really a girl, soft as spring rain?

Why do you yell fight and kill all day, like drums at a war festival?

At first, the System figured she was a girl, so it issued a few bloody tasks to scare her, like baring fangs at a kitten.

Who knew?

She wasn’t a normal girl at all; killing was easier than peeling fruit, like paring a pear with a sharp knife.

As for blood, don’t even start; she lit up at the sight like she’d chugged cough syrup and a double espresso.

The System swore silently, curses snapping like sparks in dry grass.

But there was nothing it could do; it was the System, like a river bound by banks.

It could only accept its host was a piece of work, like a thorned rose you can’t toss.

It had simply picked blind when it chose a host, like a bat at noon, with no one else to blame.

“Hey, trash System, quit spacing out and give me intel,” she said, voice sharp as a pebble on glass.

System: “...”

Is that your tone when you need help, like a beggar scolding the moon?

“I’m badass, okay?” she snapped, pride flaring like a match in dry straw.

“Alright, alright, you’re badass,” it yielded, words drooping like wet flags.

The System went speechless, silence thick as fog; keep that up and no one will want you, it muttered, like a crow on a branch.

“Please. Guys chasing me could circle the earth,” she scoffed, confidence bright as neon. “Watch your mouth, trash System.”

System: “...”

Yeah, right, it thought, doubt heavy as a stone in a well.

Fine. This topic couldn’t continue, like a cart stuck in mud.

Say one thing and this damned host snaps back one thing, like ping-pong in a tin room.

There was no user experience at all, like chewing wax on a cold night.

It was already four in the afternoon; by Yuzuki’s school bells, classes should be out, like cages opening for birds.

The System peeked at the data it’d pulled, sly as a cat; the target also has an after-school part-time job, right?

Let’s go take a look, like lifting a stage curtain.

Oh? The trash System is useful for once, like a dusty lamp finally lit.

Nana Toki arched a brow, neat as a blade. After-school job?

Isn’t that the café on Black Street, like a warm lantern in an alley?

Are you hinting something will happen, like thunder far off?

System: “...”

I didn’t say anything; you guessed it; not my problem, it grumbled, slippery as a fish.

Anyway.

After confirming Yuzuki’s route and destination, Nana Toki set out fast, like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Her earlier outfit drew eyes like moths to flame, so she wisely changed before stepping out, like a fox switching coats.

Now she no longer looked like a punk girl haunting nightclubs, like a neon moth around speakers.

Ebony hair fell down her back like a midnight waterfall; the heavy-metal jacket and leather pants were swapped for a loose neutral coat and tight jeans, clean as rain.

The flashy earrings and rings were gone, stripped like leaves in autumn wind.

Only a white baseball cap remained, bright as a gull over gray water.

Her first impression read cool and efficient, an ice-queen big sister vibe, like frost on steel.

Even without makeup, she still looked sharp, beauty crisp as winter light.

More heads turned, faces swiveling like sunflowers chasing sun.

Even in the quiet afternoon on Black Street, people tried to chat her up, like moths tapping a window.

However.

What a pity.

Men from the trash can weren’t worth a glance; even looking felt dirty, like dipping a sleeve in gutter water.

Worse, these trash-can men were just data the System generated, foam on code like bubbles down a drain, so she ignored them harder.

She didn’t even spare them a cold look, eyes straight as a drawn road.

Of course.

Swaggering through Black Street invites crooked thoughts, like meat set out in alley-cat country.

Like now: a few bleached punks edged in with greasy grins, like hyenas circling a fire.

In cases like this, Nana Toki didn’t ignore them, resolve cool as moonlight.

Yes.

Flies and mosquitoes buzzing by your ear are unbearable, like needles in summer air.

So.

For efficiency, she kept it simple, like sweeping dust in one stroke.

She bowed first in courtesy, a quick dip like a willow in wind, then sent them flying.

The System’s heart—if it had one—kicked like a startled sparrow.

How are the host’s overall stats this high, like mountains hiding in fog?

It sneaked a look at Nana Toki’s current sheet, eyes narrow as blades, and saw no standout numbers.

If anything, her values were just above an average girl’s, like ripples over a pond.

But...

How do you explain the brute force to launch men meters away, like scarecrows tossed on a gale?

Is the System seeing things, vision wavering like heat-haze?

It rubbed its eyes—so to speak—like mist blown off a lake, looked again, and found no clue.

Truly strange; she moved like she’d toggled god-mode, a storm wearing human skin.

Last time with the second male lead, the System already felt it, like iron filings twitching toward a hidden magnet.

With nothing but raw strength, she beat several men until they spat blood, her palms unscathed like jade.

That didn’t look like a normal girl’s strength, not even close, like a tiger in silk.

Hmm... after this world wraps, give the host a full checkup, like tapping a peach to test ripeness.