"Host, please note: a set of JK uniform will materialize in thirty seconds."

"Within thirty minutes, you must put it on without roommates noticing, then dance to 'Gokuraku Jodo' in the dorm’s center. Success grants 5% progress. Failure triggers a Level 5 punishment."

The boy lounging on his bed, scrolling his phone lazily, jolted upright at the mechanical voice. Terror flooded his face.

"Holy shit!"

"What’s wrong, Mujin?" Hao Ren called from the opposite bed, turning his head.

"Nothing, just got zapped by my charger."

"That faulty cable’s shocked you for three years. Still not replacing it?"

"It works. Why bother?"

Mujin brushed it off, but his situation worsened. A countdown timer flickered before his eyes. He knew that voice wasn’t a prank—it was real. He’d accepted this task himself.

Recently, a bizarre system had forcibly bonded to him: the "Wish-Fulfillment System." Simple rules: a window popped up, asking for a wish. A progress bar appeared. Small tasks advanced it. At 100%, the wish came true.

Mujin had tentatively written, "I want to be rich." The system then assigned tasks. The first three stages were easy—help old ladies cross streets, earn points and rewards. But later tasks grew twisted: steal ten minions from your AD-carry roommate in-game without complaints; bungee jump in a meditative pose; cross-dress, hit on guys for WeChat IDs without revealing your identity.

Mujin skipped tough tasks at first. But skipping brought inhuman punishments. His worst was Level 3: stripped of clothing rights for an hour. Any outfit vanished instantly. He’d been in a mall then. The system gave minutes to hide in a restroom. Otherwise, he’d be infamous across China. That’s why Level 5 terrified him. He had to succeed!

[Countdown ended. Distributing female attire.]

A gap tore open in the ceiling. Black thigh-high stockings dropped first, then a skirt, blouse, even underwear. Mujin stuffed each piece under his blanket, hiding them from roommates.

But this task screamed impossible. Their dorm was barely ten square meters. All three roommates were present. How could he dress unseen? Even if he managed it, dancing in the center meant instant exposure. He suspected the system designed this bullshit task to make him fail.

[Female attire distributed. Thirty-minute countdown begins. Host, do your best!]

Mujin fumed inwardly: "Do my best? This is impossible!"

[Task success probability: 1%. Proceed confidently.]

"1%? How is that ‘high’? And why force me to cross-dress every time?!"

[Recent data shows the host looks convincing in women’s clothing.]

???

Truthfully, the system wasn’t wrong. Mujin was an androgynous, delicate boy. In dresses, he passed as a girl—a natural cross-dresser. But that wasn’t an excuse. He wondered if the system was reincarnated from a pervert.

Mujin checked his phone. Two minutes wasted. He had to solve this. "System, show task details."

A virtual panel appeared—visible only to him. He reread the task. A slow smile spread on his lips. The wording said "without roommates noticing," not "with roommates present." Alone, this task was easy. It wasn’t about sneaking clothes on—it was about tricking his roommates out.

He scanned the dorm. Four beds. Hao Ren scrolled videos lazily. Meng Xianyong, fresh from the gym, ate his protein meal. Zhou Ruiyang gamed at his desk.

Mujin’s eyes darted. "Hao Ren, that package you asked me to buy arrived. Going down to get it?"

"Later, during dinner," Hao Ren mumbled, too lazy to move.

"Sure? Forgot what it was? If someone finds it..."

Hao Ren froze. "Is it... that thing?!"

"Yep."

"Shit! Can’t risk exposure!" Hao Ren leaped out of bed, slipped on slippers, and bolted out.

Meng Xianyong frowned. "Mujin, you didn’t buy him something unhealthy, like... a cup?"

"Brother Yong, it’s just a limited-edition Rin Tohsaka Unlimited Blade Works figure."

That discontinued figure was Hao Ren’s holy grail. "Pfft, my bad," Meng Xianyong muttered, resuming his meal.

Mujin spotted Meng Xianyong’s protein powder bucket. An idea sparked. He grabbed his cup, sipped water, then crept closer. "Brother Yong, still on fitness meals?"

"Yeah, prepping for a competition."

"Huh? Forgot your protein powder at the gym?"

"I brought it... wait, where is it?" Meng Xianyong peered under his bed—empty. For a lifter, powder was half his life.

"You keep forgetting stuff lately. Someone might steal it."

"Damn it!" Meng Xianyong dropped his chopsticks and sprinted out.

Mujin stifled a laugh. He’d secretly hooked the bucket with his foot, sliding it under his own bed. Low-carb diets made Meng Xianyong foggy and forgetful.

Two roommates gone. Only Zhou Ruiyang remained. Mujin turned to him.