Hearing His System

High school kicked me out. Now I sling drinks at a local boba shop. Minutes before closing, a guy pushed inside. He demanded twenty Grape Cheese Foams. I froze.

Then, a voice blasted through my skull—his voice. [Misfit called me the male lead in a redemption arc. The girl working tonight plays the female lead.] [Hell yes.

My future wife.] [Holy shit. She looks flawless just breathing.] My fingers locked above the POS screen. My heart sank. I covered this shift last minute. He found the wrong girl.

He mistook me for the female lead. Chapter 1 I gave it to him straight. "We don't have enough prep left for twenty." Not to mention the math.

One Grape Cheese Foam took three minutes to make. Twenty meant a solid hour, and I was the only one behind the counter.

The leftover cream cheese base in the back could maybe stretch for five cups, and I still had to whip it.

For a broke barista clocking out in exactly ten minutes, that workload was straightup hell. The guy blinked.

A beat of silence passed. "What about just one, then?" I nodded. "Eight dollars and fifty cents.

Tap to pay right here." He tapped his phone with a cool, detached expression, but his inner voice was screaming. […You blew it, Declan.

First impression with your future wife and you look like an absolute red flag.] [Misfit, get out here right now. I swear to God I’ll kill you.] Declan. Nice name.

I dug my nails into my palms. A weird, frantic flutter kicked up in my chest. Tonight wasn't my shift. It was Phoebe's.

Ten minutes ago, Phoebe begged me to cover her last half hour. She slid me a crumpled twentydollar bill. I took it. But who could have predicted this?

Declan missed Phoebe by exactly ten minutes. I kept my mouth shut and turned to the blender. Three minutes. It felt like a split second. It also felt like an eternity.

Because Declan stared at me the entire time. Unblinking. He looked like an icecold runway model, but the monologue in his head wouldn't shut up. [She works so hard.

Shaking drinks all day. Her arms have to be killing her.] [I want to go back there and help… but I don't know how. What if I just mess things up?] [Misfit, say something!

You told me to save the female lead, so tell me how the hell to save her!] […Piece of trash system is playing dead again.] I popped the lid onto the cup and sealed it. "Done." Declan shot up from his chair. "Thanks." He reached for the plastic bag.

His fingers brushed mine. A jolt of static. He flinched. [Her hands are freezing.

Next time, I need to remind her to bring a jacket.] [Wait, next time… Is there going to be a next time?] I looked at Declan.

He stood there, the harsh overhead LEDs carving out his sharp jawline. Honestly, the guy was dropdead gorgeous. But there wasn't much going on upstairs.

Total golden retriever energy. Just a rich, clueless idiot.

Declan cleared his throat, his face deadpan. "Are you… working tomorrow?" His mind: [Please please please please please say yes.] I let the silence hang for two seconds. "Yeah." I paused, adjusting my apron. "See you tomorrow." I threw in a soft, polite smile for good measure.

Declan gave a stiff nod. He spun around and practically marched out, his left arm and left leg swinging awkwardly at the exact same time. The glass door clicked shut.

Through the window, I saw him freeze on the sidewalk. His voice floated right through the glass. [Holy shit. Her cute little fangs when she smiles.

I'm dying.] [Fuck, I forgot to ask her name.] [Whatever, I'll see her tomorrow! I'm definitely asking tomorrow!] [Wait, she said 'see you tomorrow'.

Does that mean she doesn't hate me?] [God, my wife is the best!] I narrowed my eyes.

I bolted out from behind the counter and pushed the heavy glass door open. "Hey!" I called out to his broad back. "Do you want to exchange numbers?" Declan spun around.

His eyes lit up. "Yes!" A harsh buzz vibrated in my pocket. A text from my dad. My chest tightened, and I shoved my phone away.

Later, I dragged myself from the basement level all the way up seven flights of stairs. The keypad code was changed. Again. I let out a heavy breath and knocked on the peeling door.

It clicked open. My dad stood alone in the dim living room. He crossed his arms. "You've been working for a month.

How is it?" I gave it to him straight. "Exhausting." My dad let out a cold, sharp scoff. "After every drop of blood and sweat your mother and I sacrificed to keep a roof over your head, you have the nerve to complain?" Chapter 2 I blocked out his voice.

My eyes stayed glued to the cracked door down the narrow hall. Baby blue paint now covered my old floral wallpaper. A nursery for my stepmom's new infant son.

My dad took my silence as an invitation to cut to the chase. "Your sister is heading to her art prep program." He crossed his arms. "Art supplies drain cash.

My paycheck barely keeps this house running. You're working now. It's time to pay us back." Bile rose in the back of my throat.

I cut him off. "How much do you want every month?" He blinked, surprised I caved so fast. "Eight hundred." A sharp ringing pierced my ears.

The boba shop paid me twelve hundred a month. He wanted twothirds of my blood and sweat? He caught my hesitation.

His face flushed red with sudden, unprovoked rage. "I put a roof over your head! I put food on the table! You don't have real bills.

What do you even need that much cash for!" Food on the table? He meant the cold, scrapedtogether leftovers they left on the counter.

A roof over my head… They just cleared out the damp, rotting storage unit in the basement. Just to keep me out of sight. My bones ached. A heavy exhaustion weighed me down.

I didn't have the energy to fight him. "Fine," I forced the word past my dry lips. He sensed my quiet rebellion. He sneered, delivering the final blow. "Your sister is gorgeous.

She's actually going places. You couldn't even keep your grades up. You were never getting into college anyway. Dropping out to support this family is the least you can do.

Stop acting like a victim." I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. White noise filled my skull. Fighting back only guaranteed shattered plates and screaming matches.

I swallowed the bile. I turned my back on him and walked out. Seven flights of concrete stairs down to the basement.

The pitchblack room reeked of damp mildew, its icecold concrete walls closing in on a tiny twin mattress and a splintered desk, but for me, it was enough. The next shift.

Phoebe caught me by the lockers and flashed a bright smile. "Hey Sloane, thanks again for yesterday.

Something came up last minute." "No problem." "Nothing crazy happened during closing, right?" My fingers froze on the zipper of my apron. I forced my breathing to stay even. "No.

Nothing." My phone buzzed against my thigh. A text from Declan asking when he could come see me. I glanced at the laminated schedule on the wall. I typed out a time slot.

A slot where Phoebe wouldn't be anywhere near the store. 10:00 PM. Declan materialized at the glass doors at ten on the dot. Icecold aura. Sharp jawline. Untouchable.

If only I could mute the chaotic broadcast in my head. [She looked at me! She's looking right at me!] [Is this shirt too casual?

Fuck, I knew I should have worn the leather jacket.] [Wait. She's not smiling today. Is she mad? Did I do something?] [Misfit! Misfit, get your ass out here!

What do I do!] I wiped down the counters, packed my bag, and stepped outside. Declan had his mask of indifference perfectly back in place.

He trailed a few steps behind me on the pavement, shuffling his heavy boots. I saw right through him.

I tossed him a lifeline. "Are you walking me home?" Declan shoved his hands into his pockets, faking a casual shrug. "I can.

It's pretty sketchy out here for a girl walking alone at night." Meanwhile, the mental megaphone blasted: [Hell yes, Declan.

You absolute legend.] [Sloane actually let you walk her home. This is monumental. Historic character development!] I bit my lip to stop a laugh.

After that, Declan showed up at exactly 10:00 PM. Every single night. A face carved from ice. A mind running a million miles a minute. [She got new hair ties.

God, that looks so good on her.] [She smiled at me. Holy shit, she smiled.] [Why does she run hot and cold though? Is she stringing me along?] [Whatever. I don't care.

My wife can do no wrong!] Chapter 3 I bit the inside of my cheek to stop smiling as I shook his drinks. Sometimes it was Grape Cheese Foam.

Sometimes it was Taro Boba or an Iced Lemon Tea. He ordered a completely different drink every single night. His inner voice gave away the punchline: [Gotta try the whole menu.

That way, when she asks what I like, I can say 'whatever you make'.] [God, I'm an absolute genius.] [I'm so screwed.

I think my obsession with her is even worse than yesterday.] I nearly squeezed the cream cheese foam right over the edge of the plastic cup.

Did this guy walk straight out of some cheesy romcom? I glanced up from the blender and locked eyes with him. My pulse skipped a beat. His stare was heavy. Undivided.

Like I was the only breathing thing in the room. Like I was his whole world. But. What happens when he realizes he has the wrong girl? I curled my fingers inward.

My nails dug hard crescent moons into my palms. Declan caught me staring. A furious red flush crept up the tips of his ears.

He cleared his throat. "It's late," he muttered. "Are you hungry? Want to grab some latenight takeout?" I shook my head. "I'm dead on my feet today.

I just want to crash." Declan nodded and went back to waiting in silence. I calculated the timing in my head. It was time.

After closing, Declan walked me to the edge of my apartment complex, just like always.

But tonight, I deliberately brought up the blownout streetlights. "Declan, the lights in my complex are completely shot.

Can you walk me all the way to my door?" Declan kept his face blank.

But his mind was screaming: [Holy shit holy shit what does this mean!] [Are we officially fasttracking this relationship?] [Does this mean I can logically go inside and get a glass of water?] [Never mind.

She looks exhausted. It physically hurts me to see her this tired. I won't bother her.] Declan paced beside me. He dragged his heavy boots, deliberately matching my sluggish steps.

He kept his phone flashlight trained on the cracked pavement, casually talking about his classes. Declan was about to start his senior year of high school.

If my dad hadn't forced me to drop out. I'd be sitting at a desk right now, just like him. I swallowed the bitter sting in the back of my throat and hummed in agreement.

Declan's internal monologue kept rambling on: [Why is this path so pitch black?

Doesn't she get terrified walking this alone every night?] [I need to buy her a heavyduty flashlight tomorrow.] [Wait, where exactly does she live? It's getting sketchy out here.

Why are we going downstairs??] He froze. Because I stopped walking. We stood in front of a heavy, rusted iron door. "This is it." Declan went rigid.

He stared at the peeling metal, then down at me. I heard the dry swallow click in his throat. [A basement?

She lives in a fucking basement?] [How is anyone supposed to live down here? It's freezing. It's pitch black.

She sleeps here every single night?] [No wonder her hands are like ice…] [Fuck.] I didn't say a word. I just stood in the damp dark, waiting for him to speak.

But Declan stayed silent. Even the chaotic broadcast in his head went dead quiet. Exactly as I predicted. I broke the heavy silence.

I forced a light, easy smile. "Do you want to come in for a glass of water?" Declan still couldn't say no to me. Chapter 4 Peeling paint. A suffocating dampness. A broken twin bed.

I shoved a plastic cup of tap water into his hands. "You asked why I dropped out," I said, my voice quiet. "I'll tell you." I told him about my wicked stepmom, my goldenchild stepsister, and how my dad ripped me out of high school just to drain my paychecks.

I forced my breathing to hitch. I let a single, perfect tear spill over my lashes at exactly the right moment. Playing the tragic, unbreakable heroine to perfection.

Declan went unnaturally still. His silence stretched out, thick and unbroken. But the broadcast in his head screamed the truth. He bought every word. [Fuck.] [Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck.] [I'm going to put her stepmom, her sister, and her dad in the ICU.] [Misfit, can you give me godmode? Just for ten minutes.] I dropped my chin.

I forced my shoulders to tremble. [She's crying.] [What do I say! Do I hug her? No, that's creeping. But she's hurting so bad!] [Misfit, get out here! Teach me how to fix this!

How do I comfort her!] [I'm losing my fucking mind.] Declan choked on his panic for another solid minute.

Finally, he forced the words out. "Sloane… do you want to go back to school?" A genuine smile cracked through my mask. No acting.

No calculated manipulation like the past month and a half. "I want to finish high school," I whispered. Being good to people was just a transaction.

You invest kindness, hoping for a return. I figured it was easier to just be good to myself. Cut out the middleman entirely. Call me selfish. Call me a toxic red flag.

I didn't care. I clocked Declan's bank account on day one. A matteblack Maybach dropped him off at the boba shop. The heavy diver's watch on his wrist cost more than my life.

So I strung him along. Ran hot, ran cold. And I buried the truth—that he was supposed to save a totally different girl. I was a thief.

Stealing a lifeline that belonged to someone else. But survival is selfish. I didn't regret it. The guilt still crawled under my skin, though. So I overcompensated with Phoebe.

I covered her shifts. I brought her extra food. It got to the point where Phoebe swore we were best friends for life. I shut that down immediately. Human connection was paperthin.

Why brace for the gutpunch of losing someone, when you could just lock them out from the start? An elite private academy accepted my transfer application. Full ride.

Tuition completely waived. I knew Declan pulled the strings. Just like that, my life shifted. The boba shop faded out, and the academy became our new anchor.

He took classes on the third floor. I was stuck on the first. But every single evening, he hunted me down in the library.

He called it a "study session." In reality, he just sat next to me, burning holes into the side of my face. [She looks gorgeous when she focuses.] [She's sitting so close to me today.] [Her hair smells incredible.] [Stop.

Don't think about that. You need to focus.] [Whatever, being distracted is fine. I'm not getting into an Ivy League anyway.] I bit my pen to keep from rolling my eyes.

Declan brought up moving me out of the basement. I shot it down fast. My dad would instantly sniff out the money. He'd find a way to ruin everything.

Declan ground his jaw but dropped the subject. I just needed this lie to hold together. Just a little bit longer. Chapter 5 A week later, Declan's voice vanished from my head.

Instead, glowing text boxes materialized in midair. Live comments scrolling across my vision. [Holy shit. Never seen a pickme this desperate.] [Speechless.

The NPC really tried to hijack the female lead's plot armor.

Has she ever had a good day in her miserable life?] [She's a literal thief.] [Thank god Misfit finished the patch update today. All bugs are fixed.] [Finally.

Now Phoebe can hear his thoughts. Time for the NPC to crawl back into the gutter.] I stared at the floating neon letters. No wonder. No wonder Declan ghosted me all day.

He figured out he had the wrong girl. I watched the cruel words scroll past. My throat tightened. I wanted to scream back. I wanted to defend myself. But they nailed it.

They were right about almost everything. Except for one comment. I did know what a good life felt like. Once. Before I turned twelve. It started in sixth grade.

My parents had uprooted us from our deadend town and moved to the city, chasing a better school district for me. We crammed into a tiny, suffocating studio apartment.

They broke their backs working double shifts. At night, they sat on either side of my mattress.

They used cheap promotional hand fans to beat the sweltering heat away, keeping the rhythm steady until my breathing evened out. They fanned me to sleep for two straight summers.

Things finally looked up. My dad made shift supervisor. My mom got a raise. They took out a crushing mortgage and secured a threebedroom house.

I got accepted into a prestigious magnet school. I thought we finally made it out of the trenches. Then came eighth grade. The bullying started.

A kid’s first instinct is always to run to their parents. I ran straight to my dad. He stood like a brick wall in front of me that day in the principal's office.

He tore into my bully’s mother, his voice shaking the walls. But then. The woman collapsed into hyperventilation.

She sobbed, choking on her tears, playing the desperate singlemom card. She begged my dad not to call the cops. Begged him not to ruin her daughter's future. My dad stared at her.

The silence stretched out, thick and heavy. He nodded. Just like that, he dropped it. He dragged me by the wrist out of the school gates.

I croaked out a single word. "Why." He patted my head. "Stop being so selfish, Sloane. Have some empathy. She's raising a kid alone. It's hard." White noise flooded my ears.

Don't ruin her daughter. What about me? Was I not ruined? The raised, puckered scar from a cigarette burn right beneath my collarbone throbbed. It would never fade. My lungs seized.

A phantom sting lashed across my skin. I bit my tongue. I swallowed the bile and kept my mouth shut. I never told my mom. I couldn't handle the screaming matches it would trigger.

I thought the nightmare ended there. It didn't. My dad started clocking in late. The shouting matches with my mom echoed through the drywalls every single night.

Thanksgiving dinner at my grandma’s house finally ripped the blindfold off. My dad was having an affair with her—the bully’s mother.

They hooked up that exact same day in the principal’s office. Acid clawed up my throat. Bile coated my tongue. I stood paralyzed in the hallway. Plates shattered against the wall.

My parents tore each other apart. My mom slammed the front door so hard the frame cracked. My dad sprinted out after her. I curled into a tight ball under my comforter, trembling.

The police called hours later. They found her in the freezing river. My mom was dead. Chapter 6 My dad remarried. My bully became my stepsister.

The sobbing, helpless single mom became my stepmom. They didn't just move in. They staged a hostile takeover.

A 'clumsy' slip of a boiling kettle from my stepmom would leave my skin searing with pain. My stepsister gutting my bedroom, swiping anything I dared to care about.

They scrubbed every physical trace of my mother from the drywall. My dad morphed into a hollow, unrecognizable stranger. My grandpa heard the news.

He swore he was taking me back to his farm. He never made it. His rustedout pickup blew a tire on the highway, flipped into a drainage ditch, and crushed him. He died on impact.

My grandma took me in. She kept me breathing for two years. Then, freshman year, the doctors found the tumors. Terminal.

Refusing to become a burden, she shoved a crumpled envelope of her life savings into my chest and forced me to leave.

Right before she slammed the door, her frail, bonethin fingers locked onto my wrist. "Sloane, you study.

You make something of yourself." Her voice rasped, desperate. "You're my tough little seedling, you hear me?

You push through the dirt and you survive." "A degree is your only way out. We don't rely on anyone else. Only ourselves." She never spent a day in a classroom.

Her worldview was brutally simple. Tanya from down the road got her degree, teaches at the district elementary school, and doesn't get frostbite on her fingers in the winter.

Tucker from the next farm over got into State, moved to the city, and drove a shiny sedan back for Thanksgiving. Her granddaughter, Sloane, was going to have a good life too.

In her narrow, calloused world, a college acceptance letter was the absolute only lifeline. I never got to say goodbye.

The morning after she forced me onto the bus, she unscrewed a jug of industrial weed killer and swallowed it. The cops found her slumped over my mom and grandpa's headstones.

I didn't wait by the library doors today. I broke our routine. I walked the pitchblack streets alone. A weird, hollow ache carved out my chest.

I spent my entire life walking alone. Why did the silence suddenly feel so deafening? I shoved the heavy iron door open. The damp, rotting smell of the basement hit my lungs.

My screen lit up. A barrage of texts from my dad, demanding this month's cut. I slammed the power button. Black screen.

I dropped into the splintered chair, burying my face in a stack of AP prep books. No notifications. The concept of time just dissolved into the concrete walls.

Hours later, my hand cramped. I tossed my pen and booted up my phone. A tidal wave of notifications flooded the screen. My dad, threatening me for the cash.

My stepmom, hurling toxic insults. And… Declan. Before my thumb could even hover over his name, a sound echoed through the damp space. A knock. Soft. Deliberate.

Against the rusted iron door. My spine locked up. My dad? No. My dad didn't knock. He hammered his fists against the metal. He kicked the hinges with his steeltoe boots.

He used his booming voice to crush my spine and force me to submit. There was only one person it could be. Declan. I hesitated for a few minutes.

Then, I dragged my feet across the concrete and twisted the deadbolt. The heavy door creaked open. Declan stood in the pitchblack stairwell.

The shadows swallowed the sharp angles of his face. A suffocating, heavy pressure bled off his frame. His voice came out low, carrying a heavy, unspoken weight. "Sloane.

You're hiding from me." A split second later, the air snapped back to normal. The shadow vanished.

His signature, easygoing smile flashed across his face. "Why didn't you wait for me at the library?" Declan pushed past my shoulder, stepping into the cramped room.

He casually slung his fourfigure designer backpack onto my splintered desk. He didn't miss a beat, rambling a mile a minute. "Man, you have no idea. Backtoback exams all day.

They buried us in problem sets every single period. I couldn't even catch a breath to come find you." I stood frozen, the damp chill biting into my skin. None of this made sense.

Didn't those floating neon comments say Misfit patched the bug? Why was Declan standing in my basement? Why wasn't he hunting down Phoebe?

The plot armor I shamelessly stole… shouldn't it be evaporating by now? Declan caught my dead silence. His rambling slowly died out. The heavy tension crept back into the tiny room.

His gaze locked onto mine, stripping away the casual facade. The conversation circled right back to the dead center.

He took a halfstep closer. "Why are you running from me, Sloane?" Chapter 7