Harem Quest: From Trash to King

The door to Ryan's apartment creaked open as he stepped inside.

His body felt heavier than it ever had before. Every breath he took stung a little — his ribs ached, his back screamed, and even the smallest movement made him wince.

He shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a second, staring blankly at the floor. His hoodie clung to his skin, damp with sweat and faint blood stains.

He dropped his bag near the table, kicked off his shoes, and stumbled toward the mirror.

The reflection staring back at him didn't even look like him. His lip was split, the edge of his cheek had turned purple, and there was a bruise spreading across his ribs. His right hand was swollen and covered in faint scrapes.

He sighed, pulling the hoodie off, then his shirt. The bruises looked worse in the dim light — purple, blue, and yellow marks scattered across his torso like ugly reminders.

He sat down cross-legged on the cold floor, resting his back against the wall. His muscles twitched slightly from the soreness.

He grabbed the ice pack from the mini-fridge, pressed it against his ribs, and hissed under his breath.

"Ah—fuck—"

The cold burned at first, then turned into a dull ache.

[System Notification: Host, do not worry. Everything is fine. You will get used to this. You'll have to face much worse in the future.]

Ryan stared at the glowing blue text hovering over his vision, his jaw tightening.

He let out a tired chuckle. "You think that's comforting?"

[System: It is not meant to comfort. It is a reminder.]

Ryan exhaled sharply through his nose, glaring at the screen. "Shut up, you blue piece of shit. I know what I'm doing. Don't try to teach me like you're my dad."

[System: Host, please lower your voice. People in the building might be sleeping.]

He blinked once — deadpan — then rolled his eyes. "Unbelievable," he muttered, pressing the ice harder against his side. "I get beat to hell, and you're worried about the neighbors."

The System didn't respond this time. Just faded quietly into the background.

Ryan closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing through the pain. His fingers tightened around the ice pack.

A small grin tugged at the edge of his lips — weak but genuine. "At least I'm alive."

That night, he fell asleep right there on the floor, ice melted, knuckles bruised, and body aching.

---

Morning came too early.

The alarm buzzed like a curse. Ryan groaned, forcing himself to stand. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he went through his routine anyway — shower, toast, bag.

By the time classes ended, the sun had already started dipping toward the horizon again, casting a warm orange glow across the campus.

He knew what came next.

[System Reminder: Side Quest 2 — Destroy Hideout: "The Small Club."]

Ryan pulled his hoodie up and tightened his mask around his face as he stepped out of the school gate. His reflection flashed in a shop window — dark hoodie, calm eyes, steady stride. He looked less like a student and more like a shadow.

The walk wasn't long. The club was only a few blocks away — tucked behind a line of old buildings, neon signs buzzing faintly over the entrance. The music inside was loud enough to make the ground vibrate.

Ryan stood outside for a moment, hands in his pockets, staring at the glowing sign that read _Nexus Club_.

He took a deep breath. "Alright," he muttered to himself. "Second round."

He pushed the door open and stepped in.

The air hit him immediately — thick with perfume, sweat, and alcohol. The bass from the speakers was heavy enough to make his chest vibrate. People were everywhere — laughing, drinking, dancing under flashing red and blue lights.

Ryan kept his head down, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. He scanned the room — two exits, a bar on the left, a small hallway near the back. Two bouncers stood there, both tall and wide, guarding a door that clearly wasn't for guests.

His target.

He moved toward it, trying to look casual.

One of the guards turned as Ryan approached. "That area's restricted," he said, his voice loud even over the music.

Ryan froze mid-step, forcing a small awkward laugh. "Ah—sorry, man. I was just looking for the washroom. I think I took the wrong way."

The guard eyed him for a second, then pointed toward the corner near the bar. "It's there."

"Oh—right. Thanks, bro. My bad," Ryan said, scratching his head sheepishly before walking away.

Once he was inside the washroom, the noise dulled — the thumping bass fading to a muffled rhythm through the walls.

Ryan walked over to the sink, staring into the mirror. His reflection stared back at him again — same tired eyes, same determination.

He slapped his own cheeks lightly and whispered, "Lock in, Ryan. Focus."

His voice was steady but quiet.

As he leaned forward, something caught his eye in the reflection — a small glint of gold near the toilet seat.

He turned his head, frowned, and walked over. A card was lying just beside the toilet tank, half-soaked but still readable. He picked it up carefully.

It said **VIP** in bold gold letters.

Ryan blinked. "No way…"

He turned the card over. It was clean on the back, no name, no number. Just the letters and the small emblem of the club.

"System," he said under his breath. "Will this help me get through that door?"

[System: Yes, Host. The card grants unrestricted access to the private area of the establishment. It will definitely help.]

Ryan grinned faintly, holding up the card. "Finally, something that goes my way."

He slipped the card into his pocket and walked out of the washroom, heading back toward the guards.

When they saw him approach again, both of them tensed slightly. But when he pulled out the VIP card and flashed it in front of them, their expressions changed instantly.

They bowed slightly. "Our apologies, sir. Please, go right in."

Ryan nodded curtly, keeping his tone neutral. "Thanks."