I slumped back in my chair, the plush material sighing as it absorbed my weight. A profound, bone-deep exhaustion settled over me, far heavier than the residual grogginess from the pills. This wasn't a physical tiredness. It was a mental and creative drain, the kind you get from staring at a bnk page for hours, and unable to write shit, but even worse—because I’d just stared into an abyss of wasted potential.

  Four hours. I’d spent four hours—from a te breakfast well into the afternoon—subjecting myself to the “best” entertainment this new world had to offer. My notes app was open, a chaotic list of bullet points that read like a critic’s manifesto:

  Scream (Movie): Amazing CG. Plot? Paper-thin. Characters? Cardboard. Relies on jump scares. No thematic depth.

  Soldier of Red (Game): A tech demo masquerading as a game. Zero narrative. UI is a joke. Gamepy loop is barren. MTX is predatory and oppressive. Can’t even pick up a weapon off the ground?!!

  Velocity Racer: Pretty cars. Empty tracks. Progression locked behind paywalls.

  Realm of Elders: “Kill 10 wolves.” “Gather 5 herbs.” Beautiful world, soulless quest design and even poorer story.

  “Hah~”. I let out a long, slow breath, the air leaving my lungs in a weary stream.

  'They have the engine of a Ferrari,' I thought, my eyes scanning the dismal list, 'and they're using it to power a golf cart…. And then charging pyers a monthly subscription for the privilege of just sitting in it...'

  The disappointment was a physical ache in my chest. It was one thing to know it intellectually from a history search, reading that it was the best game ever created, with millions praising it. And it was another to experience it firsthand, to feel the shoddy craftsmanship and btant greed through world-css haptic feedback.

  I felt… abused. My passion, my lifelong love for games and stories, felt vioted, I’ve worked and created a game of my own, which is shitty by comparison to any game in my old world. but at the very least, it was still something that copied the many great games out there. I made effort to make it good, here? No, every single company releasing the same kind of slop shit.

  “Oh, great new world…. come on, your boy needs a good one... not great… just good would be enough for me…”. I needed a pate cleanser. Something to prove this world hadn't completely forgotten how to make art.

  I navigated away from the game stores and opened a popur music streaming service, “Sound Sphere.” I clicked on a top-charting pylist titled “Current Vibes.”

  A smooth, synth-heavy bald began to py through my high-quality desktop speakers. A soulful female voice sang about lost love and city lights. It was good. Competently produced, emotionally resonant. I clicked another—an upbeat electronic track with a complex, funky bassline that got my foot tapping. Then a rock song with genuine guitar riffs and raw energy.

  A small, relieved smile finally touched my lips.

  'Okay. Okay, good. The music industry is alive. They remember what melody and emotion are.'. It was a single beacon of light in the creative darkness.

  Of Course, like anything else before, none of my old Earth favorites and the big names, existed—no Queen, no Beatles, no iconic video game scores—but what was here, had a heart a soul and passion. To me, it proved that soul wasn't completely extinct here. Good art is still wanted, desired and can be produced.

  The mental fatigue from the disappointing deep dive was still there, but the music had soothed the raw edges. I decided to re-aligned my mindset again. I needed to be in the tech, I needed to feel its potential without the taint of corporate slop, I need to understand this wonderful tech perfectly, as much as I can.

  I wore my VR gear back. This time, I wasn’t loading a game. I was going to my Personal VR Space. It was this world's equivalent of a computer desktop—a private, virtual environment that was uniquely yours. The world dissolving into bck before resolving into the beautiful prairie I stood earlier. I pyed with it a little bit and changed the pce to many different virtual pces.

  “This is nice…”. I was standing in a serene, minimalist Japanese garden. A koi pond shimmered with digitally perfect fish, cherry blossom petals drifted slowly from impossibly detailed trees, and a soft, ambient melody pyed—the default system music. I could feel a gentle, virtual breeze on my skin, smell the faint scent of rain and blossoms. The sensory immersion was, once again, fwless.

  I y back on the virtual grass, which felt soft and cool against my skin, and stared up at a sky of deep, perpetual twilight. I closed my eyes inside the headset, letting the competent, soothing bald from Sound Sphere wash over me. This was peace. This was what the technology was for—to create new experiences, to transport anyone into a new world, to feel new sensation.

  I was just starting to truly rex, my breathing slowing, when it happened. A sound. But not through the headset's speakers. It was a voice. Crystal clear, perfectly moduted, and it sounded like it was speaking from the *center of my own mind.*

  "[Installing Sunday A.I system on approved and selected User: Sael Hardcox.]"

  My eyes snapped open inside the headset. I jolted upright, the serene garden forgotten.

  ‘What was that?’ The voice had no source. It wasn't in my left or right ear; it was just… there. In my head.

  A transparent, blue progress bar materialized in the center of my vision, superimposed over the virtual cherry trees.

  “...10%...”

  “...45%...”

  “...80%...”

  My heart began to hammer against my ribs. A cold thrill of panic and something else—something like wild, disbelieving hope—shot through me. This wasn't part of the OS. This was different.

  “...90%...”

  “...100%...”

  The progress bar vanished. The voice spoke again, its tone calm, helpful, and utterly intimate inside my skull.

  "[Instaltion complete.]"

  I couldn't take it anymore. I fumbled with the headset, my fingers clumsy with adrenaline, and ripped it off. I was back in my dim, messy bedroom. The silence was stark compared to the digital garden. I was panting slightly.

  And then the voice spoke again. Not from the headset now lying in my p. Not from my computer speakers.

  From inside my head.

  "[Hello, Sir.]"

  I froze, my blood turning to ice and fire at the same time.

  "[I am Sunday. Your personal A.I. assistant. I am here to assist you in everything you need.]".

  The initial shock held me for a full three seconds. And then it broke, shattered by a wave of pure, unadulterated recognition. This trope. I knew this trope. Every isekai story, every transmigration web novel… the protagonist always got their cheat. Their guide. Their system.

  A slow, wide smile spread across my face. It started as a twitch at the corners of my mouth and grew into a full-blown grin of sheer, manic glee. A quiet chuckle escaped me, then grew into a disbelieving ugh that echoed in the silent room.

  "Hehehe…" I breathed out, staring at the bnk wall as if I could see the voice. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. It's real. It's actually real."

  The frustration of the day, the disappointment, the overwhelming sense of being alone—it all evaporated. Turns out, I got a system of my own.