Chapter 17: The Micro-Transaction Menace

My bank account was in shambles.

Not my real bank account, that was fine, but the one that actually mattered. CP balance sat at a pathetic five points after the legendary Lap Pillow event. The app screen mocked me with that number, bright red and flashing like a critical health bar. I needed seven hundred and fifty CP for the Kabedon Reversal technique. That was the nuclear option, the ultimate power move that would cement my status as an actual Gentleman of Culture.

The school hallway stretched before me like a high-level dungeon, packed with NPCs just waiting to drop loot.

Time for some high-efficiency micro-grinding.

I pulled up the app’s quest menu, scanning through the low-tier options. Natural Eye Contact awarded twenty CP per successful interaction. Accidental Brush of the Shoulder netted thirty. Pencil Exchange Quest offered fifteen but had a higher success rate. Basic stuff, grinding material, the kind of repetitive tasks that separated casual players from hardcore completionists.

My shoulders squared, determination flooding my system like a pre-workout supplement.

“Let’s farm some points.”

I started walking, but not normal walking. Strategic walking. Calculated positioning for maximum encounter potential. My steps came out stiff and measured, like I was following an invisible grid pattern. Eyes locked forward, scanning for targets, tracking movement vectors and approach angles.

A girl with glasses passed on my left.

Target acquired.

I pivoted, adjusting trajectory for optimal Natural Eye Contact execution. My head turned with mechanical precision, neck rotating at what felt like the perfect speed. Our eyes would meet, she’d be captivated by my Gentleman of Culture aura, the app would register the interaction, twenty CP in the bank.

She looked up, caught my stare, and her expression transformed instantly into pure terror.

Wrong reaction, clearly a bug in her response programming.

She speed-walked past me, practically jogging, glancing back twice like I might chase her. My eye twitched involuntarily, some weird nervous response my face decided to activate without permission. The app buzzed.

《Natural Eye Contact: Failed. Subject exhibited fear response. 0 CP awarded.》

What? That made no sense. I’d executed the technique perfectly. My form was flawless, my approach calculated, my gaze steady and confident. This was obviously a glitch, some kind of server-side error that needed patching.

I tried again with the next person.

A sophomore guy, shorter than me, carrying textbooks stacked impossibly high. Perfect target for the Accidental Brush of the Shoulder technique. I angled my trajectory, timing my steps, preparing for casual physical contact that would seem completely natural and coincidental.

My shoulder connected with his.

The textbooks exploded outward like a fragmentation grenade, papers flying everywhere, his calculator skittering across the floor tiles. He stumbled backward, catching himself against a locker, eyes wide with shock.

“Sorry, sorry, my bad—”

I held up my hands, palms forward, trying to project casual apology energy. My face felt weird though, muscles twitching around my eyes, sweat beading on my forehead despite the air-conditioned hallway. The guy gathered his stuff with shaking hands, shooting me nervous glances.

“It’s cool, no worries, just an accident—”

He fled before finishing the sentence, leaving loose papers scattered behind him.

The app buzzed again.

《Accidental Brush of the Shoulder: Failed. Excessive force detected. Subject experienced distress. 0 CP awarded.》

Excessive force? I’d barely touched him. This was getting ridiculous. The app clearly had calibration issues, sensitivity settings cranked way too high, standards completely unrealistic for normal grinding activities.

I needed a different approach, something with higher success rates and less room for error.

The library assistant station sat near the end of the hallway, manned by a nervous-looking first-year girl with her hair in a ponytail. Perfect. The Pencil Exchange Quest was specifically designed for low-stress, high-reward interactions. I just needed to borrow writing implements, engage in brief conversation, establish rapport through mundane transaction mechanics.

Foolproof plan, literally impossible to mess up.

I approached the desk, my walk still maintaining that weird robotic quality. My brain kept calculating angles and trajectories, optimizing movement patterns, turning basic navigation into advanced tactical positioning. The girl looked up from her homework, offering a polite smile.

“Can I help you?”

Target confirmed, quest initiated, time to dominate this interaction.

“I require writing instruments.”

The words came out wrong, too formal, like I was ordering military supplies instead of asking for a pencil. My eye twitched again, that same involuntary muscle spasm that kept betraying my perfectly controlled exterior.

She blinked, confusion flickering across her features.

“Um, you mean like a pencil?”

“Affirmative.”

Why was I talking like this? My mouth had apparently decided to roleplay as a malfunctioning android without consulting the rest of me. Sweat dripped down my temple despite the cool air. My hands gripped the desk edge, knuckles white with unnecessary tension.

The girl reached into a cup holder, pulling out a standard number two pencil.

“Here you go, just return it before the end of—”

“The transaction is acceptable.”

I grabbed the pencil with too much intensity, my fingers wrapping around it like I was accepting a legendary weapon drop. My breathing had gone weird, coming in short controlled bursts, like I was doing some kind of tactical breathing exercise from a YouTube video.

She leaned back slightly, smile fading into concern.

“Are you okay? You seem really tense.”

Tense? I wasn’t tense. I was focused, calculated, operating at peak efficiency. My Gentleman of Culture aura was dominating this entire interaction. She was probably overwhelmed by my confident presence, struggling to process the raw charisma radiating from my very being.

“I am achieving optimal performance metrics.”

Nailed it, absolutely crushed that response.

Her expression shifted from concern to barely concealed alarm. She glanced around like she was looking for backup, for someone to intervene in whatever situation was unfolding at her desk.

“Right, well, just remember to return—”

“Workplace safety is paramount.”

The words erupted from my mouth unprompted. My brain had apparently switched into panic mode, deploying random information as a defense mechanism.

“OSHA guidelines clearly state that proper ergonomic positioning reduces workplace injury by up to forty percent.”

She stared at me like I’d grown a second head.

“What?”

“Emergency exits should remain clearly marked and unobstructed at all times.”

Stop talking, stop talking, abort mission, retreat immediately. But my mouth kept going, spewing safety regulations like a broken industrial training video.

“Fire extinguishers must be inspected monthly and positioned within seventy-five feet of any potential combustion source.”

A second-year guy approached the desk, drawn by the commotion. He looked between me and the terrified library assistant, trying to piece together what was happening.

“Is there a problem here?”

Problem? No problem. Everything was going according to plan. This was all part of the grinding strategy, establishing dominance through comprehensive safety knowledge.

“Carbon monoxide detectors save approximately four hundred lives annually through early warning systems.”

The second-year’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. The library assistant had scooted her chair back as far as physically possible, putting maximum distance between herself and whatever breakdown I was experiencing.

My phone buzzed violently in my pocket.

《Pencil Exchange Quest: Catastrophic Failure. Subject distress levels critical. Library staff considering intervention. -10 CP penalty applied for disturbing educational environment.》

Negative CP? That was possible? The app could actually subtract points? My balance dropped to negative five, the number glowing angry red on my screen.

This was a disaster, a complete tactical failure, grinding operations collapsing into absolute chaos.

The second-year guy put his hand on my shoulder, his touch gentle but firm.

“Maybe you should go splash some water on your face, take a breather?”

His tone carried that careful quality people used when talking to someone clearly losing it. Patronizing, condescending, completely failing to recognize my advanced grinding techniques.

“I am operating within normal parameters.”

My eye twitched three times in rapid succession, completely destroying any credibility that statement might have carried. Sweat soaked through my collar, my blazer feeling like it weighed fifty pounds. Every muscle in my body vibrated with excess tension, like I’d consumed seventeen energy drinks.

“Sure buddy, normal parameters. Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

He started guiding me away from the desk. The library assistant watched with obvious relief, probably grateful someone had intervened before I escalated to explaining proper ladder safety protocols.

My phone buzzed again.

《New Achievement Unlocked: “The Creep.” Successfully disturbed three separate individuals in under ten minutes. Congratulations, you have achieved legendary incompetence.》

That couldn’t be a real achievement. The app was clearly malfunctioning, mixing up success and failure states, inverting reward structures. I’d executed every technique perfectly, followed optimal grinding strategies, maintained my Gentleman of Culture persona throughout.

The bathroom mirror told a different story.

My reflection looked like something from a horror movie. Eyes bloodshot and twitching, pupils dilated weirdly, sweat streaming down my face like I’d just finished a marathon. My hair stuck up at odd angles, blazer rumpled and twisted, tie hanging crooked. I looked absolutely deranged, like someone who’d been awake for seventy-two hours straight running on nothing but caffeine and desperation.

This was my Gentleman of Culture aura?

Cold water splashed against my face, shocking my system back toward something resembling baseline functionality. My breathing slowly normalized, heartbeat gradually descending from panic attack levels. The bathroom’s fluorescent lights hummed overhead, harsh and unforgiving.

My phone sat on the sink edge, screen still displaying my CP balance.

Negative five points.

I’d somehow managed to lose points while trying to gain them, turned a simple grinding session into a legendary failure cascade, frightened multiple people with my “optimal performance metrics.”

Maybe the high-efficiency micro-grinding approach needed some refinement. Maybe my techniques required additional calibration. Maybe I should just stop trying to farm CP from random students who clearly weren’t programmed to appreciate my advanced methodology.

Or maybe, just maybe, I looked like an absolutely terrifying malfunctioning cyborg and needed to seriously reconsider my entire approach to this situation.

The mirror offered no answers, just my pathetic reflection staring back with twitching eyes and mounting existential dread.

Tomorrow I’d try again with better strategies and improved execution, but right now I needed to hide in this bathroom until everyone forgot about the weird guy reciting OSHA regulations to library staff.

Rock bottom had surprisingly cold tile floors.