Some random ramblings:
This is my first time writing a story—thanks for reading, mwah.
About the MC: She’s got a cheat system, crazy-rich, basically unbeatable. But don't be fooled—Tanya's just a girl who loves putting on a show, and never stops doing exactly that.
About love interests: Tanya loves herself the most. Her heart is like a durian—spiky, but generous with affection. If you're here for a monogamous ride, this train might not be for you.
She's already collected 20+ suitors, all types available. Feel free to take your pick, darlings~
Thanks to all the lovely readers for bearing with my newbie attempt.
Plot includes: No angst + face-slapping + spending money like water + girl boss hitting hard.
Brain dump zone: To all bros and sis, uncles and aunties, tiny tots and big kiddos, and even Walmart bags—may you all get rich and stay happy every day!
———
“Damn, finally done! What the hell are these stupid files even about?!”
It was already 10 PM, the sky outside completely dark.
Tanya Harper, seasoned office grunt, muttered curses under her breath as she saved the last file at lightning speed and grabbed her bag like a fleeing prisoner.
Another minute in this wretched office and she’d go straight into a depressive spiral.
Through the massive glass window, she could see the tall skyline of A City shimmering in the night—even nearing midnight, it was still alive with neon lights and honking traffic. It looked like even the air here smelled like money.
Tanya, who had been working overtime until now, was a certified nobody—a bottom-tier corporate slave.
All she wanted was to teleport straight back to her crappy rented apartment and crash. But just as she slung her bag over her shoulder, the manager’s door creaked open.
One sound was enough to give her a very bad feeling.
Oh crap. Why the hell is that creep still here?
Sure enough.
“Hey Tanya, don’t rush off. Come have a quick chat, I’ve got something for you.”
That oily voice belonged to her boss, Victor Johnson.
Mid-forties, pot-bellied, a face so bloated his features were on the verge of disappearing. Only thing clearly visible were those narrow, shifty eyes barely pretending to smile.
He stood leaning against his office door, tugging at his tie like he was hot.
Tanya forced a polite half-smile, her brows tight with discomfort. “Mr. Johnson, it’s really late. I’ve got to catch the last train. Let’s talk tomorrow?”
She was the only one left on the floor tonight.
They'd told her to stay for a last-minute task, and she’d thought maybe she’d earn a bit of bonus cash. Now? She saw right through this bastard’s game.
Inside her head, she threw dirt on this lecherous fossil’s ancestral graves, dug them back up, and flushed their ashes down a toilet.
Quietly, she tapped the record button on her smart wristband. No harm collecting some dirt.
She had only been here three months, switching from her last company.
Her original manager—a badass, actually-capable woman—had just been promoted and sent overseas. Then they parachuted in... this joke.
“Oh dear Tanya, having ambition is great and all,” he said with a mock-paternal grin, arms folded like some grand sage. “But without strategy, it’s wasted effort.”
His tone turned all knowingly sly. “You’re still young, y’know? No need to stress yourself like this. Loosen up a little—it’ll make life way easier.”
And he just wouldn’t shut up, taking big detours to get to his point. “We’ll be picking a team leader soon. And that spot? Well, it’s straight on the track to management…”
Was that supposed to be subtle? The guy was basically broadcasting that he wanted her to sleep her way up.
Easy my ass. You dead, I’m relaxed.She really couldn’t hold back that temper of hers! Tanya Harper's lashes trembled slightly — looked like fear, but honestly, she was more scared she'd accidentally kill Victor Johnson with a punch.
She stayed silent, and the sleaze just took it as her giving in.
“Tanya, you’re a smart girl,” he said, his beady eyes glued to her waist, shamelessly drifting over her chest. “Stick with me, it’ll pay way more than typing at a desk all day, you know?”
His gaze made her skin crawl. At this point, she’d rather shovel out cat litter with her bare hands than stand here a second longer.
Gross. Just one look from him felt like getting wiped with sewer water.
“Don’t be shy now, be good to me and you won’t miss out on any perks,” Victor grinned, stepping forward and reaching for her. “Come on, I promise—”
Back off! Tanya nearly gagged hearing that.
Her rage meter hit critical.
She suddenly smiled — bright and furious. “Promise what? Promise I’ll see you cremated tomorrow? Nah, no way. Your face is so damn thick I bet even fire would give up.”
Please, she was Tanya Harper! The undisputed trash talk queen of the CS zone!
She liked to think of herself as a civilized person, but damn, animals like this didn’t deserve human words. And since she was quitting anyway? She might as well unload.
“Let me tell you, Victor Johnson! The fact that you even look like this bloated cow and still have the nerve to flirt is kinda impressive. You look like a decomposing titan that’s been dead for days!”
“Seriously, take a good look in the mirror!”
“Follow you? Hell, being around you is a health hazard!”
Even hitting him would be nauseating.
Victor's face went stiff, those creepy eyes bulging in disbelief. “You b*tch! You’ve got some nerve cussing me out, are you—”
“Smack!”
Oh, calling me names?
Tanya's slap landed hard, a glowing red mark spreading across his fat cheek. His brain probably rattled.
“You think you’re some holier-than-thou prick, huh?” Victor growled, shocked.
Seeing him about to yell again, Tanya didn't hesitate — three more quick slaps, each louder than the last.
Damn, her own hand stung.
“One’s for creeping on all the young girls in the office!”
Smack!
“This one’s for me! You’re welcome!”
Smack!
“And here’s a bonus — just because!”
Keep talking, I dare you.
“Smack smack smack!”
“You crazy bitch! You wanna be fired?! Tanya, I’m sacking you right now!” Victor yelled, his mouth already swelling from the hits. He lunged at her, furious, but Tanya sidestepped easily.
Fire her?
“Go ahead! I’ve been dying to leave! You think everyone’s dying to be near the trash heap that is you?!”
Just wait till this hits the internet.
Tanya had worked part-time at a taekwondo gym for a couple years — sure, she wasn’t a top fighter, but her strength and reflexes were easily better than this greasy, puffed-up pig.
She stared at Victor, face red, eyes watery and hateful — and damn it, she was still fuming. So she gave him another hard slap.
Ugh, his face felt like slapping a stick of butter. So gross.
“You hit me?! You crazy—!”
Tanya calmly hit stop on her recorder app, gave a cold smile, grabbed a chair, and swung it straight at his fat head.
It wasn't light either — solid metal, the thud when it hit could make anyone wince.
She wasn't aiming to kill, though. The moment she saw him stumble back clutching his skull, she turned and dashed.
“No need to thank me — all those slaps are on the house!”
Victor's beer belly and rolls of fat weren’t helping him — after one blow from the chair, he was wobbling on his feet, clutching his head, too scared to move. All he could do was scream like a banshee, his voice sharp and furious."Just you wait, you jerk!"
Lucky for her the office wasn’t high up, Tanya Harper bolted straight down the stairs—no way was she waiting around for that slow elevator.
What a damn day.
She gritted her teeth, silently mourning the job she was about to lose. But honestly, landing a solid slap on Victor Johnson’s greasy face? Kinda worth it. If only she had some sort of upgrade, like steel arms or something, maybe she could have smacked that creep straight into orbit!
With a heavy sigh, she rounded the corner—then stopped dead in her tracks.
Right in the middle of the busy street, a tiny kitten was dragging its body forward, clearly injured. One of its hind legs hung limp, leaving behind a faint trail of dark blood on the asphalt.
"What the—where did this kitten even come from?"
She could almost hear its weak mews over the sound of passing traffic. Tanya stepped forward cautiously, eyes darting between the cars.
She had a serious soft spot for animals, always had. Somehow, they felt safer than people. Realer. At least they needed her and didn’t pretend otherwise.
Just then the light turned green.
Traffic paused, the intersection briefly falling quiet.
Her eyes lit up—without a second thought, she sprinted forward.
Kneeling in the road, she gently scooped the kitten into her arms. But just as she turned to run back, a loud shout echoed from the sidewalk.
"Watch out—!!"
Tanya turned, eyes widening in horror. A red sports car was heading straight for her, engine screaming.
The tires screeched, burning rubber filling the air. But everything after that was noise and smoke and—pain.
Then came the darkness.
...
[Host. Wake up.]
Ugh… what’s that noise?
Tanya forced her eyes open, head still throbbing hard enough to knock out thoughts. She couldn’t think past the agony of that moment—the metal, the heat, the sound.
Her fingers twitched.
Soft. Fuzzy.
She blinked and looked down—straight into a pair of feline eyes.
Cat? Wait…
Didn’t I… die?
The kitten wriggled in her hands, eyes wide and body warm. Like muscle memory, her hand moved to pet it.
Am I... alive?
"What are you? Some kind of ghost kitten?"
Holding it up by its tiny armpits, she stared at it like it might explain itself—at which point the kitten suddenly morphed into a weird cat-shaped stick.
[Not a ghost cat. I’m System 001: Spend-to-Win.]
Tanya’s pupils contracted.
The cat… spoke.
With a little boy’s voice, no less.
Its mouth moved. Sound came out.
She inhaled sharply and very calmly set the talking cat back on the ground, then took three solid steps back.
She finally asked, cautiously, “Spend-to-Win? Like… *the* Spend-to-Win system?”
You know I saw you backing away like that, right?
She could swear the tiny face looked exasperated just then—but had zero proof.
Still, it was her rescue cat. Tanya wasn’t that freaked out.
Honestly, after escaping death? Kinda hard to be scared of anything.
Okay sure, talking cat's a bit much. Rattles the nerves a little. But after dealing with smiling snakes and evil bosses for years, she could take a talking furball.
Corporate survival had trained her well.
Calm outside, pure chaos inside. But hey, was she dreaming or did she just… get her own cheat code?
[So what do you think? With me backing you, you could hire twenty bodyguards tomorrow to give that old creep a taste of karma—right where it hurts.]
What the—!?
She had been unsure, but now her eyes straight-up sparkled.
Did this system just... threaten poetic justice?
Is this... legit?
