My Netori Life With System: Stealing Milfs And Virgins

He rinsed the cup and set it on the rack.

He thought about the week.

He thought about Haruka’s question from last night, standing at the door of Unit 5 with her travel cup and her careful expression. ’Do you know what you’re doing to people?’

And his answer, which had been yes, and which she had believed, and which had been true in the only way he was capable of making things true, which was completely and without softening.

"The honest answer," he said to the empty kitchen, "is yes, and I intend to keep doing it."

"Because the alternative is a different kind of person, and that person would not have gotten Tyler Schmith home last night, would not have given Petricia an honest conversation at a railing at eleven PM, and would not have built something with Aveline that respects what she actually is rather than what the situation says she should be." He paused. "And I would not have a million and fifteen thousand Dollahs in accounts across four banks."

He looked at the window again. The morning was unfolding as expected, gradually building toward the storm in the same way that weather typically does, without apology.

"Maya is going to ask you something tonight that she’s been waiting to ask," he said. "You don’t know what it is yet, but she’s been revising her assessment of you for three days, and she’s due for a checkpoint."

He took his jacket from the chair. "Be ready for the checkpoint."

He thought about Maya for a moment with the specific attention he reserved for people who required it. Maya was someone who noticed when he redirected his focus; she had already identified his pattern of deciding early how a situation would unfold and then waiting for others to catch up.

She would be watching him tonight with the same careful attention she brought to everything, and that was fine, because he had no intention of being anything apart from exactly what he appeared to be.

He thought, with a dry amusement that he kept strictly internal, that the most useful form of deception was simply choosing which true things to make visible. He was not performing a false act; instead, he was choosing which true aspects of himself to reveal.

He lay back on the bed and looked at the ceiling of Unit 6, which had a small water stain in the far corner that he had catalogued on the first day and not thought about since.

The pipe in the wall made its usual two-in-the-morning sound, which was not two in the morning yet but was apparently starting early.

"Tonight," he said to the ceiling. "One thing at a time."

"But for now... I’m going back to fucking sleep to save some energy I’ll be saving for Maya."

He closed his eyes and slept.

...

Saturday came in gray, the way the forecast had suggested, with clouds that were serious about what they were planning and a wind that had picked up sometime in the early afternoon, moving the branches of the District 6 trees with the kind of deliberateness that said this was not going to pass quickly.

Mike arrived at the park at six-fifteen, which was early, and spent fifteen minutes walking the layout, because arriving somewhere early and knowing the geography before other people did was the most efficient use of the time before anything happened.

Elsworth Park in District 6 was not large by the standards of the city’s green spaces, but it was well-used and well-maintained, with a central lawn area, a tree line along the western edge, a small pavilion that served coffee in the afternoons, and, Mike noted with professional satisfaction, a cabin at the north end that appeared to be a groundskeeping outbuilding, solid construction, roof intact, unlocked during park hours.

He noted the cabin and moved on.

Maya and Marc arrived together at six-thirty, which was earlier than seven but consistent with Maya’s described habits, which included arriving places with time to exist in them before whatever was supposed to happen started.

Marc was, in person, someone Mike had to recalibrate for. He had formed an impression from the description of someone who got bored of predictable people and sought unpredictability, which sometimes reads as restlessness or inconsistency.

Marc was neither. He was tall, broadly built in the particular way of someone who had played a physical sport for years and retained the build without the sport, with an easy authority to his posture that was not performed.

He looked at things directly and he looked at Mike directly from the first moment, which was not aggression but was the specific gaze of someone who was already forming an opinion and did not see the value in pretending otherwise.

"So you’re the one Maya keeps referencing without realizing she’s referencing you," Marc said, by way of introduction.

"Marc," Maya said.

"It’s a compliment," Marc said, to both of them.

"I wasn’t offended," Mike said.

Marc looked at him for a moment.

"No," he said. "You weren’t."

They shook hands.

Maya was in a specific mode she had adopted in social situations she had thought about beforehand. It was a state of heightened attentiveness, more focused than her usual self, processing information slightly faster and organizing her thoughts as she typically did.

She was wearing a light jacket over a dark shirt, jeans, and her hair loose. She had a phone in her jacket pocket that she had not taken out since they arrived, which was either because she was present or because she had decided to be.

She looked at Mike with the familiar quality of still revising her assessment of him, which he found consistently intriguing.

"You actually came," she said.

"I said I would," Mike said.

"People say they will," she said. "You came."

Marc looked between them with the amusement of someone who is watching a dynamic they recognized and found familiar in structure if not in content.

"He’s going to find you very readable, Maya," he said to her.

"I’m already readable," Maya said.

"You think you are," Marc said. "There’s a difference."

Mike said nothing, and Maya glanced at him, and he could see that she had noted his silence and filed the fact of his not agreeing with Marc as its own kind of information.

They walked the park at the relaxed pace of people with no particular destination within it. The wind moved through the tree line with increasing intention, and the clouds had taken on the particular density that means the decision to rain has already been made, and the execution is simply a matter of timing.

Marc’s theory, when it eventually emerged in the conversation, was as follows: postgraduate students in policy-adjacent programs often arrived with fully formed frameworks for understanding the world.

During their first year, they encountered situations that did not align with these frameworks. The students who navigated this encounter successfully were those who treated their frameworks as hypotheses rather than definitive conclusions.

"The ones who fail," Marc said, "either hold the framework until it breaks or abandon it entirely and spend the rest of the program borrowing someone else’s."

"Neither of those is actually learning."

"What’s the third option?" Mike said.

"The third option is that you treat every new piece of information as a revision opportunity rather than a confirmation or a refutation." Marc looked at him. "Most people can’t do that because it requires being genuinely uncertain about things you’ve built an identity around."

"He’s been trying to get me to do this for three years," Maya said.

"You’re better at it than you were," Marc said.

"I’m still not good at it."

"You’re aware that you’re bad at it," Marc said. "That’s actually the first step."

...

They walked in comfortable enough silence for a moment. Mike looked at the sky and then looked at Maya, who was watching the tree line with the specific attention she brought to spaces that interested her.

"You’re comfortable here," Mike said to her.

She glanced at him. "District 6 generally."

"Specifically this park," he said. "You’ve been here before, and I can tell you know the rhythm of it."

She looked at him for a moment. "I shot a segment here for my channel last autumn."

"The market on the north side of the park, the one that runs Saturday mornings." She paused. "I came back a few times after because the light in the afternoon hits the west end of the lawn in a way I wanted to work out how to use."

"Did you work it out?"

"Not yet," she said. "But I know it’s there." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Marc, who had been listening without appearing to, said: "She does this."

"She finds things that are interesting and then she waits for the right moment to use them, and she doesn’t try to rush it." He looked at Mike. "It’s one of the things she does that most people misread as patience."

"It’s not patience," Maya said.

"I know," Marc said. "It’s something closer to certainty."

"You know the thing has value, and the timing is just the last problem to solve."

Mike looked at Maya.

"He’s right," he said.

She looked back at him with the slight adjustment that happened when someone said the thing she had been thinking more precisely than she had said it to herself.

"Yes," she said. "He generally is."