Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

Gold.

This was where Established and Recognized actors sat.

On this one the public actually knew both the name and the face together. You walked into a coffee shop and someone did the double-take before pretending they weren’t staring. Magazines put you on covers instead of burying you in filler pages.

Endorsement offers started coming to the agent instead of the agent begging for them.

This was where you finally lived off the work instead of the day-job between the work, and where the Bronze boys started looking at you with pure, unfiltered envy.

’Power-level jump.’

Platinum.

This tier can as well be called A-Listers.

Household names who dominate chats, set, tv talks and socials in their own country and a few million fans who know you globally outside your home-zone: the sensations.

These were names that opened films and studios by themselves — printed above the title in a font bigger than the director’s, sometimes bigger than the movie itself. Directors and producers competed for them. Producers and brands rearrange entire financing just to land them.

When they walked into a room, the room literally rearranged itself around them without anyone deciding to.

Platinum was where the industry stopped negotiating and started full-on begging you.

That my friends is the peak aura-farming territory.’

Last but not least was Diamond.

This is where legends sat: a tier for Global Icons.

In his old world these were the Toms — Cruise, Hardy, Hanks, Holland — the Robert Downeys Leonardos, the Denzels, the Meryls. Drake, Rihanna, Beyoncé, Justin, Nicki, The Weeknd on his good years, Adele every single time she decided to grace the planet.

The tier where the film’s opening weekend was less about the film and more about them. Where a breakup made every front page on three continents and a wedding shut down a small European country for the afternoon.

’Your hair alone is iconography.’

Park had seen scenarios where one unposted photo or unfollow from one celeb on another could sell a magazine, one well-timed cover could relaunch a career, and one single tweet could move a share price.

Diamond was the tier where the artist and film stars stopped being a person and became a whole tiny nation that the rest of culture had to negotiate with.

’The absolute endgame.’

Well, not quite.

There was:

Peerless Tier.

’The System’s own top rung and the final boss tier.’

By the System’s own ranking — which Park was starting to suspect held itself to standards no living human had ever actually met — Peerless was currently empty. Not a single name came to mind.

The whole tier just sitting there like a silent stage in an unlit theatre, waiting for someone to walk out under the lights and claim it.

Park stared at that empty rung for a long, cynical second.

"...Well. Shit."

He didn’t quite know what to do with that information yet. He wasn’t even mad about his own Unranked, Unknown, Bronze status — Park had earned every single asterisk of that honestly, and honesty from the universe was, if anything, kinda refreshing in a brutal way. But an empty top rung? In a system literally called Peerless? That wasn’t an oversight.

’That is a seat kept warm on purpose. The infamous "main character only" energy.’

He shelved the thought where he shelved all the dangerous good ones — right next to the audition sides he never got to deliver — and moved on.

The last line of the Standing screen was actually the funniest part.

[Bronze → Silver — 2 / 100%.]

Two percent. Two. Percent.

He had accumulated, over nineteen whole years of dogged grinding in this life alone, two percent of a single tier’s worth of progress.

The System even helpfully attributed the source like a smug little achievement popup:

That progress came from the limited series he’d appeared in — a gritty crime piece, eight episodes total — where he’d played one Kim: a young and inconveniently handsome lackey to a very large gangland boss.

Kim got cast only in last three episode of the original 8 episode. He’d appear here and there for minor roles and order from the boss. and the seventh episode he’d gone to collect a hundred thousand dollars ($100,000) in cash from some apartment the Main Lead had stashed there.

Kim fell headfirst before impaled by something in the heart to his death. A neat little disposable arc — three episodes on screen out of eight, which was already better luck than a boy in his shoes had any right to expect, and the series itself had been popular enough, he knew at least the trade papers would notice the pretty face bleeding out on the floor at hour six.

’Two percent.’

Knowing very well he would get another call for another role, and a better one at that — partly because he had been so good, though that had been the old now dead Park who’d earned the impression.

The old him had been a small terror on set.

He had left film crews with their mouths hanging open at the end of every flawless take that the leading man’s ego had subsequently ordered cut for pacing reasons: each take was perfect and the director did not need retakes.

Directors had exchanged looks over their monitors.

And the new him was no less-terror. If anything, the System’s polish had only sharpened a blade that had already been razor-keen going in. Two lifetimes of talent, now with a face and a body the industry could no longer politely pretend it hadn’t noticed.

’This is now the main-character upgrade path.’

He flicked his attention to the rest of the Status panel, eyes gleaming with that dangerous "I’m about to start aura-farming" energy.

[Physical Attributes:]

[Strength — 60 / 100.]

[Agility — 65 / 100.]

[Endurance — 58 / 100.]

[Stamina — 72 / 100.]

[Flexibility — 80 / 100.]

’Flexibility at eighty. Well, well. That will be all the yoga, then. Or something more educational the original body put in.’

Whichever way the numbers had been earned, the numbers were good.

Unlike the old him who was an ambitious noodle held together by spite and instant ramen and the vague hope that one day someone would pay him for the trouble — this body had been trained. Fed. Cared for. Recovered.

It was, annoyingly, superior to most of the upcoming male actors he could remember from either lives, and sweet-talk it however one liked, walking around in it still felt like being handed the keys to a sports car after twenty-three years of shoving a broken bicycle uphill in the rain.

The last attributes were his:

[Fatigue — low.]

[Mood — dangerously amused.]

’Damn right I am. Peak unhinged energy.’

The other thing he needed to lock in were his own traits and attributes, sitting right there on the Status panel like a power-level screen. His traits were basically his natural talents — the stuff he’d been born with but only now the System had polished them to a razor edge.

Talents that had always been there, just never given a room big enough to swing in and break shit.

The rest of the panel unfolded with merciless clarity, like a gacha screen that finally decided to be generous but the system had divided them neatly.

Attributes on one side. Traits on the other.

And while the traits sat there as pure passives — permanent, inherent, no-take-backsies — the attributes came ranked like a gacha power list.

[Host Attributes.]

[Acting — S.]

[Voice — S.]

[Musicality — A+.]

[Hypnotic Charisma — SSS.]

[Appearance — SSS.]

[On-spot Creativity and Wit — A+.]

Park let out a low, appreciative whistle at his own reflection, the list hitting him like a perfectly timed power-reveal cutscene.

’SSS in Appearance and Charisma?’ he murmured to himself, the smirk sliding into something more openly delighted. ’The System really knew how to butter a guy up right before it tried to ruins my entire life with what was clearly a harem-management app in disguise. Based and broken.’

He scrolled further, already bracing for the real tea.

[Passive Traits.]

[Marvelous Halo — Cursed Attractive Presence.]

[Lucky.]

[Peerless Idol.]

[Shameless Pervert — glitched.]

Charming, he thought, the dark humor curling like smoke. ’At least the System is honest about my priorities. No cap.’

"Shameless Pervert" sitting there like a proud little red flag.

’Yare yare... this is gonna be a problem. Or a feature. Probably both.’

The panel ended with one final, glowing, tempting line that might as well have been screaming "claim me, you absolute degenerate."

[Unclaimed: Beginner Package!]

The lottery ticket in his mind’s pocket, which had already been quietly warm since the moment the System first said the word Host, was now beginning, unmistakably, to glow.

Whatever the four rewards inside contained — Insta-Boost, Abilities Box, Perfect Crown, Spoiled by System — they felt to him, standing there in a hospital bathroom under buzzing strip lights, like the opening notes of a symphony he was very much going to conduct.

He did not yet know the melody or the orchestra. But he knew, with the small still certainty, that the baton was finally in his hand.

The world outside these walls had no idea what kind of beautiful, cursed, SSS-charisma disaster had just woken up.

Neither did he.

But he was going to enjoy finding out.

[Would The Host like to claim the Beginner Package now?]