The fan on the ceiling spun with a wheeze, as if its life too were at the brink of collapse.
In this suffocating single room, where mold grew between the floor tiles and the faintest light struggled to penetrate the half-broken blinds, a heavy, groggy breath rose from the bed. The sheets were tangled. The boy beneath them moved.
"...Nn..."
Hao Hao opened his eyes. The ceiling above him was cracked—water stains marked its edges like an old, forgotten wound. The air was thick with mildew and the faint, sour scent of unwashed clothes. He blinked once, then again.
Pain shot through his skull like a knife.
He gritted his teeth, holding his head with both hands. The world spun. Not just physically—this place, this body, this very existence… was not his.
Slowly, he sat up. His arms were soft. Not the softness of health, but the softness of neglected flesh. He moved to the mirror hanging on the back of the door, nearly stepping on an empty ramen cup as he did.
What he saw made him freeze in place.
Short.
Fat.
His complexion a sickly yellow-brown, as if he had been carved from wax and left under the sun too long. His cheeks, chin, even the bridge of his nose were covered in angry, red cystic acne. His eyes, sunken behind thick-framed glasses, were tired, dull—lifeless. His black hair was oily, thin at the crown, his bangs clinging to his forehead in unflattering clumps.
Disgusting.
A word surfaced instinctively in his mind, like a slap from reality.
But what stunned him even more wasn't the face—it was the name that suddenly welled up with the memories flooding into his mind.
This body… was also called Hao Hao.
A seventeen-year-old high schooler. The youngest of a poor family. Parents died in a fire seven years ago. His older sister, Hao Lin, had raised him until she went abroad last year for university. After that, this Hao Hao had lived alone in this apartment. Lived? No. Survived.
Every day was a chain of bitterness.
The summer break had just begun—his final month before school reopened. But for him, the end had already come. Because only three days ago…
He'd taken a bottle of sleeping pills and swallowed every last one.
"...Suicide," Hao Hao muttered, his lips cracking open for the first time.
A ghost of a boy, beaten down by life, school, and the silent cruelty of this world. In this world where women walked tall and strong, where men were supposed to be beautiful and fragile and lovable—this Hao Hao had nothing. Not the face. Not the figure. Not even the self-esteem to dream.
He glanced at the dusty desk in the corner. A diary lay there. Old and frayed. He walked over, picked it up, and opened to the most recent page.
"They called me a greaseball again. Laughed at my acne and took photos of me changing during P.E. They said men like me should stay hidden in closets like moths."
"I asked Gege if I could transfer schools. She left me on read."
"If I could be born again, I want to be pretty. I want someone to look at me like I matter."
Hao Hao closed the book. He didn't speak. The ache in his chest was tight—not sorrow, but suffocation.
He looked up into the mirror again.
That body wasn't his. But that pain—he understood it all too well.
[Ding—]
A cold electronic chime echoed in his skull.
[Parasyte System Binding... Complete]
[Welcome, Host: Hao Hao]
[This is the matriarchal world, and version of modern Earth. Here, women are the strong. They rule, they lead, they conquer. Men are rare flowers—treasured for their beauty, protected for their delicacy. You, Host, are currently neither.]
[Initiating Host Status—]
[The Parasyte System]
Name: Hao Hao
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Evaluation: "A moldy caterpillar hiding beneath a wet leaf."
[Trait Sync]
Target: None
Affinity: N/A
Chosen Trait: N/A
System Notice:
As your personal charm and emotional resonance increase, heroines will appear in your life. Once emotional interest is confirmed, Trait Sync will be unlocked. You will be offered 3 random Traits from that heroine—each categorized by Class: [Combat], [Social], [Physical], or [Mental], and graded from F to S. You may select 1 trait per sync.
The screen faded, but Hao Hao's breathing had already calmed. A strange light passed through his eyes.
A moldy caterpillar, huh?
Not wrong.
In his last life, he had wasted twenty-six years. A shut-in. A coward. A failed writer of niche matriarchal erotica and gender-bender fantasy. His savings couldn't buy a second-hand scooter. He avoided family gatherings. Never had a girlfriend. He told himself it was because he was "too busy writing," but the truth?
He was scared.
Scared of failure. Of rejection. Of a world that moved on without him.
And now?
This was the world of his stories. Women ruled. Men were desired—idolized even. But only the beautiful ones. The good ones. The soft, fragrant, snow-skinned kind that made older jiejies fall over themselves to pamper them.
He looked at his reflection again.
He was not that. Not yet.
But he had thirty days.
He gripped the sink. A cold, hard breath left his lips.
Diet? Exercise? Skin treatment? He'd do it all. He'd make this body kneel before his will. If this world was going to worship beauty—he'd become the very temple.
"I'll live," he muttered.