1: Chapter 1 A Cataclysmic Start

Tip: This is a harem novel; if you know, you know. Later on, there will be things you gentlemen want to see.

Additionally, business elements take up a large portion of this story, and the pacing is quite tight.

Brain Storage Area~

---

Graduation

Seoul, June.

The sun rose early. When Chairman Wang Shunyi was jolted awake by the ceiling light in his semi-basement apartment, he could already see the feet of pedestrians outside the window.

He opened his eyes and stared at the crack in the ceiling. It was left behind by water seepage during the heavy rains last summer, snaking across the grayish-white wall like a centipede. He had thought about asking his landlord to fix it, but every time the words reached his lips, he swallowed them back—if it was fixed, the rent would surely go up.

The monthly rent for this fifteen-pyeong semi-basement had risen from 250,000 won four years ago to 300,000 won. If it went up any further, he really wouldn't know where to move.

He sat up, and the bed frame let out a miserable creak. The springs had long since given out; turning over sounded like a pig being slaughtered. But he was used to it—used to the lingering smell of mold in the room, used to the small window that only showed pedestrians' ankles, and used to being shaken awake every morning by the thumping of the lady upstairs walking around.

Today was the graduation ceremony.

Korea University, Department of Economics, four years—he had finally made it to the end.

He should have been happy, or at least relieved. But there was only an indescribable feeling of suffocation in his heart.

Chairman Wang Shunyi shuffled into the bathroom in his slippers and turned on the faucet; cold water gushed out. He splashed a couple of handfuls onto his face and looked up at the mirror—an ordinary face with some sharp angles, monolid eyes, a high bridge of the nose, thin lips, and dark circles under his eyes. Souvenirs from four years of working part-time.

He picked up his toothbrush, squeezed out some toothpaste, and brushed mechanically. His mind was already arranging today's schedule: arrive at school by nine, listen to the principal's nonsense, take photos, collect his diploma, and say goodbye to classmates. In the afternoon, work at the convenience store, and in the evening, continue delivering food—

No, he wouldn't deliver food today. It was graduation, after all; he had to maintain some "dignity" for himself. Though he couldn't figure out what use that dignity actually had.

At 7:30, he pulled his only cheap suit out of the wardrobe.

He bought it in his sophomore year for an internship interview. The interview didn't work out, but the suit stayed. Four years had passed; the cuffs were frayed and the pants were a bit short, but at least it was the only thing he could wear for a formal occasion.

He carefully put it on, stood before the blurry mirror, and adjusted his tie.

The person in the mirror looked a bit like a stranger. Or rather, not quite like himself. He usually wore T-shirts and jeans from street stalls; suddenly being dressed in a suit and leather shoes felt awkward all over, as if he had stolen someone else's clothes.

"Whatever," he muttered, turning to leave.

At 8:00, the subway was packed with people.

Chairman Wang Shunyi huddled in a corner of the carriage, one hand gripping the handrail and the other scrolling through his phone. The news said there were over 600,000 university graduates this year, but fewer than 10,000 could enter large enterprises. This meant that less than two percent of people could get that kind of stable and decent job. The remaining ninety-eight percent could only go to small and medium-sized enterprises, start their own businesses, or continue studying.

And he would struggle to even reach the average level of that ninety-eight percent.

Because he was Chinese.

Even though he had grown up here and spoke Korean as fluently as a local, the "foreign nationality" on his ID card was like an invisible wall separating him from "real Koreans." He used to naively think that as long as his grades were good and his abilities were strong, the wall could be torn down. Reality slapped him right in the face—top ten percent at Korea University, scholarship recipient for four consecutive years, over thirty resumes sent out, and all he got were interviews at two small companies. Many of his Korean classmates, whose grades weren't as good as his, had already received offers from major corporations.

"Excuse me."

Someone tapped his shoulder. He looked up and realized they had arrived at the station. He stepped aside and squeezed off the train with the crowd.

Korea University Station had arrived.

The campus was still the same. In the June breeze, the red brick buildings, the ginkgo-lined paths, and the library's clock tower looked quite grand. He had walked this path for four years—going to class, the library, the cafeteria. Every time he walked it, he felt the school was quite impressive. But today felt different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it; it was like a reluctance to leave mixed with a sense of confusion about the future.

He walked slowly along the ginkgo path as classmates passed by in groups of two or threes. Some were laughing and taking photos in their graduation gowns, some were holding their phones for video calls with family, and some were standing under trees hugging their partners. These scenes were like a movie, passing before his eyes frame by frame.

He suddenly realized that this was the last time he would stand here as a "student." From today on, he would no longer belong to this campus. He was about to become an "unemployed youth" in society, a "dirt spoon" who couldn't find a job.

"Shunyi Oppa!"

A crisp female voice came from behind him.

He turned around as Park Hyeji walked over quickly.

She wore a decent suit, her long hair tied in a ponytail, with light makeup; she looked sharp and energetic. Compared to the green girl who had just enrolled four years ago, she was like a completely different person. Or rather, she had been moving upward, while he had been spinning in place.

"Hye-ji."

"Oppa, why are you standing here alone?" She walked up to him and looked at his face. "Are you unhappy?"

"No," he shook his head. "Just thinking about some things."

"Thinking about what?"

He was silent for a few seconds before saying, "Thinking about what to do after graduation."

Park Hyeji's expression softened. She knew his situation—not all classmates knew, but she did. During a group project in their sophomore year, she discovered that he had to go to a convenience store to work every day after class, sometimes until two in the morning, and then sit in the classroom again at eight the next morning.

She had asked him, "Aren't you tired?" He said, "I am. But if I don't work, I won't have money to eat."

Since then, Park Hyeji had quietly helped him a lot. Lending notes, printing materials, and sometimes when he was on the night shift, she would even bring him a bento. He had never officially thanked her, but she knew he remembered it in his heart.

"Shunyi Oppa, have you received any offers?" she asked cautiously.

He shook his head. "Interviews at two small companies, no results yet."

"What companies?"

"One food company, one logistics. The monthly salary is less than two million."

Park Hyeji nodded and said nothing. Two million won in Seoul was barely enough to survive. After taxes and insurance, the take-home pay was about 1.5 million. After deducting rent, living expenses, and student loans, it was basically impossible to save money.

"What about you?" he asked back. "Did you receive one?"

"Yes, Samsung Group, finance trainee."

Chairman Wang Shunyi's eyes widened slightly. Samsung Group—one of South Korea's largest chaebols, a Fortune Global 500 company. Getting in was equivalent to getting an entry ticket to high society.

"Congratulations," he said, his tone sincere.

"Thank you." Park Hyeji smiled, but there was an unidentifiable quality to her smile. "Actually, I'm quite worried about you, Oppa."

"Worried about what?"

"Worried that..." she paused, "worried that you'll give up."

He looked at her and was silent for a second. "I won't. If I give up, I'll have nothing left."

Park Hyeji nodded and added, "If you have any difficulties, you can come to me. I can't help much, but at least I can listen."

Chairman Wang Shunyi looked into her eyes, a wave of warmth rising in his heart. This place was cold; being able to meet someone like her was already a stroke of luck.

"Thank you, Hye-ji. I'll remember that."

She smiled and looked down at her watch. "It's almost nine. Let's go to the auditorium."

"Okay."

The two walked side by side toward the auditorium, their footsteps echoing one after another in the empty campus.

The graduation ceremony was long and boring.

The principal spoke on stage for an hour, rambling from the school's glorious history to the bright future of the graduates, every sentence sounding like it was copied from a textbook. Among the students below, some played on their phones, some dozed off, and some whispered to each other.

Chairman Wang Shunyi sat in the crowd, his mind having long since drifted off to who knows where.

He was thinking about the days ahead. Student loan repayments would start six months after graduation, 480,000 won per month. Rent was 300,000 won. Living expenses were at least 500,000 won. In total, he needed at least 1.28 million won a month just to survive. If he found a job, his take-home pay would be about 1.5 million; after deducting 1.28 million, he'd have 220,000 left. What could 220,000 won do? It wasn't even enough for a decent social gathering. Not to mention getting sick, accidents, or other random things. He had calculated that at this income level, it would take nearly ten years to pay off the student loans. Ten years later, he'd be thirty-four and still have nothing.

Was this the fate of a dirt spoon?

He suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe.

The surrounding applause pulled him back. The principal had finally finished speaking and began handing out diplomas. He stood up and followed the queue slowly onto the stage. The moment he received that piece of paper from the principal's hand, he only felt it was absurd. This thin piece of paper was his life for four years, the result of countless nights staying up to study and the result of his frugality. But now, it seemed useless. It couldn't help him find a good job, it couldn't help him repay his loans, and it couldn't help him turn his life around.

It was just a piece of paper.

The ceremony ended, and the crowd dispersed. Some were busy taking photos, some were busy reuniting with family, and some were rushing to the next party.

Chairman Wang Shunyi stood at the school gate, watching all this, feeling like an outsider. No family had come to the ceremony—his mother was in Busan and couldn't afford the round-trip ticket. He had no partner—for four years, he had been rotating between part-time work and studying; he had no time for dating. He didn't even have a few decent friends—except for Park Hyeji, the rest were basically just nodding acquaintances.

"Shunyi Oppa!"

It was Park Hyeji again. He turned and saw her walking over quickly, holding her phone.

"Let's take a photo together?" she said. "As a souvenir."

He was stunned for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

They stood under the ginkgo tree at the school gate, with their backs to the red brick building, facing the phone camera.

"Three, two, one, cheese!"

Click.

The photo was frozen in time. Two young people in graduation gowns standing on the Korea University campus, with somewhat stiff smiles on their faces. One was about to enter Samsung Group with a bright future. One had an uncertain path ahead, not knowing where tomorrow would be. But this photo framed them both in one picture. As if they had once been classmates, once been friends, and once stood on the same starting line.

In the afternoon, Chairman Wang Shunyi returned to the semi-basement alone.

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a total blank. He should be happy; after all, he had graduated. He should be excited; after all, he was starting a new life. But he felt nothing. Just tired.

He closed his eyes, wanting to nap for a while. But scenes from today kept flashing in his mind—the principal's nonsense, the smiling faces of his classmates, Park Hyeji's concern, the diploma. And the question that had been haunting him: what to do next?

He turned over and lay on his side. There were footsteps outside the window, the neighbor upstairs was on the phone, and there was the sound of a car horn in the distance. This was the sound of Seoul—noisy and incessant. And he was the most inconspicuous person in this city.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, a voice suddenly exploded in his mind—

[Eligible host detected. System activating...]

Chairman Wang Shunyi snapped his eyes open and looked around wildly. "Who?"

[Global Commodity Replication System activated. System binding successful.]

He bolted upright and rubbed his eyes hard. He thought he had misheard or was hallucinating. But the voice rang out again—

[The system has been bound to the host's consciousness. The host can communicate with me through consciousness.]

He was stunned. Real or fake? A dream? He pinched his thigh. It hurt. It wasn't a dream.

"System?" he thought to himself.

[The system is here.]

Then, a large stream of information was poured directly into his brain—

[This system is the Global Commodity Replication System, which can replicate commodities from parallel worlds that have not yet appeared in the current world, including product blueprints, samples, and production processes. Host's initial points: 1,000. Storage space initial capacity: 100 cubic meters. Function description: 1. Commodity Replication: The host can browse the commodity catalog and select the desired commodities for replication. Replication consumes points, with different commodities consuming different amounts. 2. Storage Space: Can store replicated commodities as well as other items. 3. Market Analysis: Can perform market prospect analysis on replicated commodities. 4. Point Acquisition: Earn profit through commercial sales; every 1 million KRW in profit earns 1 point.]

Chairman Wang Shunyi sat blankly on the bed, his brain completely short-circuiting.

He didn't know where this thing came from, nor did he know why it had chosen him specifically.

But one thing was very clear to him—

From this moment on, his life was about to change.