Chapter 2Before The Stars Forgot Your Name

Eight years ago, I was just an ordinary civilian who had barely stepped foot onto a college campus when the “Villain Redemption System” latched onto my spine.

I asked why it chose me.

Back then, the System didn’t bother answering. It simply set a timer in my skull and pulsed high-voltage current through my nervous system, forcing me onto a transport ship bound for the outer rim—a wasteland scrapyard planet where an eighteen-year-old Gideon Cole was surviving on scraps.

I had soft hands back then. I was terrified of pain, terrified of dying.

So I went looking for him in tears, offering to share half my ration packs.

At the time, Gideon was an untouchable pariah, kicked into the dirt by every scavenger in the yard. His gaze was feral, shadowed, and dead. I was scared to death of him.

But I was more scared of the System’s shocks. When the voltage surged from the base of my spine into my brainstem, it caused complete motor failure.

Once, I lost control of my bladder right in front of him.

Gideon crouched beside me in the rust and watched me for a long, quiet minute. Then, without a word, he unzipped his heavy canvas jacket and tied it around my waist. The jacket was filthy, stiff with engine oil and patched ten times over, but it hid the stain on my trousers.

He stood up, dusted the rust from his knees, and walked away without looking back.

I sat in the dirt and wept for half an hour. Then I wiped my face, chased after him, and handed him my ration pack for the next day, too.

I later learned he had been on that scrap planet for thirteen years, since he was five years old, digging through the carcasses of downed battleships just to trade for nutrient paste. He didn't trust a soul. He didn't need anyone.

The System’s directive was clear: Make Gideon Cole dependent on you.

I thought it was impossible. But I went to him every single day. If I didn't go, I was shocked; after being shocked, I dragged myself back.

I had nothing clever to say, so I just sat by the stripped hull of whatever freighter he was salvaging, chewing my hard biscuits. He worked with his wrench; I chewed in silence.

One afternoon, I fell asleep leaning against a bulkhead. When I woke up, someone had propped a slab of corrugated metal over my head to shield me from the sulfur wind.

It took three months of this before Gideon spoke a complete sentence to me.

He stared down at me and asked, "What do you actually want from me?"

I opened my mouth, nearly blurting out that a machine in my head was torturing me. In the end, I swallowed the truth and whispered, "I think you're handsome."

It wasn't a lie.

Gideon froze, his dark eyes locked on mine for an eternity. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

The next morning, he left a sealed canister of purified water by my boots. On a junk planet, clean water was worth more than human life.

I held that canister against my chest, my throat aching with unshed tears.

In my mind, the System chimed: “Affection +5! Host, keep up the good work!”

I cursed the voice silently and drank the water.