The scene is set in a dimly lit, budget-friendly diner. The hum of chatter and clinking silverware fills the air. A man in his te thirties with tired eyes and a slightly rumpled button-down, sits across from Catherine, who fidgets with her napkin, avoiding his gaze. The tension is thick, though Hez doesn’t yet know why.

  Hez(smiling, nudging his pte): "You’ve barely touched your fries. Not a fan of greasy spoon cuisine anymore?"

  The diner is loud, the fluorescent lights too bright. Hez, in his wrinkled work shirt, leans forward, trying to catch Catherine’s eye. She’s scrolling on her phone, her foot tapping impatiently. He forces a grin, but his gut already knows something’s wrong.

  Hez: (nervous chuckle) "So, uh… you gonna tell me why you’ve been ghosting me all week? Or am I just that boring?"

  She sighs, finally locking her phone and tossing it onto the table. Her eyes are cold.

  Catherine: "Look, Hez, let’s not drag this out. We’re done."

  His smile drops. He blinks like he’s been spped.

  Hez: "What? Hold on—what the hell? Where’s this coming from?"

  Catherine: (rolling her eyes) "Oh, come on. Don’t act shocked. You had to see this coming."

  His face flushes. He leans in, voice cracking.

  Hez: "See what coming? We were fine! You—you said you loved me st weekend! You didn’t seem to mind when I paid your rent."

  She scoffs, crossing her arms.

  Catherine: "Yeah, well, people say shit. Doesn’t mean it’s true."

  He recoils. His hands grip the edge of the table like he’s holding onto a ledge.

  Hez: (desperate) "Okay, okay, just—just talk to me. What’s wrong? Is it work? Did I do something?"

  She exhales sharply, annoyed.

  Catherine: "You’re comfortable, Hez. But comfortable isn’t enough."

  His fingers drum the table, restless. A bitter smirk twists his lips.

  Hez: "Ah. So this is about money."

  She stiffens, defensive.

  Catherine: "It’s not just that. It’s stability. Ambition. You’re… stuck."

  The word nds like a sp. Hez flinches, then his expression darkens.

  Hez: "But I still bought you cosmetics, paid your rent. What's wrong?"

  Catherine: "Hez, it’s everything. You’re just… stuck. You’ve been in the same shitty job for years, you never want to go anywhere, you’re content with this loser-ass life—"

  Hez: (cutting in, voice rising) "Whoa, what? So now I’m a loser? Because I’m not some rich prick throwing cash around?"

  Her eyes narrow. She doesn’t deny it.

  Catherine: "It’s not just the money. It’s the fact that you don’t even try. You’re happy eating at this dump every week, pying the same crap on that Pystation games, pretending like this is enough. Well, guess what? It’s not."

  His throat tightens. He swallows hard, scrambling.

  Hez: "Okay, okay—if that’s it, then I’ll change! I’ll—I’ll apply for better jobs, we can go out more, whatever you want—"

  Catherine: (ughs bitterly) "Oh my God, stop. Just stop. You’re pathetic."

  The word hits him like a punch. He sits back, stunned. His voice drops to a whisper.

  Hez: "You don’t mean that."

  She leans in, merciless.

  Catherine: "Yeah, I do. And you know what? There is someone else. Someone who actually has his shit together."

  His stomach lurches. He shakes his head, like if he denies it hard enough, it won’t be real.

  Hez: "No. No, you’re just saying that to hurt me—"

  Catherine: "It’s been a month, Hez. A month. And guess what? He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t make me feel like I’m settling. So yeah, we’re done."

  She grabs her purse and stands. He lunges forward, grabbing her wrist.

  Hez: (pleading) "Catherine, please—just give me one more chance—"

  She yanks her arm free, disgusted.

  Catherine: "Get the fuck off me. Damn, have some dignity."

  And with that, she turns and walks out. The diner door sms behind her. Hez sits there, hollowed out, his hands shaking. Around him, people pretend not to stare.

  After a long moment, he numbly reaches for his coffee. Cold. Just like everything else.

  Hez sat frozen in the diner booth, the echo of Catherine’s words still ringing in his ears. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the half-eaten meal in front of him, the greasy fries now cold and unappetizing. The hum of the diner felt distant, muffled, as if he were underwater.

  Then—

  A sudden fsh of light seared across his vision. He blinked rapidly, and when his eyes refocused, a translucent dashboard hovered before him, sleek and digital, like something out of a video game. Bold letters pulsed at the center:

  [SYSTEM INITIATING. LOADING…]

  His breath hitched. He jerked his head left and right, scanning the diner—but nobody else reacted. The waitress refilled coffee cups, a couple ughed over milkshakes, a tired-looking man scrolled on his phone. None of them seemed to notice the massive, glowing interface floating in the air.

  Then, as quickly as it appeared, the loading bar filled. The dashboard solidified, and new information materialized before him.

  At the top Right of the dashboard–

  "Biodata:

  Name: Arman Hezri

  Age: 40

  Height: 176cm

  Weight: 80kg

  Strength: 60

  Stamina: 65"

  At the top Left –

  " Current Money: 505.00"

  His stomach dropped. That was the exact amount left in his bank account, down to the cent.

  A new message appeared in the center of the screen:

  [You can now view other person’s Biodata.]

  His pulse pounded in his ears. Slowly, he turned in his seat, looking at the middle-aged man sitting behind him, hunched over a burger. The moment his gaze nded on him, another box popped up:

  "Name: ????

  Age: 45

  Height: 170cm

  Weight: 95kg

  Strength: 40

  Stamina: 35

  Familiarity: 0

  Hez’s eyes darted around the diner, locking onto different people—each time, a new biodata screen flickered into existence. A waitress, a college student, an elderly couple—all with different attributes but with the same "Familiarity: 0" and "Name: ????" dispyed.

  After scanning ten people, the system updated again:

  [Familiarity is 0 because they don’t recognize you. Name is ???? because you don’t know their names.]

  His mouth went dry. Was he hallucinating? Had the breakup broken his brain? He needed to test this.

  As a man in a business suit walked past his table, Hez reached out, his voice hoarse.

  Hez: "Excuse me—can you see that?" He points at the glowing message box still hovering in front of him.

  The man frowns, gncing where Hez indicated, then back at him with a puzzled expression.

  Man: "See what? There’s nothing there."

  Another diner nearby, a guy in a baseball cap, chimes in without looking up from his phone.

  Second Man: "You okay, buddy? You’re pointing at air."

  They walk away, leaving Hez alone with the impossible screen—and the dawning realization that whatever this is… it is for his eyes only.

  The message box flickered again, new words forming:

  [NEW ABILITY: For every money spent for a woman, you shall be refunded double the amount spent. The condition is the woman must have Familiarity above 0]

  Hez’s breath caught in his throat. Double the money back? His mind raced. Was this some kind of sick joke? A hallucination from the emotional wreckage Catherine left behind?

  But the numbers didn’t lie. His bank bance—505—glowed mockingly in the top-left corner of the interface.

  Test it. You have to test it.

  His eyes darts around the diner. The waitress—a tired-looking woman in her te 30s—is wiping down a nearby table. He focuses on her, and her biodata appears:

  "Name: ????

  Age: 38

  Familiarity: 0"

  Damn. He needs someone who at least knows him.

  Then he remembered—Mira, the cashier. She’d been working here for months. He’d exchanged small talk with her before.

  He stands abruptly, nearly knocking over his coffee, and strides to the counter. Mira gnces up from the register, offering a polite but weary smile.

  Mira: "Need something else, hon?"

  The moment she speaks, her biodata appears:

  Name: Amira Santos

  Age: 23

  Height: 159cm

  Weight: 58kg

  Strength: 23

  Stamina: 38

  Familiarity: 12"

  Yes.

  Hez: (forcing a smile) "Just wanted to leave a tip. You’ve always been great."

  He pulls out a 10 bill—half his remaining cash would’ve been insane an hour ago, but now? Now it was an investment. He slides it across the counter.

  Mira: (blinking in surprise) "Oh—wow, thank you!"

  The second her fingers touches the bill, a new notification fshes:

  Refund processing…]

  A second ter, another alert:

  [+20 refunded.]

  Then, at the top left: Current Money: 525]

  Hez’s heart hammers. He checks his internet banking on his mobile phone, his account bance did increase to 525. It actually worked.

  He then paid for his tab using that account, 25, then his account bance is reduced to 500.

  "Thank you!" Mira says.

  The diner door swings shut behind Hez, the cold night air hitting his face like a sp. His mind buzzes with possibilities—double the money back, just for spending on women? The implications are staggering.

  Then, as if the system has been reading his thoughts, a new message burns across his vision:

  [TUTORIAL ENDS]

  [Crification: Direct monetary gifts to women do not qualify for refunds.]

  [Refunds are only processed when payment is made to a third-party service/provider, with a valid receipt tied to a woman of Familiarity >0.]