The Simp's Mission

On the day my father's company went bankrupt, the rental apartment's window was covered with yellowed newspaper, unable to block the thunderous banging of debt collectors downstairs. I clutched the photo frame my mother left behind before she passed away, its edges worn smooth, her smile in the picture gentle like a fading memory. I curled up on the cold floor, tears soaking the velvet backing of the frame. Suddenly, my phone screen lit up, revealing a pop-up I had never seen before—the "simp's mission system." There was no icon, no source, only a single line of cold, stark text. Suddenly, a mechanical voice echoed in my mind without warning, devoid of any emotion: "Detected that the host carries massive debt, meeting the binding conditions." "Small task reward: 50,000; big task reward: 100,000. After paying off the debt, you can unlock the next-level system. Do you want to bind the system?" The pounding on the door downstairs grew more desperate, mixed with curses and foul language: "Daughter of James Scott, if you don't come out to repay the money, we'll tear this broken house down!" I bit my lip hard, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood. My father was addicted to gambling; he not only squandered the family fortune but also ran up three million in gambling debts. My mother couldn't bear the blow and fell seriously ill, eventually passing away. After her death, Mary Lewis took my sister, Yolanda Scott, and my mother's remaining inheritance, leaving me alone in this rental apartment, at the mercy of debt collectors harassing me. Three million was an astronomical sum to me at the time. I stared at the pop-up on my phone, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Better to take a gamble than be crushed by the debt collectors. "Yes." I said softly, my voice filled with desperate resolve. The mechanical voice sounded again: "Binding successful. Novice task: get close to Tim Luke, become his exclusive lover. Reward: 50,000." Then came Tim Luke's detailed profile—the sole heir of the Luke Group, a central figure in City A's upper echelon, cold and aloof by nature, indifferent to women, with his only vulnerability being his first love, Rachel Wade, who went abroad to study. I heard that after Rachel Wade left, Tim Luke spent a whole week drowning himself in the bar; this was my only chance. I rummaged through the wardrobe and found the only off-white dress my mother had left behind. After ironing it flat, I borrowed makeup from the neighbor's older sister and clumsily applied a light touch to hide the dark circles and exhaustion under my eyes. At eight o'clock, the bar was brightly lit, and the deafening heavy metal music shook the walls. Clutching the hem of my dress, I pushed through the crowded crowd and finally spotted Tim Luke in a corner by the bar. He wore a black shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing his pale neck. A cigarette was pinched between his fingers, smoke curling around him. His eyes were hollow and exhausted, and several empty glasses sat before him. I took a deep breath and approached, holding the warm water and hangover medicine I'd prepared beforehand. My voice softened into a practiced, soothing tone: "Have some water to warm your stomach. Drinking on an empty stomach harms your body." He slowly lifted his eyes, his narrow, phoenix-shaped gaze filled with detachment and impatience, as if scrutinizing something utterly insignificant. His gaze was so cold that I instinctively wanted to step back, but thinking of the Debt Collectors downstairs, I forced myself to hold back. He said nothing and didn't push away the cup I handed him; he just silently looked at me, as if sizing up my intentions. I kept smiling, placed the glass of water and medicine in front of him without a word, and turned to find a corner to wait in, but he called out, "Stop." My heart tightened as I looked back at him; he lifted the glass, took a sip, and said hoarsely, "What do you want to do?" "I... I just thought drinking alone would be too lonely, so I wanted to stay and keep you company." I lowered my eyelids, hiding the calculations in my eyes, revealing only just enough timidity and a desire to please. He sneered with biting sarcasm but didn't drive me away again. For the next three days, I arrived at the bar on time every day, dressed tidily, sitting quietly not far from him. When he was drunk, I handed him tissues and warm water; when he was cold, I silently draped my coat over him; when he was hungry, I brought him hot porridge I'd made myself. I never questioned his past or disturbed his silence, only appearing at exactly the right moments when he needed me. On the fourth night, he finally spoke up of his own accord, his tone still cold: "What do you want? Money? Or resources?" I looked up, a trace of sincere longing in my eyes, my smile humble but determined: "I just want to stay by your side and take care of you." He stared at me for a few seconds, as if finding me boring, or perhaps simply acknowledging my presence. From that day on, I became Tim Luke's obvious "simp"—a companion always at his beck and call, summoned and dismissed like a tool. --- Tim Luke's temper was as changeable as June weather; one moment he could speak gently and kindly to me, the next he might erupt in anger over the slightest thing.