The word awakened and gained a system: why are all my quests perverted

Saturday, February 2nd, 2030

The streets bustled with life, a swirl of music, laughter, and the aroma of street food filling the night air. Crowds gathered under glowing red lanterns, marveling at a puppet dragon brought to life by synchronized performers. Nearby, men in lion costumes leapt and pranced, their movements fluid and captivating. The Lunar New Year celebration transformed this corner of the city into a living painting, vibrant and full of energy.

High above the festivities, perched on the edge of a renovated apartment building, sat a lone figure. She curled into herself, knees drawn tightly to her chest and arms wrapped around them, as if shielding herself from the vibrant energy below. Her uniform's bright cream colors clashed with the sadness etched across her face, a stark contrast to the celebration beneath her.

Her gaze swept over the celebration, her chest tightening with every laugh and cheer that rose from below. This was supposed to be a happy day, but for her, it was anything but.

The instrumental of "Resonance" by T.M.Revolution broke through the music of the festival, startling her. She frowned, glancing around until the sound jogged her memory. Fishing her phone out from the confines of her bra, she squinted at the screen.

Grandma.

She let out an annoyed sigh. Of course it was her. For a moment, she considered ignoring the call, but she knew her grandmother would just keep trying.

With a reluctant sigh, she answered.

_____

"What do you want, Grandma?" I tried to keep my irritation out of my voice, but it still slipped through, even with my naturally soft tone.

"Rika, where are you? You're not on the roof again, are you?" Her voice rasped through the phone, the same judgmental edge as always.

I rolled my eyes, pulling my knees closer to my chest. "And if I am?"

She sighed, long and exasperated, like I was some unruly child. "Come down and enjoy the festival; it only happens once a year."

"Is this another one of your 'family traditions'?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Her pause confirmed it. "Yes and no. The tradition dictates that children in our family meet their betrothed on Lunar New Year. Isn't that wonderful? I've found a suitable match for you. It wasn't easy given your… personality. He's a little older than you, but he's a nice young man; wealthy too~"

I stiffened. My grip on the phone tightened as I forced the words out. "How old is he?"

"Thirty-eight."

The world seemed to stop. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" My voice cracked as my anger boiled over. "I just turned eighteen today, and you expect me to marry someone more than twice my age?! Are you out of your mind?! How can you auction me off like I'm some kind of prize cow?!"

"Rika," she snapped, sharp and unyielding, "it's not about money. I only want what's best for you. It's tradition for the mother to choose her daughter's spouse. Since your mother is gone, that duty falls to me. You've been mooping long enough, and now you have to move on. And you have no say in the matter either way."

I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "No say? Do you want to know why my mom and aunts ran away and never looked back? It's because of your stupid, archaic traditions! You're so stuck in the past, you can't see the world has changed. If it weren't for the fire that took my family, you wouldn't even know I exist."

_____

One year ago.

The night had been chilly, but Rika barely noticed as she walked home, humming softly to herself. She'd spent the day with friends, celebrating her birthday early, and carried a small cake box in one hand, eager to share it with her parents.

Her steps faltered as fire trucks roared past her, their sirens splitting the air. She slowed, watching their flashing lights. "Did someone's cat get stuck in a tree?" she muttered with a chuckle, turning the corner to follow them.

When her house came into view, her chuckle died in her throat. Flames consumed the structure, roaring and crackling as they climbed higher into the night sky.

"No, no, no," she whispered, her voice trembling as she sprinted toward the scene. Her hands shook as she fumbled with her phone, dialing her parents' numbers. Neither picked up. The sight of their car still parked in the driveway made her chest tighten with dread.

Collapsing to her knees, she screamed, her cries swallowed by the roar of the inferno. Tears streaked down her face as she sat there, watching everything she'd ever known turn to ash. The fire was so strong and violent that all the fire fighters could do was contain it and wait for it to become weak enough to manually extinguish.

Days later, after the flames had long died down, the firefighters recovered a safe from the rubble. Rika had watched silently as it was pried open. Inside were legal documents—birth certificates, wills, her college fund—and two boxes addressed to her, each accompanied by a card that read, Happy Birthday.

The first box held a silver ring, simple but elegant, etched with delicate patterns along the band. The second contained a gothic black lace choker. Its centerpiece was a gold cross with two small chain loops, a tiny amethyst glittering in the center. They were the only things left of her parents.

_____

"How dare you speak to me like this!" Her grandmother's voice yanked her back to the present, cold and furious. "I am your family. You live under my roof, under my rules! If I tell you to jump, you ask how high. If I tell you to marry, you ask—"

"I ask nothing," I hissed. My voice dropped to an icy whisper. "Because you're not my family."

I ended the call before she could say another word. My hands trembled as I shoved the phone into my pocket and stood, blinking back tears.

Inside the apartment, I moved quickly. My duffel bag was already half-packed—it had been for months, just in case. Clothes, wallet, and hidden savings went in first, followed by the silver ring and lace choker. I slipped them into my bag gently, as though they might break. They were all I had left of my parents, the only pieces of my life that had survived the fire.

Before leaving, I grabbed my trench coat, shrugging it on as the night air seeped through the cracks in the walls. My gaze drifted toward the door to the candy store downstairs—a shop my grandmother had renovated and operated for years. I'd worked there part-time under the pretense of saving for a bag, a lie she'd believed since she barely knew me.

Pausing by the stockroom, I grabbed a handful of excess candy, tucking it into my bag. A peace offering, I thought bitterly. For a friend I should've apologized to long ago.

With one last look around the apartment, I slung the bag over my shoulder and stepped out into the night.

The streets were still crowded, but I stuck to the shadows, weaving through alleyways until I reached quieter streets. Thirty minutes later, I arrived at the train station, heart heavy but resolute.

Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I found my childhood friend's name, Frey. The phone barely rang once before her cheerful voice answered.

"Rika? Is that really you?"

A weak smile tugged at my lips as I tried to hide the emotion in my voice. "Yeah… It's me."

"You don't sound okay. What's going on?" Her voice softened, concern bleeding through.

"I… I need somewhere to stay. I was wondering if I could—"

"Stop right there, you're always welcome here," she said immediately, cutting me off. "My parents adore you—they'd have adopted you if you'd asked."

My breath hitched. "Thanks. I'll be there in an hour." I hesitated, guilt tugging at me. "Frey… I'm sorry for how I acted before. I shouldn't have said those things."

"Don't apologize," she said firmly, but her voice was warm. "We were both idiots. Just get here, okay? I'll make sure there's hot chocolate waiting for you."

"Okay," I murmured, the first glimmer of hope I'd felt all night warming my chest.