How to Get Girls, Get Rich, and Rule the World (Even If You're Ugly)

The keys jingled in the coat pocket as I moved forward, shoulders tense, eyes sweeping every inch of the shadowed path. The internal structure of that damned place felt more like the intestines of stone and metal than any rational construction.

Corridors bent at unnatural angles. Doors opened into rooms either too small, too large, or just wrong—filled with the stench of old despair and blood-faded runes.

I passed a side wing where three glass tanks bubbled with an amber liquid. Inside, organic masses floated: bundles of preserved nerves, perhaps, or full brains, each connected to runic crystals embedded at the base of the tanks.

One of the glasses was cracked. A red rune glowed faintly, like it was begging for silence. Or mercy.

[Insight Gained: Illegal Memory Preservation Unit]

→ Status: Active

→ Ethics: Non-compliant

→ Alert Level: System Recommends Documentation – Equipment Missing

Perfect. As if I had a damn camera in my pocket.

I sighed, clenching my fists. The proof was right there. Everything I needed to expose what was happening in Antoril. But without a record, without images, without witnesses—I was just another lunatic with good intentions and blood on my sleeves.

I kept moving.