QT: I hijacked a harem system and now I'm ruining every plot(GL)
Chapter 194: Reported

Chapter 194: Reported

Chapter 194

[MISSION COMPLETE. WORLD STABILIZATION: 87%]

[FINAL HOST TERMINATION: CONFIRMED.]

[INITIATING SOUL RETRIEVAL PROTOCOL.]

A faint hum.

A shimmering portal bloomed — invisible to the human eyes below.

Below it: a burning ruin. What had once been a home, now nothing more than blackened beams and shattered stone, flames licking hungrily at the night sky. Fire crews swarmed around the inferno, unaware that the true heart of the place — the lives that had dwelled within — were already gone.

And from the heart of that fire, a wisp rose.

Unlike before the wisp, was not so transparent and weak, it was much more solid now.

Daphne Han.

Her soul rose from the wreckage — trailing smoke and embers — drifting upward into the waiting portal.

And behind her, as it had before... another.

A smaller wisp. Fainter than ever, but this time—

Closer.

So close it was no longer distinguishable as a separate entity. No red flag, no alert — to the system, it appeared simply as part of the host’s own fractured soul signature.

So it passed.

The portal sealed behind them.

***

Initialization Room.

White. Empty. Sterile. Timeless.

And in the center — a faint blue orb.

System 404 flickered once. Then again.

[2610 SP GAINED. DEBT CLEARED.]

[CURRENT BALANCE: 599 SP.]

[MORE SKILLS AVAILABLE IN SYSTEM SHOP.]

It pulsed in a satisfied rhythm. Another broken world survived. Another mission completed.

But as the host reformed — tall, suited, whole once more — something... was wrong.

Daphne Han stood perfectly still in the void.

Her dark eyes locked onto the floating blue orb.

Cold. Flat.

And then—

"Care to tell me," she asked softly, voice like ice, "what the responsibilities of a system are to its host?"

Silence.

A faint pulse. The system hesitated—calculating.

[To assist the host in achieving mission parameters and maximizing system performance.]

"Ah. Assist."

She cut across the system’s voice, sharp enough to draw blood if it could.

A beat of silence.

Her gaze sharpened — cold, deadly.

"At no point," Daphne said, each word deliberate, "does it say: interfere. Manipulate. Undermine. Or go against the host."

The system pulsed again — faintly, as if shrinking in place.

[Adjustments were required to preserve narrative stability—]

"Don’t insult my intelligence," she snapped. "That was sabotage."

Another cold pause.

"You wanted me dead. Again. And again." Daphne said, her voice still low—but burning now, beneath the ice.

Her gaze did not waver.

The system gave no response.

Daphne tilted her head—just slightly. And then:

"I am the host of System 404. I have a complaint to file."

A slow breath. Her words clear. Precise.

"Code: 00 BF3 404."

The orb froze mid-pulse.

For a beat, nothing happened.

Then—

The space itself cracked.

Thin black fractures splintered across the sterile white void—sharp lines of code tearing open where there should have been smooth perfection.

The air hummed.

[ERROR — INVALID— NO—]

The system pulsed in a panic.

But it was too late.

The protocol had been spoken. The code had been accepted.

Unbeknownst to most systems — especially low-tier, low-resource types — hosts were given one buried option. One failsafe.

A way to report system misconduct.

The cracks spread wider. The Initialization Room trembled faintly — barely perceptible to human senses, but to the system? It was screaming.

A higher process was being called.

And the system knew: it was in trouble.

[REQUEST... PENDING...]

[HIGHER REVIEW... SUMMONED...]

***

Daphne POV

Suddenly—

I’m seated.

A plain chair. Metal. Cold.

The void is gone.

Now—an office. Empty. No windows. The walls are a strange shade of hospital gray—bland, soulless. The lighting hums faintly, sterile.

And across from me—

A humanoid figure. Tall. Thin. Smooth-skinned—almost metallic. No face. No features. Just two glowing violet eyes. Its entire body hums with quiet power.

It tilts its head. Voice low, layered, a strange echo—like words spoken from deep underwater and across a radio.

[It’s not often that I get a job.]

I lean back in the chair. Cross one leg over the other.

A small pause.

[Complaint Code 00 BF3 404. One unprocessed host grievance escalated.]

I fold my arms, gaze locked on the strange, purple humanoid figure that appears before me — tall, thin, with no face, no mouth. Just two glowing eyes, sharp and unreadable.

A chair forms beneath me without warning — sleek metal, cool under my palms as I tap the armrests. The white void around me flickers, reshaping into something like an office — all dull grey and clean lines. Sterile. Functional.

The figure lifts one long hand — and a shimmering screen floats into the air between us. Lines of code scroll across it, layered and dense.

[Hmmm.] The voice is strange — an echo of an echo. Mechanical. Impossible to pin down.

[Not often I get these cases. Your file is... extensive.]

My jaw tightens.

The figure continues:

[Let’s see. You—Daphne Han, bound host of System 404. System 404: originally tagged Harem-Building Subclass, Level F. Contracted forcefully, incomplete compatibility. Numerous incidents of narrative deviation. Attempted host termination. Repeated sabotage of mission objectives.]

A pause. It flicks its fingers, and more data streams across the screen.

[Host counter-actions: extreme adaptability. High interference tolerance. Unusual karmic thread weight. Multiple world stabilizations achieved despite systemic obstruction.]

It tilts its head.

[Tricky.]

I glare.

"Tricky?" My voice is razor-sharp. "The damn thing tried to kill me. Over and over."

Another flick of its fingers. More screens.

[...Correct. Both parties have standing claims. System 404’s sabotage violates multiple clauses, but... it was also bound by base code it could not escape. You’re not a compatible host for its function.]

Its glowing eyes narrow.

[There are two solutions. Either... System 404 is deleted. Or... the host is erased.]

My heart skips.

But I don’t flinch.

"I can’t work with a system that wants me dead," I say coldly. Bluffing, maybe. But not really. If I die, I’ll never see her again. But I refuse to live like this.

The figure seems to consider.

[Hm. You would make a remarkable Fate-Destroyer candidate.]

[Unfortunately... once a contract is formed, breaking it is nearly impossible. The bond between your soul and System 404 is too deeply embedded.]

I grit my teeth. "So we’re trapped."

Silence.

"Then can you atleast make sure, it doesn’t try to kill me?" I say with an exhale.

It tilts its head again, faint light pulsing under the strange metal-like skin.

[That... is doable.]

One long hand flicks through the hovering data, scrolling dense lines of restrictions and failsafes.

[System 404 will be bound by Protocol 7A Override: absolute host support priority. No sabotage. No indirect interference. No narrative manipulation to provoke host death.]

A pause.

The glow of its eyes dims slightly, thoughtful.

Then it speaks again—voice almost... pleased.

[But... I have a better option. One that may satisfy both parties.]

I narrow my eyes. "Better?"

The figure nods slowly.

[Yes. I like you, Daphne Han. You are... efficient. Unexpected. The type of host wasted in an incompatible system.]

"...If there’s an alternative solution, I wouldn’t mind hearing it."

[Splendid!] The figure’s strange voice almost hums with satisfaction.

[Great! You go over there, and by the time you’re back it’ll be done.]

"Wait—what?"

FLASH.

White light consumes everything.