I Can’t Keep Being a Scumbag Anymore—What Should I Do? [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 5

Ran Muqiu: “…”

Ran Muqiu stood frozen on the spot, as if struck by lightning.

He was naturally thin-skinned; “sponsoring the Protagonist” was merely a last resort he had chosen to complete his mission. Even with the sponsorship in place, he had never actually forced himself on Li Zhuo. Only once, half a month ago—panicked by the stagnant Heartbreak Value and suffering a momentary lapse in judgment—had he forced Li Zhuo to kiss him.

What was the situation now?

If the mountain will not come to me, I must go to the mountain?

Was the “Script Power” forcing Li Zhuo to act this way because the original plot was a smutty novel? Or was it that he truly looked that desperate for sex in the Protagonist’s eyes?

Either possibility was terrifying!

Most importantly, Muqiu—having studied countless strategy guides—knew that only “forced” scenarios had any value for grinding Heartbreak points. With Li Zhuo standing there, freshly scrubbed and ready for bed, where was the sense of humiliation?

If they actually did it, he wouldn’t be adding Heartbreak Value; he’d be adding “Pleasure Value”.

What the hell is going on?

Muqiu’s mind was a chaotic mess. He called out to the system, but 233 was likely busy coordinating with Headquarters and didn’t respond.

As Li Zhuo drew closer, Muqiu stared with wide, panicked eyes. He didn’t dare break character, yet he was truly afraid of Li Zhuo pouncing on him. In a flurry of motion, he kicked off his slippers and extended a leg, pressing his foot against Li Zhuo’s abdomen to keep him back.

Li Zhuo: “…”

Li Zhuo’s pace halted. He looked down at the foot pressed against his waist.

The boy had slender ankles and small feet; his toes were round and white, as if dusted with powder. Right now, those toes were curled slightly, and the calf above them was tensed—a clear sign that the owner was pushing hard and extremely nervous.

Seeing that Li Zhuo had finally stopped moving, Muqiu dared to speak. When he opened his mouth, he nearly bit his tongue. “I-I-I didn’t sponsor you f-f-for this!”

Li Zhuo lowered his gaze, studying the boy’s ankle. He suddenly felt that the white slippers he’d bought were still one size too large.

“You don’t want it?” Li Zhuo looked up at him. “Then why sponsor me?”

Ran Muqiu: “?”

Why does it feel like he’s actually disappointed that I’m not going to defile him?

Facing Li Zhuo’s questioning gaze, Muqiu blustered, “It’s n-n-not for this for the time being. Is that not allowed?”

His dark eyes darted around, and the tip of his small nose was nearly beaded with sweat. “Besides, you, you’re not an adult yet! Even if I did that to you, it would be illegal, right?”

Li Zhuo, who was indeed one month away from turning eighteen: “…”

Ran Muqiu, who was also technically under eighteen in this world: “…”

The two stood in a silent, wide-eyed standoff.

Li Zhuo’s thin lips were pressed into a tight line, and the atmosphere felt agonizingly tense. Muqiu didn’t dare breathe or make eye contact. He stealthily withdrew his foot, and then his gaze inadvertently drifted downward.

A single glance was enough to make him feel scorched.

Li Zhuo usually looked lean in his clothes, but without them, he didn’t appear fragile at all. He was tall with broad shoulders; his arms and torso were perfectly toned with the lithe muscle of a youth. His mermaid lines were especially striking, slanting down until they vanished into the towel.

It was a beautiful body.

If this were the original brain-dead scumbag cannon fodder, he wouldn’t care about legal ages; he’d have pounced on the Protagonist by now. But this was Ran Muqiu.

Muqiu silently compared his own arms to the Protagonist’s and suddenly felt that the Bureau’s refusal to give him important roles was completely justified. Even the shou (submissive) in a smutty novel was this “fit”!

He really was only fit to be a minor cannon fodder.

Muqiu stared at Li Zhuo’s abs for a moment before quickly turning his head to stare at the wall to prevent his face from catching fire.

Li Zhuo frowned and thought for a moment. Seemingly convinced, he nodded and took a step back. “Fine.”

Ran Muqiu let out a long sigh of relief.

Then he heard Li Zhuo add, “Then we’ll wait until I’m an adult.”

Muqiu looked up in horror. “?”

“No,” he said dryly. “Sponsorship doesn’t have to involve that. I, I actually sponsored you to—”

Li Zhuo looked at him, brow slightly furrowed. “To do what?”

Ran Muqiu blurted out, “I haven’t done today’s homework yet.”

Li Zhuo: “And?”

Ran Muqiu: “And so, you go do it for me!”

Muqiu realized that Li Zhuo seemed to find the sponsorship money “too hot to handle”—as if he couldn’t be at peace unless he did something to earn it, even going so far as to offer his body. Fine then! The chemistry teacher had assigned three worksheets today. Go do your homework!

With that, Muqiu scrambled off the sofa. Li Zhuo stared at him for a long while, let out a long breath, and finally sat down at the table without another word.

The low-rent building was an old neighborhood; by eight or nine, most lights were out. The night was as dark as ink.

Muqiu pressed his ear to the door, confirming the faint sound of a ballpoint pen scratching against paper. Only then did he feel safe enough to sit on the bed.

This rental was a one-bedroom. The bedroom was tiny and had no space for a desk, so Li Zhuo usually did his work at the dining table. After the earlier incident, Muqiu felt awkward just looking at Li Zhuo’s face. He didn’t want to be in the same room, so he hid in the bedroom with his phone.

It’s possessed. Why did I feel such a sense of pressure when he was standing in front of me?

Is it the height difference?

Actually, Muqiu wasn’t short. He was a boy from the Jiangnan region, and back home, he’d even be considered tall. But since joining the Quick Transmigration world, the protagonists were all 185cm and up. It was getting ridiculous—in the apocalypse worlds, everyone was practically two meters tall.

Ran Muqiu decided that when the system returned, he would ask if the Point Shop sold one-time-use “Height Potions.” Then again, if his mission was going to be downgraded anyway, why waste the points?

He looked around the bedroom. It was barely seven or eight square meters, containing only a 1.5-meter bed, a wardrobe, and a nightstand. It was very modest. Fortunately, Li Zhuo really did have a cleanliness trait not mentioned in the script; the bed was tidy and smelled faintly of soap.

Muqiu sat down without any hesitation and leaned against the headboard to play on his phone. Moonbeams spilled through the window. It was quiet and perfect for sleeping. After the high tension of the evening, Muqiu soon drifted off.

He had a dream.

In the dream, he successfully cleared the world and got a massive payout. He went to a luxury resort and soaked in a hot spring. The water was warm and comfortable—especially around his calves and feet, which felt like they were being gently kneaded and nibbled.

It was a wet, gentle sensation, yet possessed a stubborn strength that kept him from pulling away. It wrapped around his ankles with a ticklish, soul-stirring itch.

Muqiu felt comfortable at first, then strangely uneasy. He tried to pull his legs back, but for some reason, the water’s resistance was too great. He tried several times but couldn’t lift them.

Panicking, his face flushed. Just as he was about to call for help, he caught the attention of someone in the same pool. The person was hidden behind the swirling steam. Muqiu only heard a soft chuckle and a low voice: “Don’t be afraid.

It’s just the fish at the bottom.”

Muqiu gave a dazed “Oh.” He vaguely felt the sensation didn’t quite feel like fish, but he obediently stopped moving, letting the “fish” drag him deeper into the water like a siren.

After an unknown amount of time, Muqiu was woken by 233.

[Host.]

Muqiu’s lashes fluttered muzzily.

[Host, it’s time to wake up.]

233’s tone was a bit odd. Muqiu rubbed his eyes, finally waking from the strange dream. The room was pitch black. He had a slight case of night blindness; while not severe, total darkness still frightened him. He scrambled up and fumbled for the light. [What time is it?]

[12:30 AM,] 233 replied.

Muqiu was still dazed from the “fish” in his dream. [Where am I?]

[In the Protagonist’s rental,] 233 said. [Host, are you staying the night?]

Ran Muqiu: “?”

[Of course not,] Muqiu’s face felt inexplicably hot. [I just accidentally overslept.]

233 fell silent. Muqiu felt the system was acting weird but didn’t have time to dwell on it. He found the light, pushed the door open, and went out. He felt bad for occupying Li Zhuo’s bed for half the night.

The living room was dark, except for a single light on the small balcony. Muqiu saw Li Zhuo standing there, back slightly arched, scrubbing clothes in the sink. The apartment had no washing machine; everything had to be done by hand.

Muqiu walked over. “Is the homework done?”

Li Zhuo nodded and pointed to the backpack. “Just finished. I mimicked your handwriting.”

Muqiu pulled out the worksheets. Indeed, it looked just like his.

He’s just a smutty novel protagonist. Why is he so versatile?

If he had known, he would have let Li Zhuo do all his homework from the start. As he flipped through the papers, his mood was complex. If Li Zhuo were “downgraded,” would he still be able to mimic handwriting?

Muqiu didn’t care much about grades, but he didn’t have the “thick skin” of the original bully. Whenever the Dean looked at him with that “worried yet silent” sigh, Muqiu got goosebumps.

Li Zhuo dried his hands and walked out. “It’s very late.”

“Huh?” Muqiu looked up, still looking a bit dazed.

Li Zhuo continued, “Sleeping here tonight?”

Muqiu: “…”

Muqiu nearly choked. He was suddenly wide awake. He shoved the worksheets into his bag and bolted for the foyer. “N-No need! I, I only sleep well in my own bed. I can’t sleep at other people’s places!”

Li Zhuo didn’t push. He saw him to the door. Once Muqiu was safely outside the iron gate, Li Zhuo asked tonelessly, as if just remembering: “By the way, before you came in, you said you had something to tell me. What was it?”

Muqiu, who was putting on his shoes, remembered his original purpose. He had come to end the “sponsorship” and draw a line between them. But Li Zhuo’s unconventional behavior had made him forget everything.

But it was so late now. Muqiu was terrified that if he stayed, Li Zhuo would mention “staying the night” or “cleaning up” again. He made a random excuse: “I’ll tell you later. I’m too tired today.”

Li Zhuo didn’t ask anything else.

Ran Muqiu didn’t give him another glance, heading down the stairs with a series of quick “thud-thud-thud” footsteps. Li Zhuo stood at the door, watching him leave. Only when the sound of the footsteps vanished completely did he withdraw his gaze.

He bent down and picked up the white bunny slippers Muqiu had just taken off. He brought them to his face, closed his eyes, and took a slow, lingering breath, as if savoring a memory.

After a moment, he opened his eyes and let out a soft, light laugh.

“Sensitive to beds?”

He thought of the person who had been sleeping so soundly in his bed just moments ago, then neatly placed the slippers on the very top shelf of the shoe cabinet. The smile on his lips didn’t fade for a long time.

Having failed to end his “sponsorship” of Li Zhuo, Ran Muqiu spent the walk home asking 233 about the progress of the difficulty downgrade.

233 informed him that the instructions from the Bureau had arrived. They had indeed relaxed the requirements for clearing the world, but the method was a bit different from the usual “Dimensional Reduction”—it was a unique, special case for the Bureau. They had even issued a formal document to explain the details.

However, Muqiu was truly exhausted. For some reason, his legs felt strangely sore, and he didn’t have the energy to read through it. He just wanted to sleep. He had 233 download the file, planning to study it the next day during class.

The next morning, as soon as Ran Muqiu stepped into the classroom, he sensed a strange atmosphere. Normally, the room was so loud it could blow the roof off, but the moment he entered, everything went deathly silent.

Muqiu was confused. He scanned the room and quickly found the problem.

There was a new person in the class.

It was a boy sitting in Ran Muqiu’s usual seat. He was leaning back with his long legs stretched out, head tilted as he chatted with Muqiu’s desk-mate. His face was turned away, but he was clearly a stranger.

Ran Muqiu stared at him for a few seconds, his mind racing before settling on a guess. Steeling his nerves, he walked toward his desk while asking the system in his head: [233, is this guy the Protagonist Gong?]

According to the original script, only one person would transfer into the class at this time: the “Main Gong.” He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

233 answered immediately: [Yes.]

Muqiu was puzzled. [But shouldn’t he transfer in next semester?]

In the original plot, once the Main Gong appeared, the School Bully’s role was reduced to a few “crematorium” face-off scenes before being discarded entirely. If the Main Gong was here now, and Muqiu still had zero Heartbreak points, wouldn’t his mission become even harder?

Sensing the shift in the room, the boy stopped talking. He moved his hand from his chin and cast a sidelong glance toward the door.

When his eyes landed on Ran Muqiu, his gaze froze.

233 chose its words carefully: [Host, I suggest you read that file from last night. The Main Gong’s transfer has indeed been moved up, but that’s because—]

Ran Muqiu locked eyes with the boy. His pace faltered.

He saw a familiar face.

Although the hair had changed from a flashy pale gold to a low-key black, the mole under his right eye was exactly where it had been that night at the BBQ stall.

The boy had a naturally defiant, handsome face. Even without an expression, there was an inherent sense of mockery in the way he looked at people.

Ran Muqiu was stunned. This guy is the Main Gong?

The boy clearly recognized him too. A brief look of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a slow, arrogant appraisal, his thin lips curling into a smirk.

Muqiu felt a prickle of unease under that blatant gaze, which quickly turned into a small flare of annoyance as he remembered the guy’s “boy or girl” comment from the BBQ stall.

Being looked at like a “pretty little thing” wasn’t entirely foreign to Ran Muqiu. Because of his looks and aura, he often played “Side Character A” roles—bakery clerks, the sidekick to a cannon-fodder character, or just a face in the crowd.

In those roles, he was often looked at this way.

Fortunately, those roles usually had very little screen time. While he had been teased verbally more than once, 233 was diligent, and the “Minor Characters Department” of the Bureau protected its employees well. He had never suffered any actual harassment outside of his missions.

Ran Muqiu bit his lip, suppressing his irritation as he marched up to the desk. He might be “Minor Character A” in other worlds, but here, he was supposed to be a School Bully. He couldn’t keep losing face like this—not even if this guy was the Protagonist Gong who was destined to crush him.

He stopped in front of the boy, took a deep breath, and lifted his chin. “This is my seat,” he said, trying to look down on him.

The boy didn’t budge. He just leaned back against the desk behind him, legs sprawled. “And?”

Ran Muqiu: “And so, you need to get up and find another seat.”

The boy laughed. “Sorry. First of all, there are no other seats in this room.”

He pointed to the blackboard, then to his own eyes, a sharp eyebrow arching. “And I’m a bit nearsighted. I told the teacher I needed to sit here.”

Ran Muqiu’s seat was indeed the “C-position” of the classroom—middle-front, perfect distance from the board. But for a transfer student to demand it so boldly on his first day was incredibly arrogant.

The rest of the class watched the confrontation in silence, not daring to breathe.

Ran Muqiu took several deep breaths. “If you sit here, where am I supposed to sit?”

Muqiu had soft, rounded cheeks and large, amber-brown eyes. When he tried to glare, it was less “intimidating bully” and more “angry kitten.”

The boy stared at him, an amused glint in his eyes. “You want me to find a place for you?”

“Let me think.” His index finger tapped slowly on the desk. His gaze swept over the boy’s slender waist and calves, appearing to ponder the situation. “There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else. How about you sit on my lap?”