I Fell into a Korean Drama Chapter 8

You’d think the System would’ve been done with me after the Starter Pack.

You’d be wrong.

[Time to choose your next adventure since you’ve received our gifts.]

I snorted. “Gift, my ass. If you force me to take it, it’s not exactly a gift, is it?”

[Pay Attention, User. Available Narrative Routes – Please consider and pick one of the following.]

[Chinese Arc – Title: My Unlucky Wife and the CEO Heir]

[Japanese Arc – Title: Blade of the Iron Fortress]

[Korean Arc – Title: Chaebols and the Shadow]

Network Note: Available Routes are assigned at System discretion. Unlock order may vary. Explanation for each path available for System Points.

System points? I glared at the screen. “You didn’t say anything about System points.”

My pulse spiked as I studied the list of titles. Three paths. Three different stories. Each with names that meant nothing to me but carried heavy implications.

It was the same with Whispers in the Shadows.

“Is it too much to ask for me to be Luke Skywalker or something?”

[Don’t be silly. You wouldn’t want to be sued. We take copyright infringement very seriously here.]

“You basically kidnap me, and you’re worried about copyright infringement? Have you heard of priorities, or are you deliberately this obtuse?”

[Obtuse? Who are you trying to impress? Focus on the story paths.]

Wow. The System sounded just like my sister.

I went back to the stories.

The Chinese Arc: a classic CEO-husband soap opera, complete with the wife who regrets everything and the inevitable hidden-heir twist.

The Japanese Arc: anime-esque, giant robots, endless war—basically Gundam with extra melodrama.

The Korean Arc: powerful corporate families, forbidden love, and the assassin-girlfriend trope—oh, and she’s supposed to kill you.

I read the descriptions twice. Then once more, just to be sure. Finally, I muttered, “Who the hell wrote these?”

Didn’t matter that I couldn’t place them. What mattered was the scope. There was more. So much more. And this was only the beginning.

I sat back, heart pounding, trying to process.

I closed my eyes. “This can’t be real. It can’t. System—seriously, can’t I just opt out? I’m sure there’s some otaku out there who would kill for this.”

But the panel didn’t fade. The options didn’t vanish. And deep down, I knew the truth: I couldn’t ignore it. Not forever.

Didn’t mean I couldn’t try.

For the next fifteen minutes I threw every trick I had at the damn thing. Blinked hard. Tried mental commands: exit, close, log off, alt+F4. Nothing.

So I escalated.

I swatted at it with both hands, pinching the air like a deranged mime. Tried waving it away. Even slammed my laptop shut like that would magically cancel the UI. Max barked once from the rug, probably wondering what kind of lunatic his owner had turned into.

Anyone watching would’ve thought I’d gone full tinfoil-hat crazy.

“System!” I snapped. “I don’t want any part of your delusion. Get that shit out of my face!”

The interface flickered. Then a second bar appeared beneath the first, glowing red.

[Notice: Host is required to participate. If host refuses to engage, host will die.]

I froze. Should’ve felt worried. Terrified, even. But honestly? I was just… annoyed.

“Really? That’s your play? Kill me if I don’t join your book club? Real original.”

The text pulsed, and a wave of cold rolled off it, static crawling down my arms.

Okay. That was new. And creepy.

[The host cannot be reassigned and would therefore frustrate the System’s purpose. As such, the host is required to play… or the host will die.]

“Well, shit,” I muttered.

Max whined from the rug, ears tilted back, like buddy, maybe don’t sass the death-screen.

I rubbed my face, sinking back into the couch. “Fine. You win. Happy?”

The interface didn’t respond.

I sighed. “Alright then. Any recommendations, oh mighty tutorial? Which scenario am I supposed to pick?”

For a moment, nothing. Then the text started blinking like a phone bubble.

[…]

[Recommendation: For a beginner learning the System and the Adaptive Protocol, Korean Route is advised.]

I barked a humorless laugh. “And why’s that? Because you think I’ll suck less there?”

[It is the easiest.]

“Yeah, and I’m supposed to trust you? Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, I’m probably dead in a K-drama alleyway.”

I crossed my arms. “Fine. Use the Adaptive Protocol. Tell me about each route. Isn’t that what I picked it for?”

The glow pulsed. For once, the System actually seemed… irritated. Don’t ask me how angry text looks, but it did.

[Chinese Arc – Title: My Unlucky Wife and the CEO Heir]

Identity: Ling Wang. Husband. Office worker. Incredibly handsome. Secret heir to vast fortune.

Scenario: Your ex-wife’s family has ignored you for five years, dismissing you as a placeholder for her first love. Said first love has returned. Divorce looms.

Trope: Secret Chinese Wife / Hidden Heir.
Rules of Engagement: Navigate family politics. Handle betrayal, face, and wealth inheritance with calculation. No Completion Rate required for first circumstance.

Overall Danger Level: 1.

I blinked. “Rules of Engagement? What, are you dropping me into a war zone? And what’s a completion rate? Wait—danger level? Did you just give a soap opera a danger rating?”

The System remained curiously silent.

“Oh, come on. You’re telling me surviving a stupid wife storyline has the same stakes as getting shot at in a parking garage? What’s that mean—death by paper cuts? Burnt dumplings?”

Still nothing.

I jabbed a finger at the floating menu. “Fine. Screw it. I’ll take the Chinese one. One-star special, right? Sounds safe enough. Sign me up.”

[Notice: Korean Arc remains recommended.]

“Yeah, yeah. And I’m recommending you shove it.”

The glow pulsed once, then the panel shifted.

[Selection Confirmed: My Unlucky Wife and the CEO Heir.]

I leaned back, half-expecting the apartment to melt away into glossy drama skylines. But nothing happened. The window just hung there, humming faintly.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. “God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Max hopped up beside me, pressing against my side like he was bracing me.

“Listen, buddy,” I muttered, scratching behind his ears. “If I disappear into some soap opera where I’m suddenly a billionaire heartthrob, don’t let anyone throw out my stuff, okay?”

He licked my hand once. Agreement.

The screen pulsed brighter.

“Yeah,” I muttered, heart sinking. “Here we go again.”

And then, the world went black. Again.