The Most Random System

Wednesday.

Another gym class.

"Fourteen, fifteen! Girls, get ready. You’re up on the track next."

"Ha—ha—"

"Finally liberated—"

Crossing the finish line, Bai Bufan remembers his number from You Jun’s mouth, and collapses onto the grass on the field, lying down and gasping for breath.

"Want a Coke?" Nearby, Lin Li, who actually ran the same thousand meters with Bai Bufan but looks like he’s unaffected, smiles and hands over a Coke bottle.

"Yes!" Bai Bufan takes it without thinking, twists the cap off, and tilts it over his mouth.

"Yue—"

By the time he realizes the black liquid inside is thick and flat without bubbles, it’s too late.

Bai Bufan spits with a grimace, questioning, panting, "What the hell is this?"

He sniffs it, shakes the bottle, and, with the lingering taste in his mouth, Bai Bufan widens his eyes in disbelief:

"This wouldn’t be soy sauce, would it?"

"Wrong but not completely wrong. The correct answer is dark soy sauce used for coloring. Compared to soy sauce, it’s lighter in taste but has a stronger color."

Lin Li wags his finger at Bai Bufan, revealing the truth.

Alongside, Wang Ze and the others all start showing smiles.

Bai Bufan: "..."

Truth be told, Bai Bufan couldn’t help but want to laugh.

Because he can see that Wang Ze and his buddies nearly all have traces of black soy sauce on their teeth or tongues.

Hmm, as expected from dark soy sauce; its coloring ability is impressive.

Damn.

Turns out he’s not the only victim.

Though he feels a bit better inside, Bai Bufan still maintains a straight face, closes his mouth, and begins to use his tongue to clean his teeth.

Lin Li, the instigator.

Who on earth would specifically bring a bottle of dark soy sauce disguised in a Coke bottle to school just to prank people?

Lin Li then hands over a bottle of mineral water.

Bai Bufan gives it a sniff, ensuring it’s not vinegar and doesn’t have any strange smells, then cautiously takes a sip.

Tears up, it’s just plain water.

Finally drinking with ease.

The cool water at winter room temperature settles in the stomach, suppressing the metallic taste in his throat, making Bai Bufan feel alive again.

Coupled with the Damocles sword hanging over his head—the thousand meters finally ended, though his body still protests the fatigue, his soul feels unusually light.

Before the thousand-meter run started, especially while standing at the starting line, Bai Bufan felt a pressing need to relieve himself, but now that sensation is gone, and amusingly, he feels good enough to eat a few bites of crap.

With that thought, Bai Bufan props himself up on his back, looks at Lin Li, and clicks his tongue:

"Lin Li, I finally get why a running drill is called a running drill, and why a track is called a track."

With such an opening, Lin Li bets fifty cents—Bai Bufan is going to talk about crap.

Thus, Lin Li looks at Bai Bufan with anticipation.

Though the first bite is traditionally for the fans, the second bite, I must try myself!

Bai Bufan doesn’t disappoint Lin Li, closing his eyes, letting his breath stabilize a bit, and begins to reveal his discovery that transcends predecessors, his era, and even humanity—

"I realized the so-called thousand meters is actually a forced exercise, no love at all, just sheer fitness."

"When I was first forced to engage in activity with it, my mouth was full of curses, but as time passed, my body gradually responded, feeling hot and feverish.

I began to realize I couldn’t escape, nor did I have the energy to curse anymore. So I started begging for mercy, telling it ’I can’t go on,’ ’I’m really done,’ ’I’ll die if it keeps going,’ but it remained indifferent, continuing the exercise with me.

Even though I was dizzy and breathless, it wouldn’t stop even if I cried, because it only cared about itself.

At this moment, I hoped someone would come to save me, but perhaps today’s world has been too polluted by issues like ’whether to help or not,’ though people were around, they just watched.

Not only watched, but there was a vulgar, lecherous Old You intentionally insulting me with obscene words—stuff like ’tighten your belly, lift your head, swing your arms forcefully,’ ’speed up,’ ’who told you to rest’...

Hence, I became desperate.

So I stopped cursing and stopped begging for mercy; the sounds from my mouth were gradually replaced by intense uncontrollable panting and moaning. My only hope at this point was for it to end soon, leading me to the point of willingly accommodating the track, forcing myself to step forward, obeying its desire, trying hard to move...

Occasionally angry in my heart, thinking, why is it so vast? Why hasn’t it ended yet? Hasn’t a week’s play been enough for it, does it want to keep teasing me for another half week?

Finally, after nearly three weeks of continuous activity, I was redeemed.

Having escaped a living hell, my whole body is sore and limp, unable to move; my throat feels swollen from its ordeal, possibly even bleeding, just miserable...

Look, there’s even a hint of red on my shoes, with red particles stuck in the friction grooves—aren’t those just the marks left by the track that it just left for me?

All this is proof of its fitness improvement on me!!

Damn, why’d I make those sounds!!!

Geez~ Am I actually a lewd little boy~ Damn, this is so embarrassing..."