"What happened, man? Why are you angry?"
"What did I do?"
Kyle asked with a genuinely innocent expression, looking almost puppy-eyed.
[You’ve got to be kidding me, right?]
The system paused for a moment.
[...Actually, never mind. I just lost my composure for a minute there.]
A tired sigh echoed in Kyle’s mind. The system seemed to realize that yelling at its hopelessly inexperienced host wasn’t going to solve anything.
[Alright. Can you promise me one thing?]
"What?" Kyle asked, confused.
[Can you promise me that you will never watch those love gurus and pickup artists ever again?]
The system asked surprisingly politely.
"Sure, I promise. But why? Don’t they help men get better at picking up girls?"
Kyle sounded genuinely concerned. He had honestly believed that all the advice those people gave online was real and that, if he learned from them, he could eventually get a good girlfriend.
[Hah! Let me tell you something. Most of that shit is fake, staged, or heavily edited. If you pull those outlandish stunts in front of a random girl in real life, you’re more likely to get kicked out, blocked, or reported than get a date. Understand?]
Kyle nodded obediently.
[Good. Now that you understand that, never open that garbage again. All it does is rot your brain and fill your head with nonsense.]
The system sounded almost like an older brother trying to save a younger sibling from making a terrible mistake.
"Okay, I won’t watch them again. So... what’s next?" Kyle asked curiously.
[Now we get to the part I actually wanted to talk about: how you approach women in the first place. Listen carefully, because this is probably the most useful thing I can teach you right now.]
"Aight. I’m all ears. Spew the wisdom, Sensei."
[First rule: be respectful. Not ’I’ll worship the ground she walks on’ respectful—just don’t be a creep. Start with something that can naturally catch her attention. A normal conversation starter, a joke, a compliment that actually relates to her profile, or something you noticed about her.]
The system continued.
[You don’t have to worry about having perfect lines. What matters is that you don’t sound like a scammer, a desperate guy, or a serial killer.]
Kyle scratched his head.
"Sensei, what do you even mean by ’interesting’? If I’m sending a DM, how am I supposed to know whether it’s interesting or not?"
The question was completely genuine. He wasn’t trying to argue; he genuinely wanted to learn.
[Good question. And the annoying answer is: there isn’t a perfect answer. Women are people, not NPCs with a fixed dialogue tree. Different people respond to different things.]
Kyle nodded slowly.
[But there are things you can try. Open with a compliment, a light joke, or something specific you noticed in her profile. If she likes photography, ask about a photo she posted. If she mentions a favorite band, ask about a concert. You live in the age of the internet, bro. Most people tell you enough about themselves online to start a conversation naturally.]
"So I should actually read their profile?"
[Congratulations, you’ve discovered technology.]
Kyle looked mildly offended.
[Yes. Read the profile. Notice something specific. Give her a reason to reply that isn’t just ’you’re hot.’ That doesn’t guarantee success, but it gives you a much better chance than sending the same copy-paste message to fifteen hundred women.]
"Sensei... how do I know where I should be shooting my shot?" Kyle asked after a moment of thought.
[Perfect question. The answer is simple: they’re either within your range or below it. By ’range,’ I mean your level of attractiveness and status. You can’t keep trying to punch above your league forever. A beginner boxer shouldn’t expect to beat a world champion on day one, right?]
"Yes... I understand now!"
[Good. And remember this: even if she’s a hoe, don’t treat her like one if you’re trying to get between her legs. Respect first. Flirt later. Learn her personality before you start acting overly familiar. The beginning is about making her comfortable enough to keep talking to you.]
"Thanks, Sensei."
Kyle almost bowed toward the invisible system.
[Alright then, what are you waiting for? Apply what you’ve learned. Don’t be nervous and don’t be afraid of rejection.]
The system paused before adding in a much more casual tone.
[The worst realistic outcome is that you get ignored, blocked, or laughed at. None of those will kill you.]
"Uh... that’s still not very motivating."
[It’s motivating enough. Now stop overthinking and focus on the mission. If you’ve got more questions, ask me later.]
"Aight."
With that, the system fell silent.
Kyle picked up his phone and began putting the lesson into practice.
This time he actually read people’s profiles before messaging them. He started sending messages across every dating app he had installed, and after exhausting those, he moved on to social media platforms as well.
The first few attempts were painfully awkward. He typed a message, stared at it for thirty seconds, deleted it, typed another one, deleted that too, and repeated the process until he almost threw his phone across the room.
"How do normal people do this?" he muttered.
Instead of opening with something creepy, he tried keeping it simple. He commented on a girl’s travel photos, asked another about the guitar in one of her pictures, and joked with someone whose bio said she survived entirely on coffee and bad decisions. Most of them still didn’t reply, but for the first time he didn’t feel like every message was a disaster.
Occasionally he caught himself typing, ’Do you want to record porn?’ before immediately backspacing in horror.
"Holy shit, I almost did it again."
The system was right. Reading profiles actually gave him something to talk about. Some conversations lasted only a few messages before dying. Others never started at all. A couple of women even replied with short but polite answers, which felt like a major victory to him.
"Bro, she responded with more than one word," he whispered to himself as if he had just unlocked an achievement.
Hour after hour, he kept refining his messages, changing his wording, and experimenting with different openings. The process was exhausting, but strangely addictive. Every new notification made his heart skip for a second, even if it turned out to be another rejection.
For the rest of the day, he did little else besides send messages, tweak his approach, and keep trying—taking breaks only for the absolute necessities: showering, eating, using the bathroom, and washing his clothes. By the time evening arrived, his thumbs were sore, his eyes were tired from staring at screens all day, and he had messaged more women than he had spoken to in his entire life combined.
******
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