January 17, 2037 | 10:10 AM | England
In a quiet village...
“Why do we even have to do this?” Lauren, a thirty-year-old blonde with long hair, sighed heavily as she sat on guard duty in front of a building.
“Stop complaining and just do it. It’s better than being unemployed,” Christie, her short-haired friend, replied with exhaustion. Lauren had been repeating the same sentence for the past hour.
“But it’s so boring! And the pay is a pittance,” Lauren grumbled.
“Then quit. There are tens of thousands of people on the waiting list who would kill to sit in that chair,” Christie snapped, her patience wearing thin.
Lauren pouted, seeing her friend wouldn't play along. She quickly changed the subject. “Hey, are there any women in GREM who actually make decent money these days?”
“A few, I guess. I heard Stacy is doing okay.”
“That plain Jane?” Lauren’s voice rose in disbelief. “No way.”
Vroom! A flame-red convertible roared past them, and a mocking voice drifted through the wind.
“Hey, losers!” Stacy, now with flowing, glamorous blonde hair, waved at her former classmates with an infuriatingly cheerful grin.
Lauren’s eyebrow twitched. Stacy, the wallflower from their school days and a mere office clerk at her old job, was now radiating an aura of absolute 'Elite' status. “What kind of work is she even doing?”
“They call it ‘GREM Literature.’”
“What’s that?”
“It’s stories where you can step into the role of the protagonist. You get to taste their feelings, emotions, and experiences directly,” Christie explained.
“Should we try it?” Lauren asked, suddenly serious, only to have her dreams crushed instantly.
“Can you actually write?”
“No...” Lauren’s face fell. “Is there really nothing else?”
“There is, but the men have already monopolized almost every sector of that market. It’s a losing battle.”
During the first three years when the system wasn't open to women, men had occupied almost every profitable profession inside. The only spaces left were for those with exceptionally high unique skills—like writing stories that could evoke deep artistic emotions.
“Lauren, look at this,” Christie handed over her phone. On the screen was a video of Asian girls dancing in a public pedestrian area.
“What are they doing?”
“Who knows.”
***
February 14, 2037 | 5:30 PM | Tokyo, Japan
The heart of the city, once bustling with crowds, was now nearly deserted.
“Everyone! Let’s come out and have fun in the real world! Come join us!” Natsumi, a girl group idol standing at the front, shouted into the void. Behind her, a group of cute girls in bright blue outfits began to dance to the rhythm of the music.
Passersby stopped for a brief second before moving on with total indifference. Some intentionally avoided them. Only a handful actually watched, but the girls didn't give up. They danced relentlessly, trying to bring color to a world that had turned its back on them.
This had been happening for several days in various locations worldwide, especially in Asia. Young men and women who could no longer sell their beauty in the virtual world were forced back outside, performing in public and filming clips for their own independent websites.
***
10:30 PM | At a dormitory
“Nagi, look at this. These idols are performing all over the place. Want to go check them out?” Kirin, a lanky college student, invited his friend who was lying on the bottom bunk.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“I’ll pass. Too lazy,” Nagi, a tall, somber young man, replied flatly.
“What about Nami? You used to follow her around all the time. Aren't you interested anymore? I saw her put a box of chocolates in your locker at noon.” Kirin looked around the room but didn't see a single box.
“Did you forget? That girl once called the police on me for being a ‘stalker,’” Nagi said irritably, looking around for his GREM device.
Back in high school, Nagi had followed Nami constantly because he was deeply in love. But because his face was scarred with acne, Nami had labeled him a creep and called the cops. Yet, when a handsome guy followed her, she just acted shy and dated him shortly after.
Years later in university, Nagi, scarred by rejection and family criticism, had shut himself away. He focused solely on his studies to build a future. Now, he was a top student with multiple job offers waiting for him. And as the world shifted—thanks to GREM—the beautiful and the handsome were suddenly unemployed.
Suddenly, Nami had turned her attention to him, pestering him relentlessly. But he no longer cared.
“If you don't want those chocolates, can I have them?” Kirin asked bluntly.
“Take ‘em.”
***
February 25, 2037 | 3:30 PM | In front of the lecture hall
Nagi stood there, sighing in annoyance. Once again, girls were dancing in front of the building. Lately, whenever girls came out in short, cute skirts, groups of delinquent men would harass them—leering, making crude comments, or even touching them.
Yet, no matter how much they were harassed, none of the girls dared to report it. They swallowed their pride and kept performing, clinging to the fading hope of stealing users back from the GREM AIs.
“Nagi-kun,” a sweet, familiar voice called out from behind.
Nagi turned to find Nami standing there.
“Nami-san,” Nagi greeted her, surprised. He stared at the beautiful long-haired girl he once adored.
“Were the chocolates good?” she asked shyly.
“Yeah, they were great,” Nagi lied with a dry laugh. He hadn't touched them; Kirin had eaten every single one.
“Really?” Nami beamed. “So, where are you headed?”
“Back to my room,” Nagi replied curtly.
“Um... want to go grab dinner? My treat,” Nami invited eagerly.
“No—” Nagi started to refuse, but then he went silent. He looked at Nami’s figure—she had certainly 'grown' since high school.
‘She sees I’m doing well and now she’s clinging to me. Has she forgotten what she did back then?’ Nagi thought. ‘Fine. Since she’s this beautiful... I’ll take what I’m owed as revenge.’
He forced his usual innocent smile. “I’ve got some grilled meat at my place. Want to join me?”
Nami hesitated for a second before nodding. “Okay.”
Nagi smirked and pulled out his phone to text his roommate: Sleep somewhere else tonight.
40 minutes later | Inside the room
After dinner, Nagi sat on the bed with Nami. He draped his arm over her shoulder, his hand intentionally brushing against her softness.
Flinch! Nami jerked slightly and pushed his hand away.
“Oh, sorry. I misunderstood. I thought Nami... well...” Nagi feigned a hurt expression and pulled away. “I forgot... we’re just friends.”
He immediately acted distant and cold.
Seeing this, Nami was the one who moved closer. “I-it’s okay. If it’s you, Nagi...”
Nagi looked at her blushing face and hid a wicked sneer in his heart. He wrapped his arm around her again, touching her firmly. This time, she tensed up but did not resist.
Nagi’s smirk widened. He lifted her chin to deliver his 'poisonous' kiss while his other hand wandered beneath her clothes. Finding zero resistance, he pinned her slight frame to the bed and did exactly what he wanted.
***
March 1, 2037 | 5:30 PM | Inside the GREM Virtual World
On the GREM POST feed, comments were flooding in from everywhere.
— “To the guys watching those street dancers: Don't flirt too hard, or they'll report you to the cops.”
— “Better to not watch at all. They report you for the smallest things.”
— “Stick to the GREM girls, brothers. One hundred percent safe.”
— “But wasn't it the guys' fault for grabbing her chest?”
— “Exactly. That's harassment. They deserved to be arrested.”
— “So what? They said they were better than AI girls, but you can’t even touch them a little bit.”
— “I’m staying with my GREM AI. The real world is terrifying.”
A few hours prior, news had broken about a Chinese youth arrested for groping a dancer. Despite the man being clearly in the wrong, the damage to the street performers' campaign was done. In GREM, no matter how much you harassed an AI or took them to bed, you never had to fear the law.
***
March 10, 2037 | 8:15 AM | Bangkok, Thailand
At the National Foundation for Women’s Rights and Equality...
Nisa stood in front of the building, watching the long line of women who had come to seek help since dawn. Her heart ached for them. Their beauty, once their greatest weapon, was now useless. Switching to other careers was proving nearly impossible.
‘I have to do something,’ Nisa thought, looking at the list of GREM executives on her tablet. Her eyes stopped at a Thai name.
Director: Chonlanol Maneenual (Mook).
