Tragic Novel? I'll Turn It Into a Power Trip

After transmigrating through three novels in a row, the hardest thing I ever suffer through is drinking iced long black. But when I open my eyes again, I somehow become the pathetic simp side character in a trashy romance novel.

Just as I debate whether to file a complaint against the system, the trembling system hurriedly explains something to me.

Although this is a trashy romance novel, it is also an unfinished abandoned novel.

I ask, "So you're saying I decide how the story develops?"

The system replied, "Yes. Everything is completely under your control."

Satisfied, I lazily stretch and begin checking the original Jacob's background. He has a trillionaire father and a billionaire mother. On top of that, he has seven rich and beautiful older sisters.

With such a ridiculously overpowered setup, how can he go around simping for a broke college girl with no money?

What a complete waste!

When I opened my eyes, I found myself holding an exquisitely wrapped sandwich.

Whispers immediately drifted into my ears.

"Look, Jacob Blake's here again delivering breakfast to Carol."

"He seriously has no shame. She already said she doesn't like him, but he still won't give up."

"Exactly! Carol and Matt are obviously the perfect couple!"

I froze for two seconds before a flood of memories suddenly crashed into my mind.

I, the invincible hero of a power-fantasy novel, had actually transmigrated into the role of a pathetic simp side character in a trashy romance novel.

Not only had this guy hidden his identity as a wealthy heir because he liked the poor heroine, but he had also willingly let her use his money to play the rich girl while chasing the college heartthrob, Matt Calloway.

Back when I was the hero of the power-fantasy story, brainless plots were one thing.

But did trashy romance novels not require logic either?

As I trashed the plot in my mind, a crisp female voice cut through my thoughts.

"Jacob?"

I looked up.

Carol Houston, the heroine, was standing right in front of me.

She was wearing the designer dress the original Jacob had bought her, with a Patek Philippe watch on her wrist, dressed head to toe like some wealthy socialite.

Carol glanced at the sandwich in my hands. She instantly frowned, and a flash of irritation swept across her expression.

"Didn't I make myself clear? I wanted a fine dining experience today. Why did you bring sandwiches again?"

Beggars couldn't be choosers. And yet, there she was.

I stared at her for two seconds, then suddenly laughed.

"You don't like it?"

Right in front of Carol, I tossed the sandwich to a stray dog passing nearby.

"Then the dog can have it. At least dogs know how to be grateful. You don't."

As if it understood every word, the stray dog barked twice in agreement.

The crowd erupted.

"Did Carol's rejection finally break him?"

"Why does he seem like a totally different person?"

Carol's face flushed bright red. She immediately grabbed my wrist.

"Come with me!"

She dragged me around the corner of the academic building.

"Jacob, what the hell is wrong with you? If you keep acting like this, I won't even let you bring me food anymore!"

Looking at her self-righteous expression, I nearly laughed out loud.

What a double blessing.

This painfully mediocre girl with an inflated sense of self-worth always used the same laughable threat against the original Jacob—revoking his right to bring her food.

And yet, that pathetic, lovesick fool fell for it every time, groveling and pleading with her not to be upset.

When Carol saw me remain silent, she assumed I was scared. She immediately put on an understanding expression.

"Fine. I'll forgive you this time. I saw a newly released pair of shoes I like. This weekend, I'll allow you to come shopping with me."

Seriously?

I bet that was just her way of saying, "Follow me around and foot the bill."

Before me, the fanciest shoes Carol ever owned barely cost 50 dollars.

After me, nothing she wore came in under 5,000 dollars.

I shrugged and smiled faintly. "Why should I?"

Carol's face darkened completely.

"Jacob, aren't you trying to pursue me? If you won't even buy me something this cheap, then how can you say you like me?"

Something this cheap?

I reached into my bag and pulled out a thick stack of receipts.

"Let me break it down for you. That Gucci dress you're wearing? It was bought just last month for 3,800 dollars. The Patek Philippe watch on your wrist? 18,600 dollars. And that little necklace around your neck? 7,900 dollars."