Everyone Transmigrates with a System, but I Get a Good-for-Nothing’s Memoir

Don't go outside. And whatever you do, don't provoke the steamed-bun seller. He's not human anymore. Don't talk to that programmer, either. He'll treat your emotions like bugs and delete them. In this world, everyone has a “System,” and everyone is becoming “perfect.” Everyone except me.

My System is useless. All it can do is record, like a detective, how the people around me gradually lose their humanity and become machines controlled by absolute reason. “March 5: The boss worked for 16 hours straight without using the bathroom.” “March 7: My friend thinks dreams are just the brain sorting through fragments.” These notes are my only weapon for staying alive. I rely on them to keep my mind clear in a world where everyone is controlled by the “System,” like a lone wolf wandering through an apocalyptic wasteland. Until I discover that these seemingly independent Systems are connected to an invisible network. And the source of this network... is alive, for fuck's sake!