[Disguised as a Man] I'm the Handsomest Guy at the Night Market, and I Just Want to Grill Skewers in Peace

The day I transmigrated into the body of a night-market barbecue stall owner, the System said I had to survive by earning adoration points. So I shaved my head, strapped on fake pecs, put on a white tank top, and draped a sweat towel over my shoulder, flipping skewers with the flair of a Shaolin master. Three months later, the whole night market was fighting over me. A gang boss's son smashed a rival's stall for my sake, groups of female college students came to secretly film me wiping my sweat, and the woman running the fried-noodle stall next door brought me mung bean soup every day. Then a wealthy woman in a Ferrari slapped a box of cash down on my grill. "Come with me. This is just pocket change." I flicked away some ash and used my tongs to push the cash aside. "You're in the way..."