The thought echoed inanely in Kevin’s head, a fragment of internet noise surfacing in his panic. He mentally slapped himself. That last part, unfortunately, meant everything.

  The Espresso Roach, momentarily flustered by the sheer pointlessness of "Bruh," readjusted its terrifying metal-and-ceramic frame. Its red LED eyes seemed to narrow, locking onto Kevin with predatory intent. Steam hissed aggressively from its joints. It lowered its chassis, tensing its shard-like legs.

  Kevin scrambled backward, tripping over his own rolling office chair and landing hard on his backside amidst the delightful crunch of scattered TPS reports. Pain flared in his tailbone. His HP flickered in his UI: HP: 95/100

  The Roach didn't wait. It launched forward, not quite as fast as its initial lunge at Gary, but still unnervingly quick. Kevin crab-walked backward desperately, the rough carpet scraping his palms raw.

  He needed Clout. He needed . His eyes darted around the chaotic bullpen. Gary was huddled near the water cooler, clutching his bleeding arm and whimpering – not particularly helpful failure, just baseline misery. Brenda was still making incoherent sobbing noises from behind the filing cabinet – peak panic, possibly generating ambient Clout, but how much? Dave from Marketing, however... Dave was peering out from behind an overturned desk, holding a fire extinguisher like a bazooka, his knuckles white. He looked terrified but resolute, a portrait of failed corporate heroism.

  Kevin’s Clout ticked up: Clout: 3/10

  The Roach was closing in, its clicking maw opening to reveal whirring grinder burrs. Kevin kicked out wildly with his sensible office loafers. His foot connected with one of the creature's ceramic legs with a pathetic thud. The Roach barely flinched.

  Kevin thought, scrambling to his feet as the Roach scuttled past his ineffective kick. He needed distance. He needed a weapon. His eyes landed on his keyboard, lying innocently on his desk amidst the mess. Heavy, solid plastic. Better than nothing. He lunged for it, yanking the cord free from the bricked PC tower.

  The Roach changed tactics. It halted its advance and reared back slightly, its metallic head tilting upwards. A gurgling sound emanated from within.

  "Move!" Kevin shrieked, more a general warning than specific advice, as he dove sideways behind his flimsy cubicle partition just as the Roach spat. A stream of steaming, dark brown liquid hit the beige fabric wall, instantly soaking through and blistering the paint on the other side. The smell of burnt sugar and acrid coffee filled the air.

  Kevin risked a peek. The Roach was momentarily preoccupied, seemingly "reloading" its spit attack with another internal gurgle. Now was his chance. He had 3 Clout. He had the keyboard. And he had the memory of the System coaching him on .

  He thought about terrible Reddit arguments. He thought about performative TikTok dances. He thought about smug LinkedIn posts. He channeled every ounce of secondhand embarrassment he'd ever felt, focusing it like a laser beam.

  "That's... CRINGE!

  The keyboard connected solidly with the Roach’s segmented body. There was a crack of plastic, but the creature barely recoiled. However, as Kevin’s Word hit it, the Roach visibly flinched. Its antennae drooped for a second, its skittering movements became slightly less coordinated, as if it suddenly felt awkward about its own existence as a caffeine-fueled horror.

  It wasn't much, but it was something. Clout: 1/10HP: 95/100

  The Roach, recovering quickly from its moment of existential awkwardness, let out an angry hiss and charged again, its ceramic legs a blur. This time, Kevin was ready – sort of. He sidestepped, swinging the damaged keyboard again, aiming for the glowing red eyes. He missed, the keyboard glancing off the creature's metallic head with another unsatisfying clack.

  The Roach, however, seemed affected by the lingering "Cringe" debuff. Its counter-slash with a ceramic leg went slightly wide, gouging a chunk out of the carpet instead of Kevin’s ankle. It stumbled, its rapid movements momentarily disrupted.

  Kevin thought. He scanned the room again. Gary was trying to make a tourniquet out of his tie – points for effort, probably zero Clout generated. Brenda was attempting to burrow the filing cabinet. Dave…

  Dave chose that moment to act. "Eat foam, bug!" he roared, stepping out from behind the desk and blasting the Espresso Roach with the fire extinguisher.

  A thick cloud of white powder enveloped the creature. It shrieked – a horrible, high-pitched sound like a tortured espresso machine – and flailed wildly within the cloud, disoriented. The CO2 seemed to react poorly with its steaming espresso-based biology. Its movements became sluggish, coated in white powder.

  Clout: 3/10

  The Roach stumbled out of the dissipating cloud, looking significantly less menacing, covered in white dust, its movements jerky. Its red eyes, however, still burned with caffeinated fury. It spotted Kevin, its primary tormentor.

  This was it.

  Kevin gripped the keyboard, channeling the last vestiges of Gary's pain, Brenda's terror, Dave's clumsy heroism, and his own utter mortification at this entire situation. He needed something with more than "Bruh" or "Cringe." Something... kinetic. Something final. He remembered seeing it flash across countless stupid videos.

  "YEET!

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  There was a sickening crunch. Not just plastic this time. Metal dented, ceramic shattered. The Espresso Roach convulsed, its legs twitching spasmatically. Its red LED eyes flickered erratically, then went dark. It collapsed onto the powder-dusted carpet, steaming faintly before lying still.

  Kevin stood there, breathing heavily, keyboard still raised, heart pounding like a drum machine. His minimized UI flashed:

  Silence descended on the bullpen, broken only by Brenda’s muffled sobs and Gary’s pained groans. Dave lowered the fire extinguisher, looking as surprised as Kevin felt.

  Then, a faint shimmering light appeared above the dead Espresso Roach. It coalesced into three small objects that dropped onto the carpet with soft thuds.

  The loot drop. Kevin cautiously approached, staring at the items.

  One was a small, burlap sack leaking a pleasant coffee aroma:

  The second was a jagged piece of ceramic, surprisingly clean:

  The third item made Kevin’s stomach churn. It was a small, rolled-up scroll tied with what looked suspiciously like a dried coffee stirrer: [Word Scroll: Gyatt (Tier F+)]

  He had survived. He had leveled up. He had loot. And his reward was a scroll containing perhaps the single dumbest word he’d encountered in recent memory.

  The Brainrot Apocalypse, it seemed, was just getting started. And the theme? So far, it seemed to be Starbucks Nightmare Fuel.

  .

  .

  .

  He tucked the slightly sticky scroll and the bag of beans into his pockets, leaving the ceramic shard on the floor for now. Stabbing things with random garbage felt like a skill he hadn't quite unlocked – mentally or System-wise.

  The silence in the bullpen stretched, thick and heavy, punctuated only by Brenda's ragged breathing from behind the filing cabinet and Gary's low moans. The adrenaline rush began to ebb, leaving Kevin feeling shaky and vaguely ill. The burnt coffee smell was making his head swim.

  "Holy crap, Miller." Dave's voice was raspy. He lowered the fire extinguisher, its nozzle dripping white powder. "You... you killed it. With a keyboard. And... yelling?"

  Kevin looked at the shattered keyboard in his hand, then back at Dave. "Apparently?" he managed, his voice hoarse. "System called it 'Pest Control for Primates'. Guess I'm the primate."

  Dave stepped closer, eyeing the dead Roach with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "System? You mean those... those pop-ups? They told you to do that?"

  "Sort of," Kevin admitted. "Gave me a quest. Yelling 'Bruh' stunned it, 'Cringe' made it clumsy, 'Yeet'..." He gestured vaguely with the broken keyboard. "...finished the job." He felt profoundly stupid saying the words out loud.

  Clout: 11/15

  "We need to help Gary," Kevin said, forcing himself to move towards the water cooler where Gary sat slumped, clutching his tie-tourniquet. The cuts on his arm weren't deep, but they were bleeding sluggishly and looked painful. "Anyone know first aid?"

  Dave shook his head. "CPR certified, that's about it. Not much call for treating... coffee monster attacks... in marketing."

  Kevin knelt beside Gary, who looked pale and clammy. "Hey, Gary. How bad is it?"

  "Hurts," Gary mumbled, wincing. "Stings. Like... like hot coffee mixed with glass shards."

  Kevin focused on Gary, then on his own UI, willing the System to offer .

  "Okay, System says clean the wounds," Kevin reported, glancing towards the water cooler dispenser. "Dave, can you grab some paper towels from the restroom? Try not to run into any more... things."

  Dave nodded grimly and hurried off. Kevin helped Gary lean against the wall. "Hang in there, man." Offering the croissant seemed like adding insult to injury.

  Brenda finally emerged from behind the filing cabinet, looking wild-eyed. "Is it gone? Really gone?"

  "Yeah, Brenda. It's dead," Kevin said, trying to sound reassuring. He failed.

  "But... what it?" she whispered, staring at the Roach's corpse.

  "Tutorial boss," Kevin sighed. "Apparently."

  Just then, his attention was drawn back to his UI by a persistent, gentle pulsing. The level-up notification.

  He needed to decide. One point wasn't much, but maybe it could make a difference. He reviewed his stats: STR 5, DEX 6, CON 7, INT 11, WIS 8, CHA 4, RIZZ -2, CRINGE RESISTANCE 15.

  Where to put the Stat Point?

  Strength? Might make hitting things slightly less pathetic.

  Dexterity? Help with dodging? Use that shard maybe?

  Constitution? More HP seemed universally useful. His HP was currently full, but it wouldn't stay that way.

  Intelligence? Might help understand the System? Though the 'Meme Dumb' qualifier worried him.

  Wisdom? Maybe resist mental effects? Or make better choices than yelling meme words?

  Charisma/Rizz? Seemed utterly pointless right now, maybe even detrimental.

  Cringe Resistance? Already high, maybe overkill? Or maybe essential for wielding this stupid magic?

  Constitution felt like the safest, most universally useful bet for pure survival. He mentally selected CON

  A faint warmth spread through him, a subtle feeling of increased resilience. Minimal, but real.

  Now, the Skill Point. His current skills were obsolete jokes. The System hadn't offered a Class selection menu yet, just the default 'Normie'. He needed something practical. Could he learn that [Basic First Aid]

  He focused his intent:

  First Aid seemed immediately useful given Gary's state. But Makeshift Weapon Proficiency... he just killed the Roach with a keyboard. Making that less pathetic sounded appealing. Observe seemed like something the System already did passively. Stealth might be useful later.

  He glanced at Gary, then at the broken keyboard. Helping Gary felt right, but being better at hitting things felt necessary for Gary. Dave returned with a wad of paper towels just as Kevin made his decision. He selected [Makeshift Weapon Proficiency]

  Kevin ignored the System's perennial sass. He took the paper towels from Dave. "Okay, let's see if we can clean this up a bit."

  As he started carefully dabbing at Gary's wounds with water-soaked towels, he couldn't shake the image of the scroll in his pocket. [Word Scroll: Gyatt (Tier F+)]

  He just hoped he wouldn't have to find out too soon. The bullpen door leading to the main hallway suddenly rattled, as if something heavy bumped against it from the other side. Brenda gasped, and Dave instinctively raised the fire extinguisher again.

  The tutorial might be over, but class wasn't dismissed yet.