Betting My Proposal on the Third Prince

The afternoon sunlight stung my eyes. The campus was peaceful now that major classes had ended. I was walking side by side with Rozalia.

She clung tightly to my left arm. "Still, he's supposed to be the original story's male lead. Wasn't that a bit too harsh?"

"Hmph. He interrupted my precious fluffy time getting praised by you, Karn." She squeezed my arm even harder as she continued, her soft thigh brushing against mine. "That kinda guy's a male lead...? Pisses me off. I should've just unloaded a barrage of curses on him..."

"Back off a little. People will talk."

At my words, Rozalia lifted her heel high and rubbed her soft, plump cheek against my shoulder. She stuck to me like glue. "No way. I'm gonna stay glued tight. I need to recharge my Karn energy like this to feel alive."

"If they all bunch up, you'll bloom flowers like earlier?"

It was a silly jab. After today's major class, I glanced at her—the girl who was about to become the Knight Faculty's idol. Her long, pale cherry blossom hair draped obediently over her shoulders. The one-sided up-tail swayed rhythmically with each step. Her face was incredibly cute, too. But her body... that front mass was violently huge, over half-exposed. Her lower half was even more extreme. High-leg cut, with honey thighs stretching from her hips and a dangerously sheer mound line that was inescapably on display. With every step ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of her royal peach ass, the dress fabric draped on either side rippled. The hidden intimate slit teased the eye, visible yet not. Vulgar bitch. Straight out of the ero-games I used to play before dying. She looked every bit the academy slut.

The cadets around us stared. Jealousy. Envy.

"Look over there, Karn." Rozalia poked my arm and whispered. Her soft, moist pink lips hovered dangerously close to my ear.

I turned my gaze. A group was walking bathed in sunlight. At the center was a man with rippling golden hair and blue eyes. Descart von Rugria. The empire's third prince. One of the male leads in the original story, "Stop Obsessing Over Me, Please."

"Aah, how is His Highness Descart always so elegant and handsome..."

"Kyaaah! Your Highness Descart! Look over here!"

Every time he walked, the girls' screams split the campus. He grinned and waved to his fans. His stride oozed arrogance. High noble heirs trailed him like limbs. Fairy-tale prince vibe. Walking idol. What a joke—walking idol treatment in a romance fantasy. Squid would sell well in rom-fans, though. But that direction...

"Heading to the cathedral church."

Rozalia narrowed her rapeseed-yellow golden eyes. Unlike the other girls, her gaze on him was languid and cynical. The leisure unique to someone who knew this rom-fan world's ending in advance. She'd rated him the craziest one for the saintess. A faint ripple of mana pulsed from her fingertips, briefly parting from mine. Sound barrier.

"Just between us."

She'd probably blocked any listening ears beforehand. "You said he's the craziest, right?"

I replied curtly. "Yeah. Total psycho. Two-faced as a coin." She continued with a weary tone. "Know why he's so hung up on the saintess? This third prince is dead last in the imperial succession race. His older brothers are stacked with talent and backers."

"So he came to the academy. Rolled that arrogant brain of his."

"To snag the cathedral church as his backer."

"Bingo. Here's your prize."

Rozalia giggled mischievously and pulled my hand to her. Her pink lips touched the back of my hand. Mwah. Smooch. A sticky sound rang out. Her soft lips sucked at my skin. Her tongue tip licked across it. As her lips parted, a long string of silver saliva trailed regretfully. This is just you wanting to do it.

She smacked her lips. "Iris is an iron wall. She instinctively recoils from Descart's classist, high-handed attitude. Keeps rejecting his confessions, so his psycho obsession twisted. 'How dare she reject a handsome guy like me who's graciously offering?' That's his exact mindset."

Rozalia's eyes tracked the receding third prince's back. "...Vicious bastard. Why Iris wanders the academy classes alone without friends? All because of that sleazy creep."

Her explanation wrapped up. Listening sparked a good idea. My mind raced. Descart only wants the saintess. All his ambition and lust fixed on Iris Cromwell's status plate. Maybe... I could swing this bitch with a saved Vulgar Netoright.

"Hey. If I use a Vulgar Netoright to make her his empress, what then?"

Rozalia flinched, eyes wide with fear like it was finally here. "...Why? Use it now? Uwuu... But you gotta use it quick so you'll seduce me after..."

"It's not reality rewrite. You gotta seduce him yourself, right?"

"...Yeah, true. If it said become his sex friend, I'd march over, strip naked, and beg 'Please make me your sex friend ♥' or whatever."

Time to bait her. "Then if she doesn't become his principal wife, refund me one Vulgar Netoright."

"...That's a bit much. No! Me clinging to him? You said I'm easy anyway! For you, boiling my sweet ass to cough up Netorights should be simple."

"...Pathetic."

I crossed my arms. "Let's bet."

"If within a month, Descart becomes emperor and she hears solid word he'll make her empress."

"I'll propose. To you. Myself."

Rozalia's eyes widened. Hot breath escaped her parted lips. "H-Hoe...? W-What? Say it again."

Her face flushed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠red to her neck. Her golden eyes glazed over. Already lost in happy delusions.

"If I lose, I'll propose. To you."

"Uwuu... But... that creep won't be satisfied without the saintess. He thinks he's destined to be emperor... Ugh, he should reject me, but..."

She twisted her thighs together. "But I wanna hear your proposal, Karn. In that voice that makes my heart pound... Ahh... Ehehehe..."

I yanked her leash before she sank fully into fantasy. "No matter how much netorase board I set, if the bitch I'm dangling can't radiate any charm, my Netorights just vaporize."

"Didn't know you were such a lame bitch."

"Or scared of losing to the steel-wall saintess?"

"What?!"

Rozalia's indignant shout rang out. She huffed, thrusting her chest forward. Her massive tits threatened to spill from the lavender dress, jiggling menacingly.

"I'm Rozalia von Bloomhart! Look at this body! Slim waist, wide hips! This perky ass line! The ultimate onahole body you loved licking your monitor over, you perv! What man in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠world would reject me?!"

"That's my taste. Some guys prefer flat-chest saintess."

"Ugh... No way. If I go all out seducing him..."

"Then prove it."

She was fully hooked. "Bet. You'll do netorase for me, right?"

Rozalia swallowed hard. Nodded. Then glared at me suspiciously. "......Feels like I fell into a trap no matter how I look."

Sharper instincts than my past life. But too late.

I summoned the translucent window.

The aerial text glowed blue. Spun. The Netoright's mystery began interfering with causality. I leaned against the wall. My lips twisted upward.

Descart. Build that iron wall. Master of gaslighting, right? Teach my girlfriend emotional control. Toy with my girl to your heart's content, then toss her aside.

Huh? I blinked. Success meant I lost. Anxiety surged just as the alert shifted.

I blinked again. Sex toy? Not principal empress? Ah. It clicked. Given Descart's position, the principal spot is the saintess's by default. Rozalia thrashed with her vulgar body and stunning looks to seduce him somehow. Can't make her empress, but she's too tasty to pass up. Hidden away as a dedicated meat toilet—poking holes whenever stress hits, creampies and piss inside at will. Every time Rozalia crumbles in disillusion and tries to quit, Descart whispers: 'Haa, so lovable, Rozalia. You're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the best. Hold on a bit longer, and I'll make you empress.' That's the observed route.

Which means... I win.

Sorry, Rozalia. Netoright freebie. What do I know about rom-fan sweetness? Anyway, sorry.

Rozalia, receiving the system's message, turned to chase Descart. I was about to follow happily when—

"...What?"

My steps halted abruptly. Balance patch?

A bad premonition crawled up my spine. No. Wait. Fuck, wait.

Crack. A gross tearing sound from my groin. No pain. But the proud massive cock that used to weigh down my pants, the one that plunged straight to Rozalia's deepest womb and battered her eggs— it was shrinking.

"Hngh..."

I gulped and gripped the wall. My pant front sank to flat plain. Trembling hand clutched my groin. Nothing. No heavy meat to fill my palm. Barely fishable with thumb and index— a cute, tiny prick unbelievable for an adult male. Cocoon. Lil' nub. Me, Karn von Mercier. With my cheat ability to intuitively master any mystery or technique after two exposures. In one second, the system's balance patch turned me into a rom-fan shrimp-dick loser.