Stolen First Confession
❤️16 What was done was done. Sure, it stung my male pride pretty bad—most protagonists in the netorare games I played ended up like this anyway—but right now, I had to chase after Rozalia. Vulgar Netoright. Just how low would her self-esteem crumble in front of that arrogant prince? I couldn't wait to find out. I quickened my pace.
Found her. Pale pink hair. She was leaning against the wall in front of the Cathedral Church Infirmary, peeking at Descartes as he emerged. She looked just like a fresh, lovestruck girl on the verge of confessing. A faint thrill stirred at the thought of what was about to happen. Finally, I'd turned Rozalia into a netorase slut.
But then... my mouth went bitter. My throat clogged up. Depression hit hard. From now on, everything about Rozalia—everything I'd known only to myself—would be shared with that bastard. The slick, soft grip of her pussy. The warm, steamy heat heated by our lovemaking. The way her massive, mochi-like tits jiggled at the slightest touch. Watermelon-sized breasts. The weak spot on her nape. The vulgar moans she'd let out as pleasure overwhelmed her. Now Descartes would know it all too.
Damn. Thinking about it, this was Rozalia's first confession ever. Back in my original life, I'd confessed to her before that prick could make his move. So her first confession—for life—would be heard and cherished solely by Descartes von Rugria. That fact stabbed at my heart like a knife.
Jealousy was like a vicious poison, always gnawing away at human reason. It was a sick, intoxicating mood. I wanted to rush over and stop it. You're mine forever. I wanted to fill a treasure chest with sweet, sparkling romantic memories of making love to Rozalia for the rest of our lives. But I couldn't stop. Had my dick shrunk so much my balls did too? Fuck, I didn't even have the guts to step in—and honestly, I didn't want to.
I wanted to watch and savor the process of the Rozalia who'd only had eyes for me turning into a total whore.
We could've had a normal, cute romance—whispering sweet nothings just the two of us, living that tooth-rotting sugary life. But seeing Rozalia spread her legs for other guys for my sake, degrading herself into a slutty cumdump and plummeting into the abyss? This was my one chance.
The most noble, beautiful rose in full bloom, defiled as lowborn bastards thrust their veiny, rock-hard cocks at it, shaking them to splatter thick, fishy white semen all over the petals, trampling it carelessly.
That pure, untainted love she'd directed at me, now drenched in some stranger's cum, getting kicked around and ravaged by lowly men. Just imagining it destroyed my brain with this sticky sense of depravity. The sharp pang of loss and jealousy fueled an insane rush, making my cock throb to the bursting point. It was driving me mad with lust. No doubt about it.
I'd loved her so much it had supported my very heart. When she'd come to me offering netorase, I should've refused. Regret crashed over me like waves. I'd ignored and exploited her pure devotion. By the end, she'd be so filthy, unrecognizable, beyond saving. This far. Isn't this the aesthetic of a true netorare protagonist? I had to hear her first confession too. The one she was giving to someone else. That's what netorase is.
In front of the Cathedral Church Infirmary. I ducked behind a white marble pillar. Held my breath. Descartes stood under a crucifix statue. A nameless silver-haired noble cadet was glued to his side.
"Your Highness, that vulgarly dressed lady's been glancing over here nonstop," the silver-haired cadet said, covering his mouth with his hand. His gaze blatantly raked over Rozalia's exposed honey thighs. "Shall I chase her off?"
Descartes turned his head. Beneath his long lashes, blue eyes captured Rozalia. His gaze lingered on her lovely features. His pupils dilated slightly.
"No. She's... better than I expected."
A gentle, fairy-tale prince's smile spread across his face. Utterly hypocritical, a fake mask. With that smile, he'd seduced countless women, sampling them like a housewife at a supermarket tasting station—chewing, licking, then tossing them away like trash. He beckoned, and his entourage quietly dispersed. I clenched my fists behind the pillar. Nails dug into my palms.
Rozalia flinched. She took a deep breath. Her massive breasts swelled over the lavender dress. She stepped forward.
Splash. Splash. With every step, the high-leg cut teasingly revealed the pale curve of her hips and the mound of her pussy. Descartes's eyes nearly popped out.
"Um, excuse me!"
Rozalia stood before Descartes. She clasped her hands in front of her chest. Her face flushed tomato-red.
"Prince Descartes... right?"
"Yes. What business do you have with me, beautiful lady?"
"I-I'm... Rozalia von Bloomhart... from the Knight Faculty, first-year."
"Rozalia? Ah, the southern fief with those beautiful flowers. What brings the border count's precious only daughter here?"
Rozalia lifted her head with resolve. She lightly gripped her skirt hem and curtsied. The perfect, pitiable noble lady's etiquette.
Cheeks flushed with love's heat. Golden eyes shimmering wetly. An elegant, archaic gesture, but awkward and trembling faintly.
"I... I've admired you since the entrance ceremony...! I fell for you at first sight...! P-Please, I beg you, go out with me!"
The pitiful act of a trembling girl daunted by their status gap. Rozalia's first confession, stolen by that fake trash prince.
I bit my lip. The metallic tang of blood coated my tongue. A confession she'd never given even to me. Trembling voice. Blushing cheeks. Everything with Rozalia should be mine. Had to be mine. Jealousy melted my reason like venom. Even if he accepted, it wouldn't be an equal relationship. Dating royalty like him was bound to end in misery. Descartes was smiling. But inside, he was coldly calculating. The Bloomharts were already in the First Princess's faction. With their capable eldest and second sons intact, this useless idiot daughter—who'd been completely sidelined from succession—held no value. Even a doting father wouldn't ditch the First Princess for his daughter's lovesick whim and switch to the Third Prince. His legitimate wife would be the Saintess for sure. Rozalia? At best, a side fuck, or a plaything concubine. That was Descartes's math.
"Hmm... tricky. I already have someone in mind. Shall I turn down this cute lady's confession?"
Descartes flashed a bright smile. The kind with devastating power to strip women bare.
"Y-Yes!"
Rozalia's golden eyes dimmed instantly. She hadn't expected success on the first try, apparently.
Descartes smirked.
"But what's with that outfit? Even back-alley whores cover more cloth than that. Short on cash?"
Silence fell. Rozalia's shoulders stiffened.
"N-No... this is the battle uniform of a princess knight from a fallen kingdom..."
"Hm... isn't it a bit too skimpy for a princess?"
The cruel wedge driven in the moment he deemed her worthless. Mocking, cold eyes.
"Well, business done. I'm off."
Descartes turned away without a second thought. His footsteps faded toward the Cathedral Church Infirmary. Rozalia stood frozen in place. Head bowed. Hands trembling faintly. She'd been ridiculed. My lovely girl, brutally rejected. But why? A strange relief bloomed in my chest. At the same time, a deeper thrill shot up my spine, like plummeting into an abyss. How would mask-off Descartes cook and turn this wounded bitch into a meat toilet? Even after that insult, for my sake—for our bet—she'd go back to him and spread her legs.
It was maddening. My breath came short. And it hadn't even really started yet.
A week passed. A quiet park bench on the outskirts of the academy grounds.
"Agh! That shitty blond bastard! So annoying...! I wanna rip his hair out and make him bald!"
Rozalia flailed punches at the air, then sniffled and burrowed into my arms.
"Karnie...! Listen to me. I used the classic romance novel trope 'tripping into his arms' skill, right? Timed it perfectly with a twisted ankle, shoving these soft, jiggly tits right at him first!"
"Did he catch you?"
"No! That psycho didn't even blink—just stepped back half a pace and dodged! I face-planted straight into the dirt... Sniff, it hurts so bad. Karnie, kiss it better..."
Rubbing her face on my chest and whining, she looked just like a kid. Good thing I'd set up a sound-blocking spell around the bench beforehand.
"And then he said... since my dress was trash anyway, might as well use it to mop the floor. I nearly stabbed him—netorase be damned..."
"Third time already! A whole week gone! If I don't get your proposal at this rate!! Waaah!"
"Even that premium onahole body isn't working. Feels like we're running out of time on the bet."
"Sh-Shut up! It's not over yet! Better than never hearing your proposal... I'd rather, rather!"
Panicked, Rozalia gnawed her nails. Her golden eyes shook with anxiety. Squirming on the bench, twisting her honey thighs together—friction made a faint, sticky sound leak from between them.
"Hey, Karnie... if the straight approach fails, no choice, right?"
"What're you planning?"
"Seduce him with my body. Gotta fuck him anyway... Starting with full-on creampie sex."
That vulgar, admirable plan. My little buddy twitched in my pants, soaked in dark depravity.
The wind blew, rustling the leaves. I leaned back against the bench, stroking the cheek of Rozalia as she straddled my lap, grinding her thighs against me.