A Few Hours Earlier: Craving Netorare at Mercier Manor
Cozy afternoon. The kind of drowsy hour perfect for a quick nap for some, but I sat there with a serious face, reading the newspaper and muttering to myself.
It had been quite a while since my transmigration, but now that suspicion had turned to certainty, everything clicked into place.
The paper was crammed with women's gossip, poetic fluff, nobles' private lives, clothing ads, and... the hottest dessert cafe spots.
The front-page women's gossip made me sigh again.
"Haa... why'd it have to be a romance fantasy of all things?"
I flopped onto the sofa with a sigh. It was luxuriously plush—no complaints there, just like the craftsman had boasted, every stitch perfect. The room's decor, once unfamiliar, now felt routine. Gaudy paintings, ornate tables and chairs—everything exaggerated to flaunt the manor's wealth. The interior designer had nailed it, perfectly capturing our family's essence: all the "riches" of wealth without honor, a merchant baron's gaudy excess bought with cash. Underwear trading had rocketed us to sudden fortune, but we were basically commoners—mock-nobles without a real title to pass down, not even a proper family name.
At first, the background felt alien, but as a mob character in a romance fantasy? Pretty amusing setup.
"Agh! If you're gonna transmigrate me, make it as a lead role at least!"
Thinking about it, I felt cheated. How much had I contributed to the world in my past life? Good deeds galore! My parents were devout believers, even pastors. Sure, I'd only prayed a couple times myself, but they'd covered for me plenty—surely I deserved a sliver of divine grace.
'Damn right.'
And I'd kept the peace, too. Dated that quirky "childhood friend" type who was a walking landmine for every other guy! Back in middle school, after witnessing her antics one too many times, I'd steeled my resolve.
'No one else could handle her.'
If I hadn't sealed the deal early, who knows what disasters she'd have caused. Recalling my confession still boils my blood.
"Huh? Uh... for real? Like, really really really!? Well, yeah!!! You'd need a hundred years to land a cute girlfriend anyway! As expected, me... I mean, who else would say yes right now? Yeah."
Of course, the rage came with bitterness. The ending sucked that much.
'At least I spat some harsh words and bailed...'
'Sorry. I loved you. Live well.'
The protagonist wouldn't wish for that. But seriously, dump me in a trashy netorare eroge world tailored to my tastes, not this! I didn't even know which romance novel this was.
Still, this world had its perks.
Knock knock—
The door's owner didn't wait for permission before swinging open the ornate, intricately carved door.
"Master Karn! I baked some cookies, thinking you might get peckish before the freshman party!"
She beamed the moment our eyes met, bringing a wave of positivity into the room. A maid with glossy black hair braided cutely, a dainty nose, big green eyes. Just looking at her warmed you up—pure, innocent charm, basket in hand, flashing a sweet smile.
"Yeah, leave it there, Miel. Thanks as always, our snack specialist."
Miel giggled, bowed, then sat and unpacked her basket, arranging the cookies on a plate. One... two... carefully plated teddy bear cookies. My gaze naturally drifted to her slender arms and those elegantly long, delicate fingers.
Watching this maid sparked it: pure and fragile. What if this petite thing was a secret slut behind closed doors, banging dudes like crazy? All innocent up front, but obsessed with huge cocks...♥️
Her dainty hand slipping into some burly guy's pants. Eyes widening like a startled bunny at the sheer size. But the shock fades quick... Heh— instantly a bitch in heat. Her bolder fingers knead and tease, hot breath panting filthier in his ear, getting all worked up. Those pure green eyes narrow seductively, lips curving in a bewitching smile.
"These cookies look delicious...♥️"
Lust surging any second now.
"Master Karn?"
"Uh, yeah. Ahem! Thanks for the tasty cookies, Miel."
'Your cookies look tastier, though, young master.'
Almost drooled there. That bizarre, drawn-out brain fantasy shattered at her voice.
The perfectly pure and fragile Miel stood.
"Yes! I'll be going then. Oh, and... Coachman Uncle begged me to remind you not to be late today?"
One big plus: this world's women averaged way too hot. Even Miel, from some ordinary village, was stunning.
"Miel could easily snag a heroine spot in a yagame."
I smacked my lips, watching her totter away.
'Ah, netorare cravings hitting hard.'
My old hard drive's 200GB of filthy, hardcore eroge collection. Regretted dying before clearing them all.
'At least the family's drowning in cash... If I flop at the academy, I'm stuck inheriting the biz.'
I stared at the plate. Miel's handiwork: one pink teddy bear cookie, one red. Side by side, they left a bitter taste.
A few days back, the stuffy parlor air with my parents hit me.
"Inherit the business."
Father leaned deep into the leather sofa, voice heavy.
"This underwear empire I built with blood and sweat. You grow it."
"No thanks."
I shot back curtly, eyes on the table.
"I'm going to the academy. Not living as an underwear peddler."
Father's brow furrowed. Mother's eyes narrowed from behind her fancy feather fan.
They'd bought their barony with money, but their merchant spines were steel.
"Then what?" Father clutched his neck.
"That brat Kaire says she'll die before touching underwear—yesterday she was yapping about hanging from the chandelier."
"How do you even deal with that temper? Just let her grow up."
"Then dump the whole empire on our precious late baby?"
Mother scoffed. I grimaced instinctively. The youngest, pint-sized sugar fiend rolling around, greed maxed, spoiled rotten—a hopeless, snotty gremlin straight out of my old eroge side characters.
'How'd these two spawn that?'
For a split second, some dim-witted brute from the estate outskirts flashed in mind. High-and-mighty Mother, maybe...? I shook it off. Vulgar fantasies later.
"Give it to that kid, and it'll tank in a month."
"Academy's better for the family."
Endless parallel lines. Parents finally waved the white flag. An academy student from our nouveau riche mock-noble house? Huge prestige boost.
But thirsty for real noble society, they didn't let me off easy.
"Fine. Conditions."
Father held up two thick fingers.
"One: Graduate and join an Imperial Knight Order. Minimum vice-captain."
"Two." Mother snapped her fan shut. "Marry a countess or higher as your formal wife."
"Haa..."
I sank deeper into the sofa, grabbing the red teddy cookie.
"Imperial Knights vice-captain." Crunch. The red bear's head popped off, rich butter flavor bursting. Iron rice bowl plus vice-captain gets you a viscountcy easy, real nobility status—but was that a street dog name?
Pink teddy next.
"Marry a countess." Crunch crunch. Half gone.
Underwear baron's commoner son snagging a countess? I'd kowtow a hundred times for even a baron's daughter.
"..."
"Fucking tough. Maybe just inherit..."
Wait—underwear mogul ain't bad? Don't knock lingerie. Our brand went high-end, storming the capital. Overflowing cash life. With that, a harem of Miel-level village girls? Doable.
"A harem of countless Miel-tier beauties...!"
Then, my prized DePaulen watch spoke up.
'Snap out of it! What've we been grinding for? Sword training, looks— all for our dream...! You forgetting?'
'!!!'
'Netorase harem. Right?'
I shot up, fist clenched.
"Yeah, right. My head was messing up again—sorry...! Sniff..."
Thanks to my pal 'Max' for the wake-up.
"Thanks, Max..."
Inheriting means no shot at those elite, haughty superwomen. Watching them fall to lust, getting railed vulgarly by lowlife mobs? Peak thrill.
I fiddled with the watch, recommitting.
'Gonna make my dreams happen in this romance fantasy world.'
Checked the time on my wristwatch. Needles said late—I shoved the cookies in my pocket and bolted.