A Turbulent Day
❤️35 It had been a hell of a day.
The cruel villain from the original story. Who turned out to be a woman—and not just any woman, but a sexy dark elf named Shirin Death, Sekina, slated to join my netorase harem.
Getting smacked around all afternoon in major class by Rosalia, who'd become Descartes' bitch. And then an intimate one-on-one date with Iris, the iron-walled saintess who'd finally cracked open a bit.
That long, exhausting day finally came to an end. And the week that followed? It was almost boring by comparison.
Well, almost. At least from my perspective.
-Thwack! Crack! "Gaaah!"
A dull thud echoed like an explosion. The wooden sword bent as if it might snap. The guy's heavy frame tumbled across the training ground like a beast, kicking up dirt.
Taylor Becker.
"Get up, commoner."
Rosalia tapped the ground with the tip of her nearly broken wooden sword. Her rapeseed flower-colored eyes were cold as ice. There wasn't a shred of pity in her gaze as she looked down at him.
"Guhk... hack... haa, I surrender, I surrender..."
"Surrender? Who said you could end it?"
Rosalia raised her wooden sword high. Without mercy, she slammed it down on Taylor's swollen thigh.
"Gyyyaaah!!"
"Is that all you've got? Not content with stinking up the academy air, you dare call yourself a knight? You're disgusting."
Taylor's face was already a purple, unrecognizable mess of bruises. Even those lecherous, monkey-like eyes of his had long since filled with terror and tears.
"I don't know why His Highness Descartes has to breathe the same air as trash like you. If you're bugs, then crawl on the ground like bugs. Got it?"
Vicious insults. Classist disgust. This wasn't just Descartes' orders—she was doing it because she wanted to. Every sparring session, she picked out commoner cadets as examples and beat them senseless.
It was far harsher and more sadistic than when she'd beaten me. She was the picture of an arrogant, venomous villainess who truly despised commoners. The eyes of the other commoner cadets rolling on the ground burned with deep resentment and shock toward her.
All of them had enough talent to make it into the academy as commoners—promising prospects. And yet, to that classist bitch, they weren't even worth considering.
"Ahh... that slut's half-killed another commoner."
"Haa, what a whore. Doing every damn thing to win over the prince."
"So what if she's a genius swordswoman? She's just a cum-dump sucking His Highness's dick from behind."
"She's gone completely mad, blinded by the empress throne."
The rumors were tearing Rosalia apart. The more she bolstered the imperial dignity, the lower her reputation sank in the knight faculty—straight through the floor into the basement.
Descartes' brilliant political maneuvering. A fabricated scheme. He played the victim perfectly from the shadows, framing it like a brainless bitch desperate to be his main wife was clumsily throwing herself at him, and he was reluctantly accepting with magnanimous tolerance.
Normally, word would reach Duke Bloomhardt in an instant, and his house's knights would turn the academy upside down. Or her siscon brother Kirian would draw his sword and come charging for Descartes' head.
But nothing. Rosalia must have plugged up all the eyes and ears of the rumors in advance. Shouldering all this humiliation alone. Just so she wouldn't ruin our netorase play for me.
Class ended. I turned in my wooden sword and left the training ground alone.
I passed the knight faculty's new building, Sel Broad Hall. A spring breeze blew. I stopped in front of the flower beds bursting with blooms along the corridor outside.
A hazy, dreamlike aura floated lightly, as if oblivious to the weight of reality. In the center of the flower bed bloomed a single stunning pale pink flower.
Its petals resembled a lotus but weren't quite the same. Countless cadets passed by the flower bed, but not one noticed this fantastical bloom.
A soft, mysterious, familiar mana spread quietly. A transparent plant that didn't belong to this world, lush and ethereal. A flower that could only exist in fantasy.
Rosalia planted this.
I stepped closer. I stared at the undulating outline of the petals. My abnormal brain twitched, reacting to the unknown mystery that seemed born of dreams. An instinct to pierce its essence.
......
Soon, my head throbbed. Human dreams are inherently bizarre. No form, no rules. Impossible to interpret. Or rather, there was no fixed essence to begin with—just a blob of shifting information. It kept changing, rippling.
In the end, my brain refused to guess the answer. No thanks to the exhausting analysis.
I let out a short sigh and turned away from the flower without regret.
No need to know.
I rubbed my eyes and turned my back on the flower bed. Some miracles in the world are better left unknown.
A week passed like that, and the weekend arrived.
I was buried deep in the bed in my mansion room. Sunlight filtered through the window cracks, but I had no intention of getting up.
"Young master, I brought your meal."
"Yeah. Just leave it there."
Miel, in her neat maid uniform, set down the tray. Still lying in bed, I accepted a piece of meat she'd sliced for me. Gulp. Delicious.
Nothing much to do. Even if I wanted to see Rosalia, I couldn't—and anyway, she'd come when the time was right with the filthy netorase report I craved. Iris and Sekina's relationships could progress slowly. No rush.
For a moment, I fantasized about stalking her secretly, tailing her to a motel room or something depraved like that. But I shook my head.
Too risky. If Descartes caught on that I was shadowing her, it'd reignite his fragile ego and jealousy. If he started obsessing over her for real instead of treating her like a toy, I'd hand him the win on a platter.
Not smart. If he ditched his imperial ambitions, abandoned the saintess, and made Rosalia his real main wife... my victory conditions would shatter.
There were plenty more potential heroines to recruit into the academy harem ahead. I couldn't afford to waste this prime netorase material.
Had to save it. For the most critical moment.
"Young master. Lying around all day will ruin your digestion."
"I'm fine. It digests itself."
"You're incorrigible."
Miel smiled softly and wiped my mouth with a damp cloth. I pulled the blanket up to my chin.
Afternoon's lazy sunlight. The clink of utensils. Like that, I let Miel feed me dinner too, wasting the weekend away like a spoiled rich kid parasite.
Moonlight spilled through the window, stretching long across the floor late at night. A faint noise broke the mansion's silence.
Click. My room's window opened.
A breeze blew in. Riding it came a suffocatingly thick, fishy stench that filled the room.
"...Huh."
I sat up in bed. A silhouette climbed over the windowsill into the room. The woman standing against the moonlight was all too familiar—and utterly slutty.
Rosalia.
She was dressed exactly like that venomous villainess from class. In Descartes' bitch outfit. The thin white silk and blue ribbons screaming "whore" to the world. Jeweled tiara.
But above all, the overwhelming smell. Her faint rose scent was barely detectable. In its place: a nose-stinging, nauseating male musk. Descartes' semen reeked through the air.
"Hey, my pathetic knight."
Rosalia landed lightly on the floor. Under the moonlight, her body was exposed in all its naked glory.
"Haa... fuck."
A ragged breath escaped me. She hadn't washed. She'd crawled into my room dripping with evidence of rolling around with another man.
Her voluptuous breasts, slender neck, inner thighs—dozens of red hickeys everywhere. Around her plump pink nipples: bite marks and crusty white semen coatings.
And on her lips and cleavage: a few curly, coarse golden pubic hairs, tangled in her juices and dried cum.
I could guess the play. Territorial marking from the prince's onahole.
"What a sight."
"Why? Turned on?"
Rosalia plopped down on my bed. Her massive tits jiggled, wafting another blast of semen stench.
Her rapeseed eyes fixed on me. The mask of the venomous, arrogant noble lady. Lips twisted smugly, but her eyes—wet and sticky with love. The gaze of the woman who loved me most in the world.
"Here for the second netorase report. How's this—the fallen version of me you wanted, Karn."
"...You're insane. A total slut now."
"A bug like you, lying in bed waiting for your owner? No manners. Pants off. Now."
A command. Arrogant tone. Her filthy habit of trampling and humiliating me made my little dick twitch and pulse. The woman I loved most, reeking of Descartes' cum, treating me like dirt.
I was hooked. Reason shut down. Without a word, I fumbled with my belt and yanked pants and underwear down to my knees.
"Mmm~"
Rosalia peered shamelessly at my crotch. My pathetic, useless pinky-finger dick, raging hard from her slutty display. Precum already beading at the tip.
"Standing so cute. This pitiful commoner cock..."
She giggled and climbed on top. Knees on either side of my thighs. Without hesitation, she slipped a hand under her silk skirt, shoved her soaked panties aside.
"W-Wait... Rosalia."
"Hold still. Ahh...♥ My belly's sloshing..."
She positioned her pussy over my pathetic dick. A wave of thick cock-musk hit my face.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Tensed her lower belly, furrowed her brow.
"Hng... hn, mm...!"
She relaxed her pussy walls, then clenched hard—pushing out what she'd been holding inside. Her hole spasmed.
"Haaah...!"
-Glurp. Spluuurt! Drip drip!
It poured out. Thick, heavy cum harvested from Descartes' balls. Cascading mercilessly over my pathetic prick like a waterfall.
"Ah..."
A dazed sigh slipped from my lips.
So much. The prince's slimy, dense load completely buried my worthless dick.
Another man's overwhelming seed. Proof he'd made good use of Rosalia's tight hole. My pathetic symbol of defeat, swallowed in the sticky excretion.
-Splat! Squish.
The male sludge splattered across my stomach, thighs, everywhere. My pinky-dick vanished into the white puddle, formless.
"Haa... haa, feels better now."
Rosalia exhaled long, relaxing.
She giggled. Looking down at my hyper-excited, obsolete boyfriend cock buried in Descartes' cum puddle between my legs.
"This? Your reward for letting me beat you like a sandbag that time, Karn."
"You really..."
"How's it feel? Your tiny cute dick drowning in another man's cum. Miserable? Horny?"
She leaned forward, hands on my chest. Sweet rose and fishy cum breath brushed my lips.
"That guy's hilarious, you know?"
Rosalia shook her head. Her venomous mask slipped for a moment, back to my usual playful girlfriend gossiping about the original hero.
"First time we fucked, he said something like?"
"'Bestowing my noble seed—this is the last time.'"
She mimicked Descartes' imperious voice comically.
"But guess what today?"
She pecked my lips quick. Fishy saliva sweetly smeared on mine.
"Pumping my womb full like he was gonna knock me up. Totally hooked, forgot his own bullshit."
"..."
"The idiot lost it when I shook these big tits and moaned like a pornstar."
She snickered gleefully.
Adorable mockery. And her utterly twisted mindset.
Like a gaslit bimbo who'd forgotten basic female dignity.
She treated her womb like Russian roulette with unknown odds. Or a lottery pregnancy test. As if zero percent chance of getting pregnant from anyone but me—thrilled at the bet we'd win.
Rosalia, womb stuffed with another man's cum, dumping it on me while whispering love.
My stomach still slick with sticky, fishy foreign fluids. I looked down at my vanished dick, suffocated in white semen.
Miserable. And blissfully ecstatic. My lips twitched like an idiot's.