Stranded Eugene: Awakening in the NTR Game World
Drift log: Eugene. Peng Yujin. The Incompetent Eugene? It was like I'd been deceived my entire life—only in the final moments did the memories come flooding back. This world was actually from an NTR game. Not that anyone was deliberately toying with me, but why had the memories returned only when death was staring me in the face?
Now, at last, I could understand why I'd ended up in such a pathetic state. I was one of the game's biggest victims: the Incompetent Eugene.
If the memories had returned the instant I possessed this body, I could've prepared somehow, maybe softened the blow to my psyche. But the shock had already hit me full force, leaving my mind in tatters. Was this goddamn world—or whatever system governed it—trying to deliver the ultimate mental assault? It felt like nothing less than pure malice. Fuck this shit for real. That's exactly what I wanted to spit out.
But at that moment, my timing was off, so all I could manage physically was, "Father... ugh... ubek!" Expressing raw rage was impossible.
I was on the verge of drowning, with death's threat right before my eyes.
"Ugh... save me!"
This wasn't some calm valley stream or lake—it was the open ocean, with shitty weather to boot. And during the fall from the cliff, I'd smacked into rocks all over, leaving my body battered and aching everywhere. Drowning imminent. A do-or-die crisis.
All I could do was struggle to keep my head above the massive waves crashing down. Am I really gonna die like this? For a split second, I wondered if this surreal nightmare was just a dream and considered letting go. But as if flashing me a yellow card for that thought, a warning message popped up before my eyes.
Possession is NON-FICTION, not fiction.
Death here means REAL death.
I hadn't done anything wrong—why the hell was I suddenly thrust into this absurd situation? It was infuriating, but acceptance was my only option.
"Hiss, what the...? Feels like I'm starting to get the hang of it if I just hold on?"
Still, silver lining amid the misfortune? At first, I was too panicked adapting to notice, but as things settled, the waves seemed to follow a pattern. Testing a few breaths with the flow, the situation stabilized.
"This is manageable?"
I uttered the words I shouldn't have, unconsciously raising a flag.
SPLASH!
"Guhack!"
No sooner had my arrogant words escaped than a massive wall of water slammed into my face. Hitting me head-on right as I gulped a big breath, seawater flooded every orifice—mouth, ears, nose—like a full-frontal assault.
Aaagh, sorry! Nature's power demands eternal humility. Lesson learned.
The problem? Paying the price for that lesson: cold, salty, painful. What a brutal sensory mashup. No mercy as it pummeled me, and I could feel my limits closing in.
"Glug glug glurg."
Maybe thanks to living as a martial artist—my body was tough. It held out far longer than expected. But as my modern, pampered soul's mentality resurfaced and clashed, confusion shattered my balance. My body sank deeper, consciousness fading, swept away by the currents.
*
Screech, screech!
"This sucks."
The seagull cries in my ears, paired with the creeping dread invading my mind—this sucks was the only way to describe it. What sin from my past life? I never cursed much, never broke laws, always fulfilled my duties... right? Memories blurred; I couldn't swear to it.
Anyway, "Eugene... Peng Yujin."
Having lived his life from childhood, I knew the original "game Eugene" only in barest outline: his name, his role. Hongsim Yeonhwa—the title screamed generic wuxia game. It should've faded into obscurity like countless others. But the illustrator's killer artwork drew gamers in, only for the hidden "Netorare" tag at the bottom to shock them. It blew up for all the wrong reasons.
Why do I know so well? Mitigating circumstances: I only played because I was a diehard fan of the illustrator BellflowerBear.
The issue? Underestimating my own limits. I thought myself omnivorous, immune to NTR. Huge mistake. Judging without diving into the abyss? Self-reflection on my naivety.
Impressions: First outsourced gig, maybe? Art quality exceeded her usual—eye candy. Beyond that? Trash. Story was the worst offender. Even as the stealer, it soured your mood.
Peng Yujin—even in surname-rich China, Peng is rare.
Yes, his status: near-heir to one of wuxia's Five Great Clans, the Hebei Peng Family.
But caveat: he was a paper tiger. Genius in external arts, zero internal energy talent. Couldn't learn the family's famed blade arts despite stamina. Doomed in succession struggles.
Rumors branded the direct-line failure a halfwit. Life turned grueling.
Yet he held on. Amid family abandonment—even parents—he had one ally: childhood friend and lover, Namgung Yeona.
Gaps widened; he lost to low-rank retainers. Daily torment, depression.
But seeing her healed him. Fueled his training sans breakthroughs.
Of course, she backstabbed him spectacularly.
Reason? Moyong Shin claimed a cure for his Blocked Meridians. She hooked up to learn it.
Vivid memory: witnessing their affair. Rage dwarfed the illustrations. Pushed to extremes, I learned desperation's limits. Thanks for the lesson, you scum.
...Now, I craved those unsaid words again.
"Fuck this shit for real."
The curse of knowledge hit. Ignorance was bliss. My usual restraint shattered, spilling my fury.
So what now? Revenge impossible in this trash body? Scrape by at rock bottom?
"Haa."
No point lamenting. At least I'd sorted my situation mentally.
"Where the hell am I?"
Washed ashore on some remote southern isle. On the beach: a wrecked ship syncing perfectly with pirate movie vibes—theme park on steroids.
"What is this? Feels so out of place."
Murim to Age of Sail? No such map in the game. Too exotic to forget.
"Really stranded, huh."
Fresh memories churning, plus shipwreck? If orchestrated, pure evil.
Drift survival—fiction fodder. Never imagined firsthand.
Should've reread those castaway comics. Childhood guilty pleasure, math-book camouflage. Fun over facts; zilch recalled.
"Feels hopeless."
Haa. Sigh, flop onto back. Ocean, island, beach. Hated nature's fury yesterday; now lounging? Ironic peace. World-weary apathy crept in.
Revenge necessary? No talent—why not chill here?
'No, not here. Moyong Shin.'
'Shut up and follow. You like it too, right?'
"Fuck!"
Flashback to their ugly betrayal—revulsion surged. Memories vivid, unbidden. Stillness worsened it. Waves crashing, breeze soothing—mood tanked.
"Can't even say 'whatever' anymore."
Stray thoughts looping; idleness impossible.
Haa. Irritated sigh, haul up.
Best cure for negatives: action.
"Anyway, shipwrecked now. Priorities first."
Survival basics: secure safety. Beach clear. Wounds from cliff fall: scabs formed. External arts ace; healed fast despite no qi.
Next: inhabited or deserted? Terrain later. Shelter priority.
Eyes on wreck. Risky—could collapse. But must check.
No survivors visible, but supplies? Building materials, weapons ideal. Clues on isle/sea bonus.
No more delay. Dragging weary body, I approached the hulking ship.