New Start, New Body 2
The blinding light pouring from the ceiling fixtures turned the center of the room as bright as noon. Numbers one through seven occupied seats around the circular table. It was a space all too familiar to me.
This time, number 1. Looks like they set the futanari to number 1.
Unlike the previous game where I'd been Player 2, the number the mafia had held was now at my spot on the table.
Probably no one else is jumping back into the game like me.
If the same lineup from last time had sat down, the number alone would've made me suspect. But the organizers, who obsessed over the mafia game, wouldn't screw up like that. Plus, there were six empty seats—no one had emerged before me. Unlike me, who'd skipped the rules broadcast, the rest were still huddled in their rooms, ears glued to the announcements spilling out.
For now, just sit...
Even with no one around, I couldn't drop my guard. I knew I was invisible to the others, but I still shielded the hideous penis with the table anyway.
"Haa..."
Me, a futanari...
This body, weighed down by its new dangling burden, wouldn't let me think as coolly as before. Even in the vacant space devoid of stares, anxiety gnawed at me.
Kiiik—the doors of the other participants' rooms started swinging open, whether I was ready or not.
"......"
They won't notice, right?
The eerie creak sent chills down my spine. I tensed, my heart thudding faintly.
"Hmm, so this is the infamous game arena... Doesn't look all that special."
The first other player to emerge prowled the arena, eyes scanning every inch. Her soft mutter and steely gaze chased shadows beyond the walls.
She not embarrassed in that getup?
Staring at the others' blatantly exposed crotches made my rod twitch and stiffen, ruining any chance of sitting straight. Shame flooded me from the leggings' teasing friction. Just one penis grafted on, and the same old scenery looked utterly alien.
"Huh?"
"Ugh..."
Damn it...
My eyes locked perfectly with hers mid-scan of the leggings. My heart—never once tested by theft—pounded like mad.
"Hmmm..."
Her probing gaze narrowed to slits. That razor-sharp stare felt like an X-ray burrowing into my guts.
Did I gawk too hard? Getting suspected right off the bat'll make this game hell...!
My head iced over at how I'd already botched the opening move—a slip I never would've made before.
"Hello there."
I eased my wariness toward the shady newcomer and dipped my head in greeting.
"Uh, yeah... nice to meet you too."
She looked about Mirae's age, my little sister. I kept it casual.
"Player 7, right next to me. Take care, Player 1."
"You too, Player 7."
A quick exchange, and Player 7 took her seat.
Not the shy type, huh.
Player 4 from last game—the real cop—had been unfazed too, but this kid-looking Player 7 didn't scream "professional."
Whatever... young or not, they're all adults.
One of the rumored quals for entry: participants had to be beyond society's protections.
Kiiik—while I wrestled my unruly body back under control, the rest trickled in one by one.
"Making us throw on this outta nowhere... ugh..."
Player 2, long pink hair cascading down.
—
"Said it'd be big trouble... aigoo, couldn't dodge the debt after all."
Player 3, clutching prayer beads and rambling in thick dialect.
—
"This insane outfit... so the game's legit? Then that 100 million's really mine...?"
Player 4, grinding through the humiliation while scheming her comeback.
—
"Fuck..."
Player 5, twin tails and a mouth like a sailor.
—
"Deathmatch straight from the alley... the legend's real...! Then ma—magic girl too, hee hee..."
Player 6, dragged into the urban myth arena and geeking out sleazily.
Yeah, embarrassment's the sane reaction.
Player 7 aside, every legging-clad player clutched their crotch with both hands.
Once everyone was seated, the moderator bailed with a curt wrap-up, sounding bored.
They all look young.
Players 2 through 4 matched my age; 5 through 7 had that fresh-faced vibe. Wild contrast to last game, with its married mom and kid.
Better seize control early here.
While the alley-fresh rookies clammed up, eyeing each other, I—the veteran—struck first.
"How about we share why we're here? I need family medical bills covered. Roughly 40 million won."
I kicked off intros to thaw the ice and fish for dirt. First mouth open paints a target—but with my junk, nights weren't my worry.
"Family medical... I started a solo salon, things tanked. Need 50 million upfront."
Player 2—the salon owner—sighed, grabbing the baton.
"Came 'cause feng shui here's prime. More cash, the better."
Player 3 rattled her beads with mystic flair. Psychic-cult vibes.
"70 million. Gotta hit 70 to reboot or bail."
Debt-crushed Player 4 kept it brief.
"Gotta spill? You lot have fun."
Baby-faced Player 5 blew it off with a scoff.
"I-I was hunting magic girls in the alley! Got sucked into this weird game instead... B-but if games like this exist, ma-magic girls must too, right?! Seen any?"
Player 6... total headcase. Unlucky bystander vibe. Eyes lit up at "magic girl"—prize money? Who cares.
"Needed money."
Player 7: curt as hell. Zero backstory.
Fortune teller, magic girl stan... 3 and 6 are oddballs, but irrelevant.
Out here, jobs and pasts meant squat under Asmo-Zeus's thumb. Only game-changers: citizens' pills.
Someone's packing investigation pills again, bet.
As the futanari mafia, those special items were my real threat.
Asking outright who's got 'em? Instant red flag.
I grabbed the mic, stepped up—then retreated.
"Anyway, one's a mafia among us. Futa... futamari? That the term?"
"Futanari, duh. Ears decorative?"
Player 2 fumbled the word; Player 5 jabbed snidely.
"What? Easy mix-up. You know futanari?"
"Nah? Where'd you even hear that crap."
"Kid looks..."
A shoulder graze sparked friction.
They're scrapping already. Let 'em burn.
Mafia me? Self-destruct's a gift. I spectated.
Bam! Someone smashed the table before votes turned it into a grill.
"Don't fight."
Player 7 shut 'em down, warning tone.
Not like she'd crunched the losses—just hated the vibe.
"Futanari's a yokai, yin and yang fused in one."
In the lull, Player 3 kneaded her beads, dropping lore.
"Plain talk: slut with a massive dick slapped on."
"Th-that possible?"
"Like a magic girl—miraculous!"
Rookies perked up at the rundown.
"Futanari packing sun down below? Like Player 1 over there, radiating heat."
"Huh...?!"
Her finger jabbed mid-explain.
Penis is hidden, though?! Real deal fortune teller?
Player 3 nailed futanari me sans pill... Cold sweat beaded. Gut dropped.
"Hot ones flash chest like that. My amulet snags body heat, smartphone waves—all gone. Want one?"
She pointed not my loaded crotch, but the mod-swollen chest. Fake beads jingled; sales mode engaged.
"...Pass."
Scammer through and through. Psychic my ass—why street-hustle otherwise?
Last game's Hanna, suckered by scammer silver tongue, flashed in mind. Me, who'd called her idiot for the MLM scam? Laughable now. Body shift sharpened my edge. Like heat blooming...
No—actual heat rising.
Was it the shame rebound? Amid crotch-bared women, some alien surge boiled up from below. Breath heated faintly; mind-fog smoked thoughts away.
"No solid leads, so vote yourselves today. No vote on you? Mafia."
Beep—results show top vote only, but I played dumb, herding them.
Beep—beep—beep—...
They followed suit, self-votes all around.
[No player received the most votes]
"Not full results, huh."
"Just shows the goner?"
"Tch."
Second round, same drill.
Pop—the center light died; room lights flared.
Kiiik—I filed into my room like the rest, door shut. The box's clatter leaked past full soundproofing.
I snatched the heart-marked aphrodisiac and piped it straight to Player 4, no pause.
"70 million... can't be helped."
Save sis with 2 survivors max. No joint win with her 70m need. Kinder to cut her loose than curse her with this body... Or whatever in this cesspit game. Survival's king.
No traces left to chance—I stripped bare, resolve hardened.
"Haa... why so damn hot."
Day 1 daytime barely done, heat poured from every pore. Sweat beaded on slick skin. Not quite aphro—something indefinable.
My head hung low to the floor, but the penis now aimed at the door.
"Was it... always this long?"
Heat gnawing my brain? The monstrosity looked fiercer, mirage-sharp.
"Gotta pop a pill..."
Condition tanked—sanity slipping—I yanked the zzz pill pronto. Stripped to erase any penis hints.
Gulp—Day 1 night: down the hatch with the provided penis pill.