Chapter 2
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: I Picked Up an Erotic Novel (2)
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There had to be some vile conspiracy behind this.
For instance, maybe after completing this erotic novel, they'd pin it on me—the guy who'd been minding his own business—and utterly ruin my life by naming me the author.
Or perhaps it was a new form of bullying meant to exploit my sexual shame once I read it.
The girls I'd seen so far were more than capable of something like that.
Flip. Flip.
And so, I began turning through page after page.
Know your enemy and know yourself, and you'll win a hundred battles, or so the saying goes. Forcing my weary eyes to move, I pressed on.
『Ah...! So deeeep...!』
『As a noblewoman—and as a woman—her most precious possessions had completely fallen into his hands.』
『Her pristine purity. Her lofty pride.
And as if devouring all that wasn't enough, Luke was now eyeing even deeper, more secretive places.』
『S-Stop... Eek...?!』
『Not even three minutes in, her pathetic surrender was utterly drowned out by the gasps forced from her with every thrust inside.』
『Why is he trying to go all the way in there?』
『I'd definitely read in some book as a kid that when a woman gets aroused, her womb drops down and clings to the tip...』
Thud! Thud! Thud!!
『Hek...?! He...?! Heuh...?』
『...Ah?』
『What was that? Where was I?』
『I don't... kn-know... I was wrong...』
『Wrong, huh? Were you trying to apologize and feed my sense of conquest?』
『Begging for mercy to stoke my sadism?』
『Or maybe pleading for just a moment to breathe?』
『Mmph...! Mmph...?! Urk...』
『Her face buried in the soaked pillow, suffocating her,
all while that freakishly massive cock relentlessly pounded her womb—thud, thud—
snapping the fragile thread of her thoughts like a twig.』
『Right, I remember now.』
『Cock. Just cock.』
『Is it okay for it to come this far in?
It's already slamming into my navel from below—if it goes any deeper, I'm really done for.』
『With this thickness,
this speed,
this length,
I should be writhing in agony from my body breaking apart.
Why can I only pant like a bitch in heat?』
They say forcing yourself through fatigue suddenly clears your mind.
That was exactly my situation right now.
The eerie chirp of crickets had given way to birdsong, yet compared to cleaning at dawn, this felt more bearable.
Sure, the crash would hit in a few hours, but right now, not feeling tired was what mattered.
Thanks to that, I'd managed to finish the novel in one all-nighter.
Starting from a first-time experience written solely from the woman's perspective, it shifted to more intense play with alternating viewpoints.
Me oblivious to her scheme as I thrust down her throat.
Not touching anywhere else, just tormenting her nipples relentlessly.
Ignoring my words in the story earned her red handprints on her ass from spanking during sex—she seemed to see it as a reward—
or putting in the effort to develop her back entrance for a full night of fun.
The pages were packed with all sorts of shameful acts too embarrassing to speak aloud.
At this point, I had to wonder if a woman really wrote this.
It felt so real, I almost thought I'd penned it myself.
Which is why...
"...What do I do."
I was utterly screwed.
Let's assume the worst-case scenario first.
If this novel got me hauled into court, screaming "I didn't write it!" wouldn't sway the jury at all.
Assaulting noble ladies like this? What a born psycho.
All I could picture was being dragged to the execution grounds amid gasps of admiration like that.
Praying for absurd luck seemed to offer better survival odds than scrambling for an escape.
"......"
Now, let's consider the best-case scenario.
What if one of them actually wanted this and scribbled the erotic novel for that reason?
Thinking that way dredged up several nagging points.
First, this neat handwriting was suspicious.
If it was meant to frame me, they wouldn't have used such pretty script.
I couldn't write anything this beautiful.
Plus, examining the sentences closely revealed erasures and rewrites everywhere.
Traces of hesitation while writing—erotica, no less.
If the goal was to destroy my life, just writing "He raped all the nobles. Tasted great." would have sufficed as evidence.
It was definitely odd.
"Hmm..."
Finally, the story's themes and psychological descriptions bothered me.
Why would a noble dream of being raped by me?
Why fill it with a woman getting raped yet feeling happy?
Why?
To make me look like a more convincing pervert in court?
Or some other reason?
"...Idiot. No way."
Dismissing the delusions, I slapped my cheeks lightly with my exhausted hands.
No need to dwell on best-case scenarios.
I only had to worry about the worst.
A crimson notebook with zero hints on the author.
Staring it down any longer would just make me more tired.
Forget I ever saw it.
Burn the damn thing to ash.
They might suspect me, but without hard evidence, I could deny it to the end.
Decision made.
I slipped my cleaning mask back on, grabbed the mop frozen in its floor-pressed shape, and stood.
Sunlight was already halfway up outside.
No sleep for me, so I'd nap during the day to catch up.
Baekya or Kaen would wake me easily with their wooden swords anyway.
Staggering like I'd collapse any second, I used the mop as a cane to carefully exit the reading room.
Not everyone can only sleep comfortably in pitch darkness.
Sometimes, warm sunlight aids a pleasant slumber.
I learned that the hard way today.
"Uh...?"
A hard, sharp sensation on my cheek.
Shivering, I woke up.
A faint flutter of wings faded into the distance.
Did a passing crow mistake me for a corpse and peck my cheek?
But the force was too weak.
Rubbing my cheek irritably with the back of my hand, I forced open my heavy eyelids.
Finally, stark black came into view.
A familiar color, subtly unpleasant.
"Hey. Plebeian. You drunk?"
A voice laced with innocent mischief.
Still half-asleep, I scowled openly at her face.
A late thought: the bright sun gave me an excuse, thank goodness.
Maybe my disheveled state earned a bit of mercy from her.
"...No. I'm sober."
"Hmph. No booze smell... Why sleep here instead of your dorm?"
She tapped her lips with her index finger—tap, tap—then shifted her lilac gaze to the bucket beside me.
"Ah. Cleaning. Library duty, huh."
She saw it from the start.
She just wanted to say "cleaning" out loud.
Then laugh at my suppressed frustration.
Easiest to predict among the academy girls—that was one of her charms.
"Must've been tough. Mopping all night?"
Business as usual, so I stood without a word.
A few leaves fluttered down beneath my trembling legs.
Right after leaving the library, my head had spun suddenly.
Plenty of time left, so a quick rest under this tree.
That light thought, and I'd apparently dozed until near noon by the sun's position.
"So, sleep well? Until me and Baekya had to hunt you down?"
"...Sorry."
Hands behind her back, she grilled me.
A month's experience said bow first and see.
She didn't want sincere apologies anyway.
Just enjoyed my groveling—it was her life's joy.
"Sleep well? You broke your promise."
But today, she craved more of it.
Not a sudden whim.
Still within normal bounds.
Kaen von Dandelrion, Northern Archduchess of the Renas Empire where I was born and raised, always flipped people like this.
A hassle, but compared to others, she was tame.
Treat her like a queen, and she'd nod contentedly.
A bit shorter than other girls.
A long scabbard that might drag on the ground.
Her ears and tail wagging in satisfaction as she nodded proudly—sometimes, she almost seemed cute.
"Whatever. You look beat, so I'll let it slide, plebeian. No idea what Baekya thinks."
A long, ink-black ponytail reaching her waist.
Behind it, a wolf tail flecked with gray fur swayed happily.
No clue why, but Kaen was in high spirits today.
Not truly mad, per her words, so a quick bow should suffice.
"Good call coming south. Baekya thought you might've been nabbed by Yuzu and headed north to the lab building."
"......"
"Who'd guess our plebeian forgot sparring and napped so carefree..."
"Sorry. Cleaning took too long."
Sparring.
Just days later, another beating like a dog.
Ignoring her usual snark, I gathered my cleaning tools.
Reacting to every word could stretch five minutes to thirty.
But total silence wasn't smart either.
Key was her tone.
Reply just as it started calming. That worked.
Like placating a kid.
Talking to Kaen felt like chatting with a power-drunk child, queenly words aside.
"......"
"......"
About a minute passed like that.
Kaen's voice began fading.
Not fading—gone silent.
Not a good sign.
Tired, I must've missed the shift...
Maybe play toy a bit now?
Mid-thought, packing up, a odd incongruity halted me.
Something missing.
What didn't I bring?
Dry rags. All here.
Water bucket. No mix-up.
Mop. Nothing special.
Duster fine, spare scrubber too, cheap masks crammed in my shirt pocket.
Then what...
Flip.
A page-turning sound came faintly from above as I knelt, patting the grass.
Flip.
Again.
Finally, an alarm blared in my foggy mind.
"H-Hey, plebeian? Wait... What's this?"
I whipped my head up to see Kaen frowning over the book.
Judging by the open page, at least 150 pages in.
So, probably...
The part where she in the story was diligently practicing irrumatio.
"This... You wrote it?"
I swallowed hard, delaying my answer.
No perfect response sprang to mind.
Deny ownership—then what?
Found in the library? Would she buy it?
Silence builds affirmation over time.
Had to speak now.
Not mine. Deny first.
Just as I geared up—
"...Pervert freak..."
Face flushed crimson, Kaen tossed the notebook back carefully.
Like avoiding filth splatter.
Very, very gingerly.
"All this time, looking at me like that..."
"Lady Kaen, it's—"
"Don't wanna hear it."
"I can explain. Just give me a moment..."
"I said I don't wanna hear it!"
Kaen stepped back delicately.
At least it wasn't her writing.
That casual thought drowned under my pounding heart.
How the hell do I escape this?
My throbbing head went dark.