Prologue: The Allure of Agony
Anyone who gets possessed carries their own dirty little secret in their heart. Like having a thing for legs in stockings, or getting turned on by an anthropomorphic animal, or—who knows—excited by a dragon crashing into a car...? Sometimes tastes are so weird no one else gets it. But as long as it's not a crime, it's never a bad thing.
And I had one I couldn't tell a soul about.
"Ah, I just love seeing people in agony."
That's right. I loved watching people suffer. Especially the heartbroken sobs of someone regretting their past—it made my guts tingle just hearing it. Aaah, record that for me as ASMR. I'll listen to it when I sleep.
Of course, showing that in real life would be a huge nuisance. Giggling next to someone crying their eyes out? You'd deserve a punch or a kick. I'd seen plenty of rough stuff as a kid for that reason. As an adult, I learned to hold back naturally.
Tastes are just tastes. Can't hurt others with them.
Besides, I was just a normal guy with a weird kink. Seeing myself happy beside someone's pain always hit me with massive guilt. In the end, that taste pushed people away from me. The stress outweighed the joy. What can you do?
Luckily, it never caused big problems in life. When the urge hit, I'd binge some tragic doujins or NTR manga, and it'd fade. I figured I'd socialized just fine.
Still, I'd love to see it for real just once. Anyone I could torment without consequences?
On my way home from overtime, I walked the dark night streets, eyes on my smartphone. I glimpsed someone coming from the opposite direction, but they'd just pass by, so I ignored it.
Until they were close enough to touch—and suddenly, a sharp kick against the pavement.
"Why... are you pretending not to know me...?"
"Ugh...?!"
Stab.
A cold sensation bloomed inside my gut. Chilling dread that something was wrong. My breath caught.
I looked down. Someone had stabbed my stomach with a knife.
What the...?
I shoved the attacker away hard on reflex. But my legs buckled, and I collapsed right there.
It hurt. Hurt so bad no scream came out. Why the hell get stabbed out of nowhere?
Lifting my head, I finally saw it was a woman. Backlit by the streetlamp, her face was a shadow.
She loomed over me, voice icy.
"Why won't you look at me? I love you so much..."
"What... are you..."
"At least when you die... you'll look at me, right...?"
Gush.
Blood poured out at an alarming rate. But I barely noticed. She'd stepped closer—now I could see her face.
Who the hell are you...?
She was a total stranger. I'd always avoided getting close to people, so no chance I'd forgotten. Only one possibility left.
Did she mistake me for someone else...?
Stabbing the wrong guy out of grudge? Utterly ridiculous. Are you insane? ...Well, stabbing someone means you're not sane anyway. At least realize it after!
I stared at my hand clutching my stomach. Palm soaked red, burning hot.
This is bad... Probably not surviving...
Guessed she hit something vital. Eyelids grew unbearably heavy. Even an ambulance would be too late now.
Half-resigned, I looked at her and thought, This sucks. Mistaking people has limits.
Not like dialing the wrong number. Even a saint would get pissed. But stabbed, what could I do?
Then a brilliant idea hit.
Right—she thinks I'm someone else. Perfect.
I cleared my throat softly, suppressed the pain, and acted. Face full of affection. Struggling, I rose.
"Sorry... I should've... told you..."
"...What?"
"I... cough... must've made you... misunderstand..."
"Wh-what... What are you saying?!"
Pause here—key timing. Theater club alum, remember? Build emotion before the big line.
Staggering to her, I pulled her into a weak embrace. Whispered desperately in her ear.
"I love you."
"Huh? What did you just—"
"I don't... resent you... at all..."
"Liar... Now you say that... after all this..."
Clang.
Knife dropped from her hand. Her already pale face went ghostly white. She'd realized her mistake.
Thought she wasn't loved, stabbed in rage. But she was? Yeah, she'd want to cry.
No, but realize you stabbed the wrong guy, idiot!
"No... Don't die... I was wrong..."
"..."
"What have I done... No... I can't... without you..."
Collapse.
Something shattered inside her. She crumpled to her knees, face twisted in despair.
I watched, smiling inwardly.
The face of a woman who thinks she's ruined everything—perfection~
Fully satisfied, I closed my eyes gently. No point fighting anymore. Exhausted.
"Sorry..."
Consciousness faded like sleep. A sharp stab pierced flesh. Thud—something hit the ground.
Yeah. Her choice, huh. Well... saved one life from a knife. And died seeing my favorite face. Good enough.
With that, darkness swallowed me.
Death is cold. My last thought ever.
That was supposed to be the end of my short 25-year life.
...Or so I thought.
When I came to, an unfamiliar ceiling stared back.
"Unfamiliar ceiling... Wait, where am I?"
I bolted upright. Not expecting to live, so more dazed than happy. Maybe someone reported me collapsed on the roadside? But that blood loss... no way I survived.
Looking down to check my stomach, I froze.
A pair of breasts blocked my view.
Silicone...? No, feels like real flesh...
Did the hospital randomly give me a sex change?! Yeah, zero realism there.
I poked at them with both hands, scanning the room.
"Not a hospital..."
A plain, drab room. Bed, wardrobe, desk... Definitely not medical.
What the hell is this place? If I don't know, explore.
I slid off the soft bed.
"Whoa, hold on... I'm wearing a negligee or something. Gross... Where's a mirror?"
Who put me in flimsy lingerie? Goosebumps rising, I approached the nearest mirror.
The reflection shocked me.
"A cute girl in a negligee groping her own boobs..."
Navy blue hair, golden eyes. Youthful face clashing with a voluptuous body. Calm, pure aura overall.
My taste ran bigger up top, but this handful size wasn't bad.
Looks familiar...?
Something nagged at me—the colors, the features. Déjà vu, but not quite pinpointed. Like staring at a search bar, unsure what to type. Needed more clues.
Time to look around.
Guess this is possession. The amnesia type.
Usually comes with a helpful maid or a suspiciously detailed diary. No such convenience here.
Damn, all those possession stories wasted.
Instead, desk held an ID and smartphone. Jackpot.
I grabbed the ID first.
"...Ah!"
Lightning struck my brain. Leira. I knew that name. Especially with navy hair and golden eyes!
I rushed back to the mirror, hiked up the negligee, and inspected my pale belly closely.
A striking crimson tattoo below the navel.
"A stigma... Then this is really...?"
Artificial humans, Valkyries, made to fight humanity's enemy, the Erosion Species. Every one bore a pattern—a stigma—somewhere on their body.
If my guess was right... this was the game world I knew.
Realizing that, my face drained of color.
Because Leira dies in that game.
She's the first to go... right in the prologue!
The prologue went something like this:
Player's a rookie commander leading Valkyries. Leira, diligent and loyal, serves under him. Mission goes wrong with an unexpected accident. Leira holds off a horde alone to protect the commander.
Commander returns with reinforcements soon after... but only finds Leira's mangled corpse.
Community ripped it apart. Great character design, then kill her off so brutally in the prologue?
Mandatory scene too—no way to save her. Not even playable. Doomed from the start.
"Wait a sec."
Something clicked. Original game never showed the commander's reaction. Player avatar, so no need.
Leira's death wasn't my favorite then. I love others' pain, hate my own—selfish like that.
But if the commander here is a separate person...?
"I could see him despairing over my gruesome corpse...?"
Thud.
I sank to the floor. Imagining it made my lower belly quiver—couldn't stand.
I didn't love self-harm to torment others. But if Leira's death was fated... exploiting it a bit wasn't wrong, right?
"Hehe... heh... Can't help it...?"
Grinning at filthy thoughts, I eyed the mirror. Leira grinned back, lewd and base.
Couldn't wait for what came next.