I Mistook the Genre
I woke up to a stranger's ceiling—the oldest cliché in the book, the one where you pass out drunk and end up in another world. Yeah, that was me.
Ah, did I go too hard on the cheap soju after finishing that deadline?
I'd been serializing a dozen or so steamy webtoons on adult platforms, revered in those circles as a real connoisseur of the lewd. But after getting rejected on a major platform and drowning my sorrows, I opened my eyes to... this? Where the hell am I? Who the hell am I?
"Guess I'm swearing off cheap soju from now on."
If that major platform editor hadn't ripped me a new one like a dog!
—Your characters are too lewd; I can't empathize with them, author-nim.
—Even the passing extras are drawn so slutty—what am I supposed to do with that?
—I'll recommend a wholesome romance fantasy. Read this and redraw it.
The problem? Even that recommended romance fantasy had a heroine who looked way too fuckable. Guess I'm destined to be a porn artist for life.
With that thought, I cracked open who-knows-how-many bottles of cheap soju. And the result?
"Young Master Ian. How long do you intend to sleep? The creditors are one step away from ripping the parlor doors off their hinges."
A maid with a frosty expression stood before me, and the mirror reflected some unfamiliar pretty boy. Black hair, gray eyes. Sharp and cold at first glance, but lift the corners of his mouth in a smirk, and it turned surprisingly warm—like a gigolo with hidden charm.
I pieced it together in record time. Medieval Western European fantasy with maids! No way—did I possess the background character from that fantasy porn comic I drew ages ago?
Then what I gotta do is obvious.
Chill in some safe spot, suck honey from modern knowledge. Heh. Anyone versed in web novels and webtoons reaches that conclusion quick.
But there was a problem.
My name was Ian Ashy. Second son of the Ashy Barony.
The issue? This goddamn barony was in such dire financial straits that sleeping on the streets tomorrow wouldn't be surprising.
"Young Master, if we can't scrape together any gold right now, we won't even cover this month's estate upkeep—let alone my wages."
"Got it, got it. I'll figure out how to make money, so just hold the fort on those doors."
"So the doors matter more than my wages? No wonder..."
"...No wonder what?"
"You've been holed up in your room every day, scribbling away at something. I respect that you're a grown man, but it's grinding my bones to dust."
"No! It's a misunderstanding!"
Brushing off the maid's misconception.
Anyway, I got that I'd possessed a vanilla fantasy world. The problem was the family being broke.
How was a modern webtoon artist with zero magic or sword skills supposed to make money in another world?
"Ah."
The answer was set in stone. If you're a porn artist, draw porn and sell it—what else?
Doomed to crank out ero-manga here too.
Wonder what the culture level's like around here?
I immediately scoured the bookstore district in the capital, Caliola. But holy shit—what a wasteland.
The so-called "naughty novels" peddled in back alleys? Barely "her voluptuous figure was beautiful" levels of tame.
And illustrated lewd comics? Not a single one.
"Nice."
No more getting buried in rankings despite drawing killer stuff in cutthroat competition!Monopolize the lewd comic market all by oneself?
I threw an instant victory uppercut celebration.
"...My apologies."
Estelle, the maid who'd walked in, gave an awkward look as she turned to leave—but who cares. This was a revolution to shatter the empire's—no, the whole isekai's—sexual mores.
"Alright! Sell ero-manga to save the family finances!"
Goal set, nothing could stop me.
Ian apparently had some serious artistic talent. Combined with my past life's webtoon skills, my pen hand unleashed god-tier strokes.
But no matter how good the art, material is king. Which character would fleece this fantasy world's wallets?
That's it!
That damn editor's recommended romance fantasy webtoon, Golden Chains! Called it wholesome, my ass...
The heroine, Arina Saint. Snow-white silver hair, blue eyes, chaste saintess robes buttoned to the neck. Outwardly calm, elegant, devout as hell.
But through a lewd comic artist's eyes? Perfect corruption fodder.
A noble, ascetic saint harboring secret desires, falling into depravity. Doesn't that just tingle?
"You're my heroine. Name... Marina'll do."
I went ham with the pen. Days and nights blurring into my first isekai doujinshi, Saintess's Secret Confession.
Minimal strokes for mass printing, but all the spicy points intact. Pen name Extra to avoid tails.
Result? Jackpot.
In this blue ocean with zero illustrated porn comics, my work flooded the capital's back-alley secret booksellers.
"Y-Young Master, what is all this money?! D-Don't tell me you sold your body?!"
Estelle checked the money pouch, losing her cool composure in shock.
My porn comic, snapped up by noble errand boys in the capital's shadows, raked in enough in days to scare off the creditors at our door.
"Investment paid off big. Pay off tomorrow's merchant debt in full first."
"...Understood. But Young Master, money from unclear sources can bite us later."
"Didn't sell my body. What kinda eyes you givin' your master?"
"Hmph."
Estelle eyed me suspiciously but pocketed the pouch without a word.
Next day, the creditor merchant gawked at our gold sack, bowed obsequiously, and scrammed. Family bankruptcy averted.
I sank deep into the parlor sofa, sipping fresh hot tea, basking in triumph.
Haha, isekai's a joke. Pump out a few more porn comics, rake in cash, live easy forever.
Whether this was my ero-fantasy worldview or generic fantasy—who cares. As long as I thrive.
Then Estelle entered the parlor with the morning imperial capital paper.
"We subscribe to the paper too?"
"Subscription lapsed, but paid up today—delivery resumed."
"Brutally poor, huh."
Why'd I possess into this house? Nah. Better than dynamic plots threatening my life.
Estelle's voice cut through my idle thoughts.
"Big news from the capital."
"News? Anyway, why're you reading the paper? Shouldn't the master do it?"
"Why would Young Master suddenly read the paper?"
...Ian. What kinda life did you live?
"So, what's the news? Emperor cutting taxes?"
"No. Official announcement from the imperial family and church. Crown Prince Leonhardt Bell, next in line for emperor, and the church's great saintess Arina Saint—their political engagement has been formalized."
Pffft! I spectacularly spat out my mouthful of tea.
"Cough! Wha—what?! Who with who engaged?!"
"Crown Prince Leonhardt Bell and Saintess Arina Saint."
Estelle calmly wiped the tea-splattered table (eyes treating me like a bug) and replied flatly.
Brain freeze. Alarms blared wildly in my head.
Askania Empire. Leonhardt Bell. Arina Saint.
"Hold up. The crown prince... blond hair, red eyes?"
"...Everyone in the empire knows the imperial symbol is blond hair and red eyes, no?"
"Saintess is silver hair, blue eyes, right?!"
"Why ask the obvious today? Did you sell part of your brain for cash?"
Estelle's answers turned my vision white.
Miscalculation. This wasn't some vanilla fantasy ero-world I'd imagined.
It was the world of that "wholesome" novel the editor recommended! Golden Chains—the clean romance fantasy of imperial politics and redemptive love!
"Fuck!"
Memories flooded in.
This Ian Ashy I possessed? A nameless extra who quietly exits stage left in the original, fate unknown.
Worse—the shit I'd just pulled.
Crazy. That Marina I used as a model... is the real-world heroine, Great Saintess Arina Saint?!
And I'd drawn high-level degenerate doujinshi of her, dripping with sticky fantasies.
That comic's flying off shelves among the capital's nobles right now.
"Ha, haha..."
A more horrific fact hit.
The original male lead, engaged to Saintess Arina: Leonhardt Bell. Outwardly benevolent, rational perfect prince—but harboring psychosis, the "seeds of a tyrant." A total psycho.
Rage shatters his reason, mana goes berserk—empire's worst tyrant!
The saintess tames those seeds through their political marriage—that's the core plot!
I drew ero-manga of that psycho-tyrant crown prince's fiancée... and circulated it?
If the imperial family—no, that mad prince—hears?
I'm dead. Painfully dead, not even bones left.
"Young Master? Your face is deathly pale."
"Estelle... if our house gets wiped out, what'll you do?"
"Pardon? If you've plotted treason or something, I'll pack quick and bolt in the night."
"Very rational."
I flopped onto the sofa like a corpse.
I'd badly misread the genre. Thought it was plain ero-fantasy, made bank happily—but nope. Blood-and-tears tyrant romance fantasy.
In one go, I'd become the lunatic who drew ero-manga of the tyrant's fiancée.