I NTR'd the Romance Fantasy Heroine
Snow-white, slender fingers turned the page. Flutter. The cheap paper contrasted sharply with those flawless, callus-free digits. But their owner scrutinized the illustrations within.
"...Ugh."
The fingers trembled lightly for a moment.
—Knock, knock.
At the sound from outside, the owner hurriedly shoved the book under the bed.
— "Lady Arina Saint. The engagement rehearsal is approaching soon."
The girl steadied her breathing a few times before replying calmly.
"I-I'll be out in a moment."
"I've completely lost my mind."
I clutched my head and hung it low. No. Even if I misread the genre, this was too much. NTR-ing the saintess heroine from the obsessive tyrant male lead with eromanga? And that final line...
—"I never knew jerking off felt this good—I've wasted half my life!! ♥"
"You insane bastard. Die, die!"
As I bashed my head against the wall, a calm, icy voice came from beside me.
"Young master. At that rate, you won't die. Shall I assist?"
I turned to look. Estelle was approaching, now even wearing black leather gloves. This maid! I yanked my forehead from the wall and flopped back onto the sofa.
Even the maid was ganging up on me... My voice sank involuntarily.
"Estelle..."
"Yes."
"What if His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince—er, Leonhardt Bell—got extremely angry?"
Estelle gazed down at me with an expression that screamed, 'Why are you only asking the dumbest questions today?'
"Why ask what every imperial citizen knows? His Imperial Highness will become a benevolent, perfect sovereign."
"R-Right?"
"However, judging by circumstances, his political enemies often meet with suspicious accidents or fatal slips. No one knows when or how you'll die if you defy him."
No. How does this maid know facts only readers would?
"Newspapers aren't for show. You must read between the lines."
Yes. She was just a brilliant maid. It felt like a waste to have her in our family. Smart as she was, why stick with this beggar noble house?
As my thoughts wandered, I remembered I wasn't in a position to worry about her. Leonhardt Bell, the male lead of Golden Chains, was destined to become the empire's worst tyrant. And I'd used his one savior—his fiancée—as a model for all sorts of depraved doujinshi fantasies, then scattered them across the capital!
"Ha, haha..."
If my pen name Extra got exposed? If the Crown Prince saw the comic and snapped at the depictions of his holy fiancée being defiled, losing all reason?
'Before that psycho twists my head off, I need to pack and bolt tonight...!'
As I plotted my desperate survival plan, a very undignified rumble echoed from my stomach.
Gurgle~.
"...It's mealtime, young master."
Estelle opened the drawing room door. Fine. Even if I run, I should eat first. I dragged my wobbly legs toward the dining hall.
The Ashy Barony's dining hall laid bare our dire finances—we could be homeless tomorrow and no one would bat an eye. Instead of a grand noble table laden with finery, four meager wooden bowls sat atop it. Inside sloshed some unidentified, thin, transparent liquid.
"Ian, come sit."
Father greeted me with a fake cough. Albert Ashy, family head. A romantic lover of art and a debt-manufacturing machine. He'd squandered our fortune sponsoring street artists and publishing unsellable obscure poetry. The culprit behind our bankruptcy.
"...Father. What's on the menu today?"
"Ahem. It's Clear Cabbage Soup, embodying the breath of dew-kissed earth."
Just water with a cabbage chunk floating in it. As I sat with a defeated look, my sister Chloe Ashy across from me flipped through the ledger with cold eyes.
"Even that cabbage was picked up by Estelle from old man Thomas's field next door. We have no budget for dinner tonight."
Chloe, the de facto family head standing against our debt mountain in Father's and runaway eldest brother's stead. Dark circles hung under her eyes like medals.
"Chloe, reading ledgers at the table is bad for digestion."
"Be quiet, Father. That 'mysterious ancient statue' you bought last month? Its installment is due tomorrow."
Father Albert averted his gaze and slurped the watery soup. Then, from the kitchen, eldest sister Amelia Ashy emerged with a warm smile. Our angel, handling all housework in Mother's stead.
"Ian, hungry? I heard your stomach growling."
"Uh, a bit."
"Want seconds?"
Amelia poured something generously into my bowl with a bright smile. Just plain water.
"...Sis, isn't this just water?"
"Diluting it doubles the portion—it's magic! Eat up."
Before her innocent smile, I couldn't even get mad. It was the tear-jerking reality of House Ashy. I felt the empire's high society mocking us as 'penniless snobs with eyes too big for their pockets' deep in my bones.
'...Running away my ass.'
No emergency rations to take; I'd starve on the road. Plus, I felt attached to this family somehow.
'At least I have paper and pens.'
Come to think of it, I'd published my eromanga with ironclad anonymity. As long as I wasn't caught, it'd be fine.
Then—
"Ah!"
Enlightenment struck. The plain-water soup before me. It started as cabbage soup, but diluting turned it into cabbage-wash soup. If I churned out more eromanga...
'Instead of a heroine-NTR psycho, I'd just be a generic perv.'
The ultimate eromanga dilution tactic.
'Fine. If I can't avoid it, I'll go all in.'
Artists birth masterpieces in poverty, after all. I'd gained revelation from watered-down cabbage soup. As I chugged the plain water to steel my resolve—
A laugh escaped me. This family could be helpful sometimes—
BAM BAM BAM BAM—!!
The mansion's front door shook like it might shatter.
"Baron Ashy! We know you're in there! Open up!!"
A rough, brutish voice. The creditor merchants' thugs.
"Eek!"
Father Albert flung his spoon, paled instantly, and bolted up.
"Kh-hm! Father suddenly has a chronic illness flare-up—needs rest! Ian, guard the door well!"
He fled out the back like a shot.
"...Seriously."
—This damn family corner is never helpful.
No matter how much of a porn peddler I was, I wasn't so depraved as to toss my two beautiful family members to the wolves. No—because I was a porn peddler, I couldn't hand family to creditors. That was pure eromanga cliché.
"Open up, Baron Ashy!"
"Coming."
I headed to the drawing room and opened the door. Three grim-faced merchant thugs barged in. The leader trampled the carpet with muddy boots and glared down at me sneeringly.
"Where's the baron? Whatever. You know today's the deadline, right?"
He used "milord" but dripped mockery. High society knew us as suckers, so even loan sharks treated us like dirt.
I glanced at Estelle behind me, then casually sat on the sofa. Honorifics were a luxury for these guys.
"I know. But did you have to pound like that? Lacking manners for a noble house."
"Ha! Manners? To a roadside noble about to be tomorrow's beggar! Cough up this month's interest now!"
The man slammed the drawing room table with his fist.
"Fail to pay, and we'll finally get that territory transfer deed stamped."
"Territory transfer?"
I furrowed my brow. A strong sense of wrongness flashed through my mind. Our territory was wasteland on the capital's outskirts—barely arable. And they're demanding it now, after squeezing us dry?
'Suspicious. Usually, obsession with wasteland means... massive magic stone mine underground, or redevelopment plot twist?'
As a creator, I knew novel clichés cold. I didn't recall Ashy Barony details, but this screamed foreshadowing. Maybe we weren't just debt-riddled losers.
I crossed my legs leisurely and smirked.
"Can't hand over the territory."
"What? Gonna default? Hey, boys! Haul out everything valuable in this mansion! Women too!"
The man nodded to his goons. Chloe paled and tried to rush out from behind.
That moment—
Clink!
I pulled a heavy leather pouch from my pocket and tossed it indifferently onto the table. Glittering gold coins inside chimed beautifully.
"...Huh?"
The man's eyes bulged.