A World Where Not Masturbating Causes Heat Sickness
Once the freshman oath concluded, an elegant woman stepped onto the stage.
It was Choi Ara, Chairman of the Academy University.
“New students, I offer you my sincere welcome to this glorious occasion. From this day forward you will carry out the most vital mission this nation has ever known: to serve great men, receive their genes, and ensure the prosperity of humankind.
This academy will remake you into the finest wives any man could choose. Wear that pride openly and join us on this great journey.”
Her voice was soft yet commanding; the women answered with thunderous applause. The next person to take the podium radiated an entirely different atmosphere.
Student Council President Choi Seoa.
The moment she appeared, the air inside the auditorium grew hotter. Waves of admiration and envy rolled through the seats.
A glossy brown ponytail, a body without a single ounce of excess fat, and underwear so skimpy it barely covered anything at all. “Hot” was nowhere near strong enough for a figure like hers.
“Freshmen.”
Choi Seoa’s voice was cold and razor-sharp.
“As the Chairman said, you came here to become the best wives possible. Do not misunderstand. University is not a playground.”
Her gaze swept slowly across the audience.
“Every one of you is a rival to the others. Only the most outstanding, the most devoted, and the most alluring woman will earn a man’s choice and the right to become a wife.
Laziness and complacency mean elimination. Remember that—remember what it means to grow old alone, never chosen by any man.”
At her icy words the hall fell so silent not even a breath could be heard. Then, mid-speech, Seoa’s eyes locked straight onto mine where I sat.
Every other woman’s gaze burned with heat and desire; hers was something else entirely.
Open, cutting hatred lived inside those eyes.
What the hell…?
My brow furrowed on its own. Had I done something wrong? Before I could even think, she was already addressing the entire freshman body again.
“Finally, we will conclude the entrance ceremony by reciting together the contract you will uphold for the rest of your lives.”
She raised a hand. Massive characters flared across the giant screen at the front of the auditorium.
“What’s that?” I asked Chaerin beside me.
“Marriage contract. That’s the official name, but everyone just calls it the Master Contract.”
She answered as if it were nothing. The text glowing on the screen was anything but nothing.
Student Council President Choi Seoa’s clear voice began reciting the clauses one by one, and every woman in the hall chanted them back like machines.
“Article 1. Upon conclusion of the contract, all tangible and intangible assets of the female contractor shall vest completely in the male head of household.”
“Article 2. The contractor shall have no right to refuse any sexual demand of the head of household; the head of household shall possess the right of discipline for the purpose of maintaining household order.”
“Article 3. The contractor shall have no freedom of residence or social activity without the permission of the head of household.”
“Article 4. The woman may never terminate this contract, yet the head of household may release the contractor at any time.”
The more I heard, the wider my mouth fell open.
Complete surrender of property, body, and freedom. A one-sided contract that let a husband discard her whenever his mood shifted. This was simply a slavery contract.
Yet unlike my stunned reaction, the faces of the women reciting those clauses shone with reverence and glory—as if they were knights receiving the highest honor.
In the middle of that surreal spectacle I looked once more at Student Council President Choi Seoa.
She still gazed down at the seats with an expression of pure ice. And I saw it clearly: her contemptuous eyes locked onto me again, dead center.
I was about to enter Class 1-1 with Chaerin and Subin for our upcoming lessons.
The moment I appeared, the hallway parted as if on cue.
With every step I took, the women standing there silently stepped aside to clear a path.
Not one of them turned their back on me. They pressed themselves against the walls and twisted only their faces to follow my every movement.
“…That guy’s in Class 1.”
“He’s a real man…”
“I wish I’d been assigned to Class 1.”
“He’s even better-looking than the guy in our class.”
The voices that barely escaped among the women were pure admiration and sighs.
I had never felt anything like this before.
Before the transmigration I had been transparent—someone no one ever noticed in a crowd.
Even locking eyes with another person had been rare; now dozens of gazes clung to my body alone.
My shoulders straightened of their own accord. A pleasant shiver ran down my spine.
So this is the weight a man carries in this world.
Before stepping into the classroom marked 1-1 I asked Chaerin why an academy university even had homerooms.
She explained that they split into classes because everyone had to take four hours of sex education every single day, and after lunch each student went to the classroom of her chosen major.
Incidentally, as a man I had no major. After lunch I could go home or wait for the girls—whatever I wanted.
Hearing about majors actually made it feel like a real university. Just a peculiar university with class divisions.
The second I, the only man, walked in, every soft sound inside the room cut off at once.
The classroom was like a stage. Roughly twenty women sat in various postures and outfits.
Yet every single choice of theirs pointed to one purpose: seduction.
Their poses, their clothes—everything was designed to lure a man.
I glanced casually at a girl near the front door.
First I saw a skirt riding dangerously high on her thighs. The seated position made the already short length look even more precarious.
When the fluorescent light hit the smooth legs exposed beneath the skirt, the silhouette of her underwear showed through.
On the other side a girl boldly displaying rock-hard abs watched me with her arms crossed. Every breath made those sharp eleven-pack muscles shift ever so slightly.
The healthy sexiness radiating from a well-trained body heated the classroom air.
The girl next to her had deliberately left her blouse half-unbuttoned. The deep valley of her cleavage flashing between the buttons dragged my attention in.
They were flaunting their most attractive features, and every last gaze was aimed at the man who had just arrived—me.
While I was still reeling, Chaerin took a seat by the window.
She propped her chin and stared outside as if uninterested, but her profile was rigid with tension. Having so many women targeting me clearly rattled her.
Han Subin sat behind her. Unlike the others’ blatant outfits she wore a white blouse and a skirt of ordinary length.
That pure look actually stood out with a strange presence in this lewd classroom.
When our eyes met she startled, gave a tiny smile, then dipped her head. Sunlight made her blonde hair sparkle.
My gaze drifted naturally to the very front row. A girl sat in perfect posture, staring straight at me.
Cha Ayeong—the one who had given the freshman representative oath at the entrance ceremony. She wore a tight-fitting suit that showed almost no skin, yet my eyes still went straight to her full, straining chest.
Then a soft, calm voice reached us.
“All right, everyone, please take your seats.”
A beauty with a gentle impression entered. She wore a suit like Cha Ayeong’s, but it wasn’t skin-tight.
Even as I sat down beside Chaerin I could feel every woman in the room holding her breath, tracking my every move.
“Welcome, everyone, to Marriage Academy. I am Yoon Iseol, and I will be your homeroom teacher for the next year.”
Her eyes rested on me for a moment. Unlike the others, a subtle curiosity lived in that gaze.
“And Kim Sihyuk—as the only man in the class, I look forward to working with you.”
“Yes, Teacher.”
When I answered, the air in the classroom stirred again. Soft murmurs like “His voice is nice too…” floated up.
“As you already know, our academy’s educational goals differ from those of ordinary universities.”
Her voice stayed even, but the content was anything but ordinary.
“This is the place where you learn everything required to become an excellent wife to one man.”
The curriculum that appeared on the screen was exactly what I expected.
Understanding Male Psychology
Understanding and Practicing the Importance of Praise and Affirmation
Attractive Body Language
The Psychology of Touch
Introduction to Healthy Sexual Life
Introduction to Oral Service Techniques
Subjects like “Understanding Male Psychology” and “Understanding and Practicing the Importance of Praise and Affirmation” at least looked like liberal-arts classes.
But once I saw titles such as “Attractive Body Language,” “The Psychology of Touch,” “Introduction to Healthy Sexual Life,” and “Introduction to Oral Service Techniques,” the place felt less like an academy and more like a sex-slave training center.
“Every course at our academy is founded on the Male Protection Act and the sexual-violence prevention education that must be completed every year.”
The content of that sexual-violence prevention education was equally mind-blowing. It was education women had to receive so they would never make a man feel sexual discomfort.
Unwanted excessive exposure, persistent staring, coercive attempts at physical contact—everything a woman might do was classified as sexual violence.
A crazy world. And at the same time, paradise for men.
“Now then, let’s first elect a class president and vice-president. The class president represents the class and carries various responsibilities. In particular she will guide and assist fellow students during practical lessons.”
The teacher wrote the benefits of being class president across the board in quick strokes. Most of the girls looked thoroughly uninterested.
“For example, Body-Attraction Analysis class or Psychology-of-Touch practicum. You might have to touch other female classmates’ bodies. And class-president activities count toward store points.”
The words “you might have to touch other female classmates’ bodies” burned themselves into my brain. There was no reason to hesitate.
Becoming class president meant I would be required—legally and officially—to touch the bodies of more than twenty beautiful girls.
My hand shot up on pure reflex.
“Me.”
The instant my voice rang out, every motion in the classroom froze. The girls’ eyes widened with shock and excitement.
Everyone was stunned that a man would voluntarily take on such a bothersome job. And they were equally excited by the possibility that, if luck favored them, the man himself might touch them during practicum.
“I will do it as well.”
A clear voice rose as Cha Ayeong lifted her hand. Immediately after her, hands shot up competitively all over the room.
Dark ambitions blazed among the girls: I’ll be that man’s right hand.
“Oh my, so Sihyuk wants the position. Then class president will be Sihyuk. No objections, right?”
Yoon Iseol spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. There was no vote, yet not a single person raised an objection.
If a man wanted it, that became classroom law and absolute truth. That was democracy in this world.
“Then for vice-president… shall we have Cha Ayeong, who volunteered first?”
Cha Ayeong stood and bowed politely.
“All right, let’s begin our first activity. Everyone, please move to the central Health Office on the first floor for your physical examinations.”
The Health Office we reached under our teacher’s lead was far larger and better equipped than I had imagined.
I didn’t know much about medicine, but rows of gleaming white high-tech equipment lined the walls, and three doors stood side by side along one wall.
“If sexual desire becomes difficult to handle during class, you may use the soundproof booths over there.”
The nurse standing in front of us explained kindly.
Each booth door had a small window so the silhouette inside was faintly visible. There was no lock, yet you could still tell whether someone was inside.
“If you go too long without masturbating you can catch Heat Sickness, so it’s best to take care of yourself every morning or evening.”
My ears doubted the words “Heat Sickness.” I had never heard of it. Did the women of this world actually get sick if they didn’t masturbate?
While I was asking Chaerin about Heat Sickness, the physical exams began in ordinary fashion. Starting with girl number one they measured height, weight, eyesight, and hearing in order.
It was no different from any physical I knew.
Once those checks finished, the nurse pointed to a curtained inner space.
“All right, now come inside and remove every piece of clothing.”
What?
I froze for a second at the outrageous demand. The girls, by contrast, began undressing as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Flustered, I cleared my throat.
“Ahem. Teacher? Why the clothes…?”
The nurse turned to me with a puzzled look.
“Ah, Sihyuk, you still don’t know. Physical condition is the most basic item when evaluating a wife’s value. Areola size and color, the shape and tightness of the pussy and anus—everything has to be carefully recorded so you can meet a good husband later, right?”
Pussy and anal inspection? Here? Right now?
“All right, we’re going to do a proper examination now. Class president, come over and help with the checks, will you?”