Mr. Carson was talking about civic duty again.
I focused on my notebook, drawing a detailed diagram of my own soul leaving my body, little stick figure me, lying flat, while a ghost version floated upward with its middle fingers raised.
To be honest, I couldn't care less about life or morality. It all feels like a way to control the dogs and prevent them from snapping at their masters.
"Mr. Ralph."
I looked up. Mr. Carson had stopped writing. The marker was still raised, hovering over an unfinished word on the whiteboard.
"What was the last thing I said?"
His face was red. Not a good sign.
I blinked. "Well... something about your life history?"
The veins got worse. "Gosh, that's it! You are all just glued to your phones! You don't take anything seriously!"
Called it. He only ever rants about one thing: Gen Z comparisons and how his generation walked uphill both ways without smartphones. Total bullshit. The man couldn't survive five minutes without his precious coffee and air conditioning.
"When I was your age—"
I stopped listening.
Around me, other students were doing the same, staring at desks, checking phones under tables, existing in that special state of classroom purgatory where time moved slower than continental drift.
When you were my age, you could buy a house on a McDonald's salary. Cry me a fucking river.
After his dramatic performance about responsibility and the collapse of modern civilization, the bell finally rang.
RIIIIING.
I was out of my seat before Carson could say "detention." Bag over one shoulder, headphones already half-in.
Behind me, he was still yelling something about "your generation"
Yeah. Sure.
~§~
I hit the restroom before heading out, taking the shortcut through the admin wing.
The hallway was dead quiet, too quiet for 3:15. Most students flooded toward the parking lot or buses. Not me. I preferred the empty corridors where I didn't have to pretend to give a shit about pep rallies or weekend plans.
Then, a sound drifted from Principal Carver's office.
A low, stifled moan.
The door was cracked open. Through the gap in the blinds, the scene cut through the gloom.
Principal Carver was bent over her desk. Behind her stood Derek Morrison, the varsity quarterback, his hands gripping her waist.
Fuck.
I should have kept walking. But I froze. Not from shock, but from a cold, detached fascination. The principal who never flinched at threats, who held all the power in this building, bent over her own paperwork by an eighteen-year-old meathead.
And my phone buzzed in my pocket.
BZZT.
Both their heads snapped toward the door.
"Who's there?!" Derek's voice cracked with panic.
Shit.
The first thought that crossed my mind? Blackmail. Record them, own them both. But I wasn't that stupid
Honestly, I thought of that. But Derek's the kind of guy who'd get his entire team to jump me after practice. And Principal Carver controlled my transcript, my college recommendations, my entire academic future.
You learn pretty quick that evidence doesn't matter when you're nobody.
Fuck that.
I bolted.
~§~
I sprinted toward the stairwell, pushing past a confused freshman. My sneakers squeaked on the polished floor as I made the turn, taking the stairs two at a time.
Behind me, I heard Derek's voice: "Stop! I just want to talk!"
Right. Talk. That's what they all say before they slam you against lockers.
I was practically flying down the stairs, barely touching them, when my foot missed a step.
Like the step just... wasn't there anymore.
I fell forward, hands reaching for a railing that suddenly felt miles away. But I didn't drop. Instead, the air turned thick—heavy, like trying to move through water. Some invisible force pressed against every inch of my skin, squeezing, pulling.
The stairwell stretched. The walls rippled like heat waves on asphalt.
What the fuck—
My vision blurred. The fluorescent lights above twisted into spirals.
Then the walls breathed.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
The paint rippled, the concrete exhaled, and for a single, impossible second, I saw faces in the cracks. Hundreds of them. Screaming.
Then the force released.
I fell.
Through darkness that had no business existing in a high school stairwell. Through nothing and everything. My stomach lurched. Wind that wasn't wind rushed past my face.
The fall seemed to last forever and no time at all.
And then—
Everything stopped.
~§~
I woke up staring at a wooden ceiling.
My head pounded. My mouth tasted like copper.
Where am I—?
I sat up slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was lying on a bed, not a hospital gurney. The mattress was lumpy, stuffed with something that crinkled like straw. A rough wool blanket had been pulled up to my chest.
The room was small. Stone walls, a single narrow window letting in pale sunlight, a wooden door with iron hinges. A clay pitcher and basin sat on a small table beside the bed.
This wasn't a hospital.
This wasn't anywhere I recognized.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood. My clothes were different, I was wearing some kind of loose linen shirt and rough canvas pants. My jeans, my hoodie, my phone... all gone.
Okay. Either I'm dead, drugged, or this is the worst prank Derek's ever pulled.
I walked to the window and looked out.
My breath caught.
Rolling green hills stretched to the horizon. A dirt road wound through fields of wheat. In the distance, I could see a cluster of buildings, a village, maybe, with smoke rising from chimneys. And beyond that, barely visible through the haze, the walls of what looked like a medieval city.
"No fucking way."
A glowing blue box appeared in front of my face.
[WELCOME TO ALTHEMIA REALM]
I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over the bed.
"What is that—"
The text shimmered, then changed.
[You have been designated as a DARK LORD CANDIDATE]
[Current Status: Critically Weak][Current Status: Critically Weak]
[Power Level: 1][Power Level: 1]
[WARNING: Heroes of Light will arrive in 2 hours, 58 minutes to purge you]
I stared at the floating text. Reached out to touch it. My hand passed right through.
"This is insane. This is actually fucking insane."
[To survive, you must accumulate DARK ENERGY]
[Primary Method: CORRUPTION]
[Tutorial Quest Available: Corrupt the nearest NPC to unlock your abilities]
"Corrupt the nearest... what?"
I heard footsteps on stairs. A door opening somewhere below. Then a woman's voice, soft and melodic, humming a tune I didn't recognize.
The system message pulsed.
[NPC Detected: Liora, Human Female, Level 3 Commoner]
[Corruption Potential: HIGH]
[Resistance: MODERATE]
[Activate Tutorial?]
I looked at the door. Heard the footsteps getting closer.
*Okay. Let's say this is real. Let's say I'm actually in some fucked-up isekai situation. I've got three hours before 'Heroes of Light' show up to kill me. And the only way to survive is to...*
The door opened.
And I forgot how to think.
~§~
She was an elf.
Or at least, the fantasy version of one—pointed ears peeking through silver hair that fell in a loose braid over one shoulder. But it was her *body* that made my brain short-circuit.
Her tits were massive. Like, genuinely absurd. They strained against the thin fabric of her simple dress, the neckline dipping low enough to show the curve of her cleavage. Her waist was impossibly narrow, then flared out into hips that could only be described as child-bearing. Wide, full, the kind that made something primal wake up in the back of my skull.
And her face...
Delicate features, large eyes the color of honey, full lips that parted slightly when she saw me sitting up.
"Oh! You're awake!"
Her voice was soft, breathy. Relieved.
She rushed to the bedside, setting down a wooden tray with a bowl of something that smelled like soup. Up close, she was even more devastating. I could see the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.
"My husband found you collapsed near the forest's edge last night," she said, her eyes scanning my face with concern. "You were burning with fever. We thought... we thought you wouldn't make it."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. My brain was still trying to process the fact that I was apparently in a fantasy world with an elf housewife who looked like she'd stepped out of a hentai.
"Where..." My voice came out rough. I cleared my throat. "Where am I?"
"The outskirts of the capital," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. The movement made her dress shift, riding up slightly to reveal smooth, pale thighs. "Do you... do you remember where you're from?"
Yeah. Earth. Twenty-first century. A high school in suburban America.
"No," I lied. "I don't remember anything."
Her expression softened with sympathy. "Oh, you poor thing..."
She reached out, placing a cool hand on my forehead. Her touch sent a jolt through me.
"The fever's broken, at least." She smiled. "Let me get you something to eat. You must be starving."
She stood, and that's when I noticed.
Her dress was thin. *Very* thin. And backlit by the window, I could see the silhouette of her body underneath—the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the way her thighs pressed together when she walked, like even she didn't realize what she was showing me.
My cock twitched.
She noticed.
Her eyes flicked down—just for a second—then quickly back to my face. A deeper flush spread across her cheeks.
"I-I'll... I'll prepare your meal, sir." She hurried toward the door, almost tripping over her own feet.
The system message appeared again.
[Attraction Detected]
[Corruption Progress: 5%]
[Activate Tutorial?]
I stared at the door she'd just disappeared through.
Three hours. That's all I had.
Fuck it.
[YES]