"Another me… wouldn't it be better if we went to some rom-com fusion world instead?" Kiana asked, brows furrowed, clearly not buying into the current plan.
She knew herself—and him—well enough to know that wasting time in the Date A Live world wasn't his style. Not unless the timing was perfect. Not unless everything was in place for a proper move.
And it wasn't.
Not yet.
Zafkiel still wasn't fully fueled. They couldn't rewind thirty years to snatch the Original Spirit—not yet. But they could go a little further back. Back to when Izayoi Miku had just started her idol career.
"Unfortunately," Khan muttered with a shrug, "the readers on Webnovel voted for us to go into Date A Live. So yeah… treat it like a vacation."
"And, it's not a bad idea to see her first concert either, right?"
Kiana narrowed her eyes. "You broke the fourth wall. What if the readers drop the story because of that?"
"Nah," Khan replied casually. "If they do, it just means they're not cultured enough to be one of us."
As they talked, the stage lights dimmed and then lit up with a flash of blue.
The concert had begun. The blue-haired girl stood center stage, radiant under the lights, her smile bright and full of naive energy.
Kiana leaned against Khan's shoulder, her voice barely a whisper. "She's so bright up there. So innocent. Who would've thought... that same innocence would be her downfall."
Khan said nothing, just watched.
Her voice was beautiful, sure—but not hypnotic, not yet.
It wasn't what he wanted.
Right now, she was just another pretty little idol being worshipped by sheep, led around by the nose, still thinking the world was a fairytale.
He didn't care about that version of her.
He only wanted her when she broke.
When society chewed her up, spat her out, and left her hollow. When her producer blackmailed her. When her fans turned on her like the fickle trash they were. When the Original Spirit deceived her and used her like a tool.
That's when he'd step in.
He'd be the one she clung to when everything else fell apart. The only man she could trust after the world showed its true colors. He'd be the one to strip her illusions bare, and make her realize just how wrong her whole "loving women only" phase really was.
There was no future for her in yuri daydreams. That shit was a coping mechanism, a fantasy.
Her only path—the only real path—was him.
Khan grinned, watching her from afar, already seeing it play out in his mind: her face twisted in grief, betrayal, and pain—until he offered her comfort. Until she surrendered.
Not to the world. Not to that pathetic excuse for a harem clown, Shidou.
To him.
He would ruin every inch of the Original Spirit's plan.
She thought she could craft another harem girl for Shidou? Fuck that.
That girl—Izayoi Miku—wouldn't be some brainwashed puppy in Shidou's collection.
She would be his.
And she'd thank him for saving her from that miserable fate.
Shidou... Khan clenched his fist. Just thinking about him made his blood boil.
That beta worm didn't deserve a single one of those girls.
Every time Khan saw his face, he wanted to rip it off.
He was the reason they suffered.
So Khan would take them. One by one.
Not just to steal from Shidou—no.
To spit in his fucking face.
Izayoi Miku would be the first.
And definitely not the last.
He couldn't help but imagine that bright future. His hand wasn't idle either, slowly creeping along Kiana's thigh, fingers groping the silky smoothness of her bare skin, savoring the heat that pulsed beneath.
Kiana let out a quiet moan, barely audible over the booming bass of the concert, as another version of herself lifted her skirt, slipped her panties to the side, and slid two fingers straight into her soaked pussy.
Right there.
In public.
In the middle of a fucking concert.
And yet—no one noticed.
Khan had already cast an invisibility spell, something he'd swiped from Nero's vast archive of Roman magus knowledge.
She had an entire library of forbidden shit, and this spell was one of the more useful ones—perfect for moments like this.
Still, even cloaked in illusion, Kiana's face burned crimson.
Her body trembled, squirming in full view of thousands—who couldn't see a damn thing.
"Another me... uhm... ahhh..." she gasped, hips jerking as Khan fingered her mercilessly, hitting her sweet spot with such ruthless precision that her walls clamped down and she squirted hard—so hard it splashed against the Khan's hand, soaking her thighs in a mess of slick arousal.
She was panting now, lips parted, eyes glazed with a mix of lust and shame.
Khan felt his cock twitch with building heat. The way she looked at her alternate self—eyes dripping with need, body completely overwhelmed—was a fucking drug.
"Another me… you're so bad," she whimpered, cheeks flushed, voice trembling.
Without another word, she stood from her VIP seat, climbed into Khan's lap with no hesitation, and straddled him, wrapping her arms around his neck before crushing her lips against his.
Her kiss was messy and wet, needy, her tongue desperate to taste him.
Then she pulled back, stared deep into his eyes, and spoke with deliberate clarity.
"You should take responsibility."
Khan's smirk was slow and hungry. "Of course, another me. Anything for you."
His hands slipped down to her waist, gripping her tight as she began grinding on his thick bulge, rubbing herself against the hardness straining beneath his trousers.
Their mouths crashed together again, lost in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues tangling as the concert roared on around them.
The crowd screamed Miku's name.
The stage lights flashed.
Izayoi Miku kept singing her heart out.
And Khan?
He unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, and Kiana—already soaking and trembling with need—lowered herself onto it in one smooth, desperate motion.
"A-Ah—!" she gasped sharply, her breath catching as he stretched her open.
A trickle of blood slid down her thigh from the sudden intrusion, but before panic could settle, Khan kissed her hard again, muffling her cry with his tongue.
He kept his hands firm on her waist, guiding her as she began to ride him, her pussy sliding up and down his shaft, wet and tight and twitching with every movement.
She clung to him, moaning into his mouth, her hips working desperately as the music and crowd masked every sinful sound their bodies made.
And no one looked.
No one knew.
To the world, they were ghosts. Invisible. Unseen.
And they kept fucking—deep, reckless, feral—until the concert lights drowned out her whimpers, and the illusion of silence swallowed her cries of pleasure whole.
The pressure inside them built to a boiling point.
Neither of them needed to say a word. Their bodies already knew.
And then—they came together.
Kiana let out a choked moan as her body convulsed, squirting hard and drenching his cock and trousers in a wild, uncontrollable burst.
The warm flood soaked through the fabric as her thighs trembled from the sheer force of it.
At the same time, Khan groaned through clenched teeth, his cock twitching deep inside her as he filled her up, rope after thick rope of hot cum spilling into her soaked cunt, claiming her from the inside.
They sat there for a moment—both panting, breathing heavily, soaked in sex and sweat and utterly spent.
"Another me... damn, that was exhilarating," Kiana gasped, a twisted grin forming on her face as she tried to steady herself.
Then, with a sultry stretch, she stood up from his lap, letting his still-hard cock slip free, dripping with their combined fluids.
She bent down slowly, picked up her soaking wet panties, and with a teasing glint in her eye, slipped them into his coat pocket.
"For now," she said with a smirk, licking her lips, "you can keep it."
Khan just chuckled darkly, zipping himself back up, still feeling the warmth of her juices clinging to him as a reminder of the absolute mess they'd made.
Physically and spiritually, he felt fucking amazing.
There was something surreal—almost poetic—about banging a different female version of him, and both of them loving every second of it.
With that done, they turned their attention back to the concert like nothing had happened.
On stage, Izayoi Miku sang cheerfully, her voice echoing across the venue—radiant and innocent—completely unaware that someone in the crowd had just fucked mercilessly right in the middle of her show, hidden but undeniably real.
And no one would ever know.