Keita sat on the edge of his luxurious bed, the silk sheets pooling around his thighs like a trap. His fingers trembled against the edge of his knees, knuckles white.
He had woken up again soaked in sweat.
The dreams were getting worse.
In one, Reina crawled across the floor on all fours, whispering sweet nothings with his ex-wife's voice. In another, Mika sat on his lap, calling him "papa" with a smirk that split reality in two.
This world—it was tempting him. Baiting him.
It wanted him to break.
"This isn't real," he muttered, voice hoarse. "This isn't me."
But his body didn't seem to care. It was young again, desperate, starved for things he had once lost. The hunger of a teenager with the trauma of a father—what kind of sick joke was this?
He turned toward the mirror across the room. Toru Hazama stared back.
Eyes too big. Jaw too sharp. Body lean, muscular. The ideal harem protagonist.
"You're not me," Keita said to the mirror.
But Toru grinned.
---
The door creaked open.
Keita jerked upright, heart pounding.
Reina stood in the doorway—only a towel around her body, hair still dripping from the bath. Steam coiled off her skin like she had emerged from some forbidden spring.
"Oops," she said with a coy smile. "Wrong room~"
He couldn't speak.
Her towel was barely hanging on. One little tug and—
"Reina-san," he croaked, eyes shut. "Please. Go back to your room."
"Oh my. You're blushing." She stepped inside anyway, hips swaying with every step. "You know, you've grown up so beautifully, Toru-kun. Such broad shoulders."
"Reina."
"Hmm?"
"If you come any closer, I'm going to scream."
Her smile didn't waver. "Kinky."
"Get. Out."
She pouted but turned around—slowly, of course, making sure to flash just a little thigh as she left. The door clicked behind her like the snare of a trap resetting.
Keita collapsed onto the bed, pulse racing.
His heart wasn't just pounding from lust—it was fear. He had written Reina to be like this: seductive, shameless, insatiable.
She was every regretful craving he'd ever had when his marriage was dying. Now, that craving had become a character—a living thing with no brakes.
And it wanted him.
---
Minutes later, a sharp knock on the door.
He barely got to his feet before it swung open.
"PERVERT!"
A hand struck his cheek before he could blink. Hard.
Mika stood in the doorway, fire in her eyes, lips curled in disgust.
"You stared at her, didn't you?!"
"I didn't!" he yelled, holding his face. "I swear!"
"You looked at her like a damn dog in heat!"
"She came in wearing nothing but a towel!"
"YOU COULD HAVE LOOKED AWAY!"
"I DID!"
"AFTER YOU GOT AN EYEFUL!"
Keita fell back onto the bed, groaning into the pillow.
Mika stomped toward him and kicked his leg.
"Ow!"
"You're gross. Just because we're not technically blood-related, you think you can act like some thirsty harem protagonist?!"
"I never said that!"
"Then STOP ACTING LIKE ONE!"
She stood over him, arms crossed, blazer slipping off her shoulder in a way she didn't notice—but Keita did.
The guilt was nauseating.
"…I'm not trying to do anything, Mika," he whispered.
"Tch. Then try harder."
She stormed out.
---
He lay there for a long time, heart heavy.
This world—it knew his weaknesses. It fed them to him, one by one, like candy dipped in cyanide.
It had given him his wife's body with none of her cruelty. His daughter's face with none of her innocence.
It wasn't just a fantasy. It was a slow, deliberate crucifixion.
And somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered:
"You wanted this."
He clenched his fists.
"No," he whispered. "I wanted love. I wanted peace. I wanted to make things right."
But what had he actually written?
NTR.
Betrayal. Humiliation. Lust twisting into hate. Innocence turned into submission.
He had fantasized about revenge against a world that broke him.
And now… now he was inside that revenge.
Being devoured by it.
---
The next day at school didn't help.
Girls fell all over him. One tripped on purpose and dragged him into a compromising pose. Another wrote "Toru ♥" in her notebook and left it on his desk "by accident."
The worst was the teacher—a busty, sleepy-eyed woman named Miss Rika who kept calling him after class for "extra tutoring." She sat too close. Her blouse was always one button short of appropriate. And the first time he reached for a pencil, their hands brushed and she said:
"Be gentle with me, okay? I'm not as young as the others."
He ran out of the classroom screaming.
---
That night, back at the mansion, he avoided everyone. Skipped dinner. Hid in his room with the door locked, the lights off, the window open.
The breeze cooled his face.
He looked out at the stars.
"I'm sorry, Aiko," he whispered. "I failed you."
In the wind, he imagined her voice—his real daughter's. The way she used to say "daddy" when she ran into his arms. The way her hair smelled like shampoo and sunshine.
Then he heard Mika's voice, from the hallway, arguing with Reina again.
He shivered.
His real daughter was dead—a victim of his failure.
And now, a twisted parody of her lived down the hall… with long legs and a tsundere temper, and a body the world was writing to seduce him.
He looked down at his hands.
"Is this my punishment?"
A knock.
His stomach dropped.
"…Toru?" came Reina's voice, soft.
He didn't answer.
"…Can I come in?"
"No."
A pause.
"…Do you hate me?"
He stared at the door. "You're not real."
"I could be," she whispered. "If you wanted me to be."
A longer pause. Then soft retreating footsteps.
---
Keita didn't sleep that night.
He stared at the ceiling and realized:
This world wasn't just a pervy romcom.
It was hell—and the devil looked like every woman he'd ever failed.
To be continued