The scent of blood never left you once it soaked into your skin.
It clung like a second layer, like the stench of everything you'd done, staining you long after the bruises healed and the bones reset.
Kane Tetsuo knew that better than anyone.
He sat on the cold pavement of an alleyway, one arm broken, the other hand pressed to the bleeding hole in his abdomen. Somewhere nearby, a flickering streetlight buzzed like a dying fly. The world spun slowly, as if time itself had grown tired of him.
The last sound he heard wasn't gunfire. It was laughter.
Cruel, cocky, stupid laughter.
"You should've stayed outta our turf, Tetsuo."
Then silence.
A heavy, endless silence that didn't echo, didn't fade. It simply swallowed him.
---
He opened his eyes to light.
Not the kind you're supposed to see after dying. No warm clouds or angelic choirs. No white tunnel. Just… a white ceiling. Spotless, sterile, brightly lit like a hospital.
Kane blinked, sluggish. His body didn't feel like his own. His limbs were wrong—longer, smoother, no pain, no aches from years of street fighting. His hands, when he slowly raised them, were unscarred. Clean.
His chest rose. No blood. No hole. No tattoo on his ribs.
"...The fuck?"
A voice purred from the side. "He's awake."
Then came the giggle. Feminine. Playful.
Before Kane could react, warmth slid across his torso—soft skin pressing against him, a scent of vanilla and something sweeter, muskier. A woman's arm draped over his chest, then a second one wrapped around his thigh. He turned his head.
Two women. Naked. Gorgeous.
One with short, silvery-blonde hair and pouty lips, the other with honeyed brown curls and a body straight out of a fantasy. Both looked at him with flushed cheeks and teasing eyes. They weren't surprised to see him awake. If anything, they looked… turned on.
"You're hard already," the brunette said, her hand sliding under the sheets.
Kane jolted. His lower body felt strange—sensitive, responsive in a way he'd never experienced before. His cock pulsed, stiff, almost throbbing. The sheet tented.
"Wha—"
The door swung open.
A woman in a black pencil skirt and glasses strode in, holding a clipboard. Cool expression, strict demeanor. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, but the cut of her blouse suggested this wasn't a hospital. This wasn't even close.
"Kenji Arata," she said, flipping a page. "You have ten minutes before your debut scene. I suggest you shower, or don't. The director prefers a 'freshly-woken' look for this episode."
Kane sat up, stunned. His body moved like water—flexible, lean, fit. His reflection on the silver-framed mirror across the room showed a man he didn't recognize. Tan skin, sculpted physique, face too pretty for the kind of life he knew. Sharp jawline, pouty lips, and eyes that smoldered even when he wasn't trying.
This wasn't a dream. It was too vivid. Too detailed.
"What the fuck is going on?" he muttered.
The clipboard woman raised a brow. "Still in character? Method acting is admirable, but don't overdo it. You're not here to win an Oscar."
She turned to leave.
The blonde girl giggled. "He's always like this when he wakes up."
The brunette kissed his shoulder, hand still stroking under the sheets. "Let's help him warm up."
Kane pulled away, standing.
That's when the pain hit—not pain exactly, but a rush. A sudden pressure behind his eyes. Something clicked. Like a switch being flipped in his brain.
[System Booting…]
[Initializing Host Body: Kenji Arata]
[Sexual Performance System Online]
[Welcome, Kane Tetsuo. Reincarnation Status Confirmed.]
[New Life Objective: Become the #1 Porn Idol in the Nation.]
"What the hell…"
The system window blinked in the corner of his vision, like a transparent HUD from a game. Blue and clean, floating just out of reach. His name, stats, a profile photo with the face in the mirror, and below it, a long bar labeled 'Lust Meter – 63%', currently rising thanks to the two girls still lounging on the bed.
Another tab opened automatically.
[Upcoming Scene: Slut Idol Academy Ep. 1]
Co-Stars: Mika Aihara, Reina Yotsuba
Scene Type: Double BJ – Wake-up Fantasy – Morning Light Aesthetic
Camera Setup: Dual Angle, POV Close-up, Arousal Focused.
Time Remaining: 06:37
Kane stumbled back.
A voice in his mind—soft, synthetic—spoke again.
"First-time performer detected. Do you wish to activate [Guided Erection Protocol]?"
"What the fuck is a 'Guided Erection'?!"
The system chimed. "Protocol Activated."
Before he could curse, a warmth spread through his lower body. Not arousal this time, but control—his hips, his muscles, even his rhythm seemed fine-tuned by invisible hands. He could feel his stamina regulating, his breathing pacing itself.
The two women approached again. This time, he didn't stop them.
It wasn't because he wanted to. It was because something inside him—old instincts, new programming, sheer masculine pride—refused to let him back down.
The silver-haired girl—Mika, if he remembered the name correctly—slid down to her knees.
"You're different this morning," she whispered. "Rougher."
He grabbed her by the jaw and tilted her face up. "You want rough?"
Her lips parted. Her pupils dilated.
Kane didn't wait.
---
The scene didn't feel like acting.
It felt like a performance—an arena, a ring with velvet ropes and moaning applause. The moment the camera beeped, Kane took over.
He didn't know the script. Didn't care.
He grabbed Mika's hair as she licked the underside of his shaft, moaning like she'd been starved for it. Reina mirrored her movements, taking his length between her lips with practiced ease.
The system chimed with stats as he moved.
[Thrust Speed +7%]
[Partner Arousal: 78%]
[Filming Grade: A-]
"More tongue," he growled, slapping his cock against their cheeks. "Earn it."
They obeyed. They loved it.
For thirty minutes, the scene flowed like a dance. He didn't need coaching. His instincts guided his movements, but the system fine-tuned it—pressure, rhythm, eye contact.
By the time he finished—across both their faces, fingers buried in Mika's hair—the director was clapping behind the camera.
"That," he said, standing from his chair, "was art."
---
After the shoot, Kane sat in the dressing room, towel draped over his shoulders, water bottle half-empty in his hand. His body still buzzed—not just from the sex, but from the afterglow of something else.
Power.
Control.
Fame.
The clipboard lady returned, less cold this time. "Not bad for a debut."
He didn't respond.
She placed a contract in front of him. "Three-year deal. Guaranteed scenes. Option for exclusivity if you maintain S-rank performance."
Kane looked down at the paper. Kenji Arata. That was him now.
He signed.
---
[Scene Complete: Debut Grade – S]
[Title Unlocked: "Dominant Beast in Heat"]
[Followers: +12,400]
[Skill Point Earned: 1]
[New Skill Available: Dirty Talk Lv.1]
---
That night, he sat alone in his high-rise apartment.
The city lights stretched beneath him like a stage.
He took a long drag from the cigarette he'd found in the kitchen drawer. His new body didn't crave it the way his old one did, but the habit was still there—etched into muscle memory, like scars that didn't show.
A new world. A new name. A new purpose.
But some things never changed.
He still needed to climb. Still needed to dominate. Whether it was the streets or the screen, he refused to be second to anyone.
His phone buzzed.
New message from Yumi Kanzaki:
"You're trending. Better get used to the spotlight."
Kane—Kenji—smirked, flicking ash into the glass tray.
"This world wants a pornstar?" he muttered. "Fine. I'll be their f*cking god."