Rain was the kind of thing you noticed more when you were lonely. Not a poetic drizzle or some romantic movie scene — just relentless, heavy, bone-soaking rain that turned the streets into black, rippling rivers.
I remember standing at the bus stop that night, soaked through my hoodie, trying not to think about how the water had already seeped into my socks. I'd just finished another six-hour shift stacking boxes in the back of a convenience store. The manager — married, late thirties, curves she liked to pretend she didn't have — had leaned over my shoulder earlier, the faint smell of her perfume threading into my brain, and I'd almost forgotten to breathe.
That was my life: brief collisions with women who didn't, couldn't, and wouldn't ever see me as more than background noise.
I was twenty-four, a virgin — not the noble, waiting-for-the-right-one kind, just the "life never lined up right" kind. But my imagination? That was a different story.
Sultry milfs with knowing eyes. Arrogant noblewomen from the fantasy novels I read. Married women with diamond rings flashing as they pushed hair behind their ear. Brides, smiling for men who weren't me. I didn't just imagine them in bed — I imagined breaking them. Bending them. Watching their composure crumble until they could never look at another man the same way.
That's the kind of man I could be — in my head.
The real me? Just a wet, tired guy in a hoodie, thinking about fantasies that had no place in reality.
And then the universe decided to make it official.
I didn't hear the truck until the headlights caught me. The sound wasn't cinematic — no squeal of brakes, no shouted warning — just a flat, mechanical roar and the feeling of my ribs folding in. Pain, sharp and absolute, exploding across my chest and spine. The world went black before I hit the ground.
When I opened my eyes, the pain was gone.
I was lying on my back, staring at a wooden ceiling. Not cheap plywood — old timber, dark and carved with swirling patterns that didn't look mass-produced. A faint candlelight glow pooled in the corners of the room, and the air smelled… clean. Not the chemical clean of bleach and detergent, but the warm, living clean of woodsmoke, leather, and faint flowers.
For a moment, I thought I was in some old-fashioned bed-and-breakfast. Then I sat up, and the movement felt… wrong.
Not bad wrong. Different wrong.
The blanket slipped down, and I stared at my chest. Smooth skin, tanned like I'd spent weeks on a tropical beach. Broad shoulders, lean muscle — the kind sculpted by years of natural athleticism, not a gym rat's bulk. No scars, no blemishes.
My arms were toned, my hands long-fingered but strong, nails neatly kept. I'd never been this put-together in my life.
Heart pounding, I swung my legs over the bed and caught sight of the mirror on the wall.
The man staring back at me could've been on the cover of a men's lifestyle magazine. Dark hair, thick and slightly tousled in a way that looked deliberate. Eyes with just enough sharpness to pull people in, but softened by a gaze that hinted at confidence. Clean jawline, faint smile lines that didn't break his youth.
Masculine. Refined. The kind of face people turned to look at in a crowd — not because it was perfect, but because it carried a weight, an unspoken presence.
Definitely not me.
The blanket I'd pushed aside slipped to the floor, and I caught my breath again — even there, the improvements were… impressive.
For a moment, I just stared at my reflection, half expecting my old, washed-out face to replace it. It didn't.
The room was quiet, but not dead quiet. I could hear faint noises from beyond the walls — the creak of wood under footsteps, a distant murmur of voices. My ears picked up details they shouldn't. My eyes… I could see the candle flame flicker like it was in slow motion.
Something had happened. Something big.
I crossed to the window and pushed it open.
The air hit me like a drug — sharp, clean, and rich with scents I couldn't place. My gaze swept over rolling hills under a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at. Stone cottages with thatched roofs dotted the land, and a dirt road snaked toward a forest in the distance.
Something massive moved above the treeline — wings, slow and powerful, catching the light. A dragon.
It should have sent me into panic. Instead, the sight pulled at something deep in my chest. A rush of energy swelled inside me — not fear, but hunger. This was a world. A real one. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I could take it.
The rain, the truck, the nothing life I'd left behind — it all felt like another man's memory.
I turned from the view and saw clothes folded neatly on the table. Simple shirt and trousers, boots worn but solid. Whoever put them there knew I'd wake up.
I dressed, and each movement felt like a reminder that this body wasn't just new — it was tuned. Efficient. Balanced. The shirt hugged muscle I'd never had. My steps felt lighter, more precise.
"Alright," I muttered to no one. "Where the hell am I?"
That's when I heard it.
[System Initialization Complete.]
The voice was in my head — smooth, feminine, and intimate enough to make my pulse spike.
[Welcome, User. You have been bound to the Ultimate Desire System.]
I froze. "...What?"
[This world operates on strength, status, and possession. Your system converts fulfilled desire into Desire Points. Accumulate points to unlock new skills, enhancements, and advantages.]
"Desire Points…" I said slowly. "You mean… I get stronger by wanting things?"
[Not merely wanting. Claiming.]
The way she said claiming sent a shiver down my spine.
Before I could speak, the voice continued:
[Caution: System activity consumes physical stamina. Overuse without rest may cause debilitation or death. Use responsibly.]
So. A system that turned lust into power — with the fine print that it could kill me.
My eyes drifted to the window again, to the cottages, the distant forest, the dragon in the sky.
I grinned.
Maybe dying wasn't such a bad deal after all.