Evan was wiping down the spit. He tried to do it in a way that wouldn't accidentally look like he was "jerking a rod." While working, he thought about his situation.
He lived in a dorm with four horny, furry girls who were all into him. There wasn't a single day when he didn't wake up next to one of them. And when he did, he definitely didn't get up quickly.
A man's dream come true?
The perfect harem fantasy?
Living the life?
NO.
He was in a seemingly perfect situation, but seeming was the key word. In a typical isekai harem, he could flirt with all of them at once and at worst suffer a short-lived sulk. Here, that wasn't an option. This was a game for his life. Every one of those girls wanted to literally eat him—and they could, if Evan gave consent. And Frida had already taught him that even a careless word could count as consent.
He let out a heavy sigh.
It was hard to imagine better girls. They were practically perfect—if you ignored the threat of death at their hands. And that threat wasn't something he could just escape from.
That eavesdropped conversation had already shown him they wouldn't let this go easily.
He thought for a moment.
First priority: survive the housewarming party.
"I shouldn't have agreed. Next time I get a chance to back out of a bet, I'm taking it."
When he thought about dancing, he'd expected nothing more than blushing from embarrassment. Instead, the girls had turned it into a full-on revue of fashion and cuisine.
Callisa's outfit was the easiest for him to understand: a classic look tied to classic go-go dancing. But it was also classic cooking—and that meant ending up back in a roasting pan.
Frida… here he had to actively stop himself from grabbing his ass. Her outfit was pure BDSM. He was certain that if he put it on, Frida would absolutely fuck him in the ass. With a strap-on. Or a spit. Just thinking about it made his ass ache.
Aiko was… safer? Probably? She was a nerdy volcano of energy. You never knew when she'd be kawaii and when she'd switch to itadakimasu. And her outfit… that was just being sweetened to death.
And then there was Morona. Yeah. She really was a goth. Everything about her was mystical and esoteric. Just like her outfit—and their first time, when she nearly bit his head off.
On top of that, there was an intense power struggle going on between the girls. This outfit wasn't just a fetish accessory—it was a declaration of dominance. Whichever one he chose, he'd be showing who sat at the top.
He sighed heavily and cursed whoever had invented synth-meat.
His thoughts were interrupted by a physical inconvenience.
The heat.
"God, it's hot… just like in the—"
He bit his tongue before he could say oven. He was sweating, his shirt sticking to his body. He still had work to do. He took it off and kept working in shorts.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. He went to open it. On the other side were Frida's friends.
"Hey, Evan. We brought some stuff."
To prove it, they showed him a few packages. Mira grinned mischievously, patting one of them.
"Dance equipment."
A few moments later, Frida's whole gang was in the living room, assembling a dance pole. Evan immediately blushed. He remembered the girls had invited friends over.
Him alone—and a house full of girls?
Could his life be in more danger?
Probably not.
"Evan, help us with this."
Ingrid and Astrid dragged him outside to help them set something up near the fire pit.
It was a solid, slanted metal frame on a V-shaped base. Two shorter bars were mounted horizontally across it. Evan couldn't tell what it was or what it was for.
When they finished, Astrid patted the strange structure.
"A housewarming gift for Frida."
Before Evan could ask what it was, the gang leader herself appeared. When she saw the gift, her tail started wagging wildly.
"An asador? Thanks."
"Uh… what is that exactly?"
Evan asked, curious, touching the structure.
Frida wagged her tail and flicked her ears.
"It's an asador. A southern-style grill."
"A grill?"
Evan pulled his finger back like he'd burned himself.
"Yeah. Perfect for roasting whole carcasses." She pointed at the crossbars. "You tie the meat here by the ankles and wrists, stretch it out tight, and roast it slowly over embers, brushing it gently the whole time. Takes a long time—maybe eight hours. Perfect for a party."
She looked at him.
"Afterwards, the meat is crispy on the outside and soft and juicy on the inside."
Without warning, she started caressing his thighs and ass. Frida couldn't help noticing that he was hard.
"It'd be perfect for a housewarming party, don't you think? Maybe with a little chili."
Evan had one thought: change the subject. Fast.
"So… what about your discussion?"
Frida sighed heavily and flattened her ears.
"What do you think?"
"Uh… you didn't come to an agreement, and I have to choose?"
Frida stood up and looked him straight in the eyes.
"I'm counting on you to choose the best one."
The look in her eyes made it clear—she meant the BDSM outfit.
At that moment, Evan felt like someone had dropped a massive boulder on his back. Not only was there a new piece of cooking machinery in the house—he also had to choose the biggest predator among them.
While he was silently lamenting his fate, Frida suddenly kissed him.
"A reward for your insight."
Evan honestly didn't know how to judge his harem life anymore.
Was he closer to the bed…
or to the plate?