Dana slid her shirt off slowly, her large breasts bouncing slightly with every small movement. They were full, firm, and shamelessly proud beneath the dim light.
Donnie leaned back in his seat, eyes glued to his phone. A crooked smirk pulled at his lips before he forced it away.
'Damn…' he muttered inwardly, tearing his gaze away from the screen.
He stretched with a loud grunt, arms extended high above his head. A cool evening breeze swept past him, making his skin prickle. Another small groan escaped him as he exhaled.
'This scene is hot as hell… but the writing? Terrible.' he sighed mentally.
He dropped his phone onto the table with a soft thud and rubbed his face with both hands. The story he'd been reading was from some random harem novel — but it just wasn't hitting the way he hoped.
'Why is writing a harem story so damn difficult?' he wondered, glaring at the blank screen.
'I mean… all you have to do is make some guy hook up with a sexy milf or some gorgeous woman. Isn't that the whole formula?'
But then again… perhaps it wasn't that simple.
He leaned back again, fingers tapping lightly against the chair.
'I guess you need, like… some actual depth too.' he admitted with a defeated sigh.
He lifted his chin. Dark, swollen clouds crept across the sky, swallowing the daylight inch by inch. The storm was coming fast.
Donnie breathed out heavily.
'Nothing beats reading a good web novel right when the rain starts falling…' he thought, a lazy smile tugging at him.
He sat outside a tiny café, right at the edge where the chairs faced the street.
Cars zipped past in streaks of motion, tires hissing against damp asphalt. Every now and then, a horn blared—sharp, impatient. People hurried along the sidewalk, umbrellas half-open and snapping violently as gusts of wind threatened to rip them away.
The air buzzed with tension.
Everyone could feel it—the rain was coming, and when it did, it wouldn't be gentle.
Riley, on the other hand, had been so deeply buried in his reading that the world might as well not have existed.
With a quiet sigh, he finally pushed himself up from the chair. His knees cracked as he stretched, a dull reminder of how long he'd been sitting there.
"Alright… time to head home," he muttered.
He fished a few coins from his pocket and dropped them onto the table. They clinked dully against the surface—payment for a coffee he'd barely touched.
Phone slipped away. Hood pulled tighter.
Hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, Donnie stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Step.
Step.
Step.
He hunched slightly, shoulders raised against the cutting wind, head lowered. His hands stayed buried, knuckles tight, as if bracing himself against more than just the cold.
People jogged past him from all sides, faces tense, umbrellas flipping inside out as the wind bullied them around. Everyone was in a hurry. Everyone wanted out before the storm broke.
But Riley's mind was nowhere near the weather.
'What the hell has harem writing turned into…?' he sighed inwardly, pulling his phone back out.
He glanced at the screen, eyes scanning the page of the novel he'd been reading.
"'Harem Overload,' my foot…" he scoffed, lips twisting in irritation.
Such a good premise. Completely butchered.
Typical.
That was Donnie in a nutshell—a nineteen-year-old web novel addict to his core. Always reading. Always dissecting stories in his head, imagining how they should've gone.
And not just any stories.
He loved the erotic ones.
The R-18 stuff.
The kind packed with steamy scenes, indulgent fantasies, and all the shameless "details" that thirsty readers ate up.
That was his guilty pleasure.
Yet no matter how many he read, something was always wrong.
Either the endings were so bad they made him regret every single coin he'd donated…
Or the beginnings dragged so painfully he nearly nodded off…
Or—worst of all—the writing was so atrocious he felt like bleaching his eyeballs just to forget it.
His hands clenched into fists inside his pockets.
'I'm done with this crap.' he growled internally.
'Is it really too much to ask for a GOOD harem novel? One with actual heat, a real plot… and, you know—an actual HAREM!?'
Right on cue, tiny droplets kissed the top of his hoodie.
At first, it was a light patter. Then the drops grew heavier, splashing against the pavement, painting the street in a slick, reflective sheen.
Donnie groaned.
He shrugged his backpack off one shoulder, pulled out a raincoat, and slipped it on quickly, fastening it as the rain began to fall in earnest.
"Tsk… annoying weather," he muttered.
The storm had finally arrived—and somehow, it felt like the least irritating thing about his day.
He walked on, pace steady.
Halfway down the street, he stopped.
A spark — wild, sudden, and reckless — shot through his mind.
'You know what? Screw it.' he decided, fire igniting in his chest.
"I'll write my OWN web novel."
A grin stretched wide across his face.
"Yeah… I've got the perfect story already."
His fingers twitched, eager to type, to spill out the images swirling in his head.
"That's right. I'll do it. I'll write the greatest harem story ever created!"
He whipped out his phone again, tapping rapidly as he opened his usual app.
Rain hammered down harder now, thunder rumbling softly — but Donnie barely noticed.
As others sprinted past him, dodging puddles and seeking shelter, Donnie ducked beneath the small overhang of a nearby building — just enough to keep the rain off him.
His heartbeat quickened, excitement mixing with the cold, wet air.
'I know exactly what I want to write.' he thought, breathing deep.
He tapped on Create A Book.
The app blinked, loading. A prompt appeared, asking for the title.
A small laugh escaped him — almost boyish.
"Perfect…" he whispered, smile widening.
"I already know the title."
He typed it out carefully.
[The Harem Slave's POV.]
"So original…" he snorted, grinning like an idiot.
He hit Next.
A final screen appeared, prompting him to press Create.
'This is it.' he thought. 'This is the beginning. I'm going to be the greatest Harem author alive.'
He pressed down—
BOOOOM!!!
A blinding streak of lightning cracked through the sky, splitting the clouds wide open.
He didn't even have time to shout.
The bolt struck him directly — raw heat, raw force — and then everything vanished.
There wasn't even real pain.
Just crushing pressure… then absolute nothingness.
His last thought was simple, fading like smoke:
"I was… clicking the create button—"
His charred body hit the soaked pavement, steam curling upward as rain poured relentlessly over him.
The street was empty now.
No footsteps.
No chatter.
Only the pounding rain and distant thunder rolling through the night.
Time stood still.
Darkness deepened.
Everything went silent.
And then—
From the shadows, a deep, ancient voice echoed, trembling through the air like a divine command:
"Rise, Donnie Caster."
***
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