After I finished banging Manaka's tight ass, I pulled out, my cock still slick and dripping with cum from deep inside her.
Her hole twitched as thick globs of my load slowly leaked out, trailing down her thighs.
I wrapped my arms around her spent body, hugging her from behind, before carrying her back to the bedroom.
She looked completely fucked out—eyes half-lidded, body limp, utterly satisfied. I tucked her under the sheets and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.
She was done for the day.
Meanwhile, I fixed my uniform, adjusted my collar, and went off to school—solo.
Manaka? She stayed home. Fast asleep. Full. Utterly wrecked.
Now, some of you might be thinking: "Wait, bro—Manaka's basically nigh-omnipotent. How the hell is she exhausted from just getting railed?"
Good question.
But let me drop some reality on you: this isn't the Age of Gods anymore, sweetheart. The Mystery's long gone, and Manaka's body—god-tier soul or not—is still flesh and blood.
Hell, even canon Arthur could stab her in the back and kill her if the timing was right. Yeah, yeah, from our point of view, that sounds dumb. You're talking about a near-omniscient being getting taken down by a sword to the spine.
But from Nasu's perspective?
"Bro, I just wanted to make a damn eroge. Stop yapping about logic in my porn game."
Yeah, that's basically the vibe.
Now, of course, as "professional" creators and authors, we're supposed to give smart-ass explanations. Can't just say, "Shut the fuck up, retards."
So we toss out some half-assed "logical" excuse to justify it.
Something about "consent-based vulnerability" or "emotional compromise." You know, the lazy but effective kind of lore patch.
So let's use that.
We'd say something like: "Well, Manaka let herself get stabbed. She was obsessed with Arthur. She didn't resist because of love or fate or whatever poetic excuse sounds deep enough."
That's how plot armor works. That's why the hero always wins. That's why the villain always loses.
Deal with it.
We creators can do whatever the fuck we want in our worlds.
Want to make our self-insert characters ultra-powerful, effortlessly badass, and fuck literal goddesses? Cool.
No one can stop us.
That's the game. That's the rule. That's the power of holding the pen.
That's how the game works, kiddo. No sugarcoating it.
No one tells you this shit directly, but it's the truth.
Yeah, we wrap it in "narrative structure" and "logical flow" to make it look good.
But behind the scenes?
We do whatever the fuck we want.
And for the ones reading? Watching? Reacting?
All they can do is sit back and witness our greatness.
Nothing more, nothing less.
"Where have you been, Ryouma?"
That voice—sweet, playful, with just the right hint of mischief, paired with the wide, curious look in her crimson eyes—innocent, but not that innocent, belonged to none other than Misaya Reiroukan.
She stood close, a little too close, her body brushing against mine just enough to remind me how unfairly hot she was.
Let me paint this straight: Misaya was thicc in all the right ways. Juicy thighs, soft hips, and a rack that could silence a room. A literal goddess-tier beauty that most people criminally overlooked. If Tifa Lockhart had a long-lost cousin in anime, it was her—same vibe, same fantasy-fueling curves that haunted horny teenage minds back on Earth.
And the craziest part? She was my childhood friend.
Unfortunately, I hadn't banged her. Not yet, anyway. See, I only regained my transmigration memories recently—right after I turned eighteen. Before that, the "old me" was basically virgin. Never touched a pussy.
Now? I've been dumped into an anime world where every girl is outrageously fuckable. I'm talking flawless skin, perfect curves, pink nipples, tight, wet pussies straight out of the highest-rated hentai.
And you better believe I've done my research—watched enough doujin and read enough smut to know exactly what's underneath those skirts.
So yeah—as soon as I got my memories back, I decided I wasn't gonna waste this chance.
And while I did have a soft spot for the small, petite, obedient types—the kind you could pick up and fuck against a wall with ease—I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to bend a thicc goddess like Misaya over a desk and rail her until she forgot her own name.
Because let's be real:
Every hole's a goal.
As long as she's got a sweet face, a pink pussy, and the curves to match, it's fair game, my friend.
But anyway—back to the conversation. Gotta keep the act smooth.
"I've always been here, haven't I?" I replied casually, pretending to focus on the books around us. We were in the library, like always—our usual hangout spot to geek out about mythology, magic theory, or just bullshit in general.
She stood beside me, flipping through a dusty volume on Celtic myths. Her obsession with Irish mythology was no joke—especially Scathach. Misaya idolized her like a cultist worshipping a war goddess. She wanted to be her. Wanted the strength, the mystery, the dominance.
And yeah, that whole vibe? Crazy hot.
She deadpanned at my lazy response, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, you have been here. But I haven't seen you around school lately. Not since... those two girls disappeared." Her tone dropped a bit, eyes narrowing. Then she smirked, lips curling into that teasing grin that always made my cock twitch.
"Don't tell me it hit you that hard, Ryouma? Poor boy... Do you want me to comfort your fragile little heart?"
She leaned in just enough for her tits to subtly press against my arm. The playful smirk, the flirtation in her voice—it was arrogant and delicious.
I chuckled, knowing damn well what game we were playing.
You see, that's just how we were—childhood friends who flirted like enemies and teased like lovers.
If you've never had a girl who could roast your ass and make you hard in the same sentence, then sorry to say—your life kinda sucks, bro.
Better luck next time.
Placing the book back onto the shelf, I turned to her with a smirk and fired back, "Maybe... that's not such a bad idea, Misaya."
She blinked, clearly caught off-guard by the flirtation. Her hand moved to my forehead, her brows knitting together in concern.
"Are you really okay, Ryouma?" she asked.
"Do you have a fever or something?"
"Not really. I just had an epiphany," I said with a grin. "I realized I've been wasting my youth, sleeping with girl who mean nothing— when there are way more gorgeous, intoxicating women standing right beside me."
I grabbed her wrist, firm but not rough, pulling her hand down from my head. I held it tightly and looked her straight in the eyes.
I could smell her perfume, subtle but intoxicating. I felt the tension in her fingers, the sharp, erratic thumping of her pulse.
Her cheeks flushed.
For a second, the icy, composed Misaya faltered—her perfect posture cracked as she took a step back, clearly shaken.
She stumbled into one of the library chairs and sat down with awkward grace, pretending nothing happened. But her movements weren't as smooth as usual.
She coughed, trying to regain control. "Ryouma, don't be weird. I only came here to talk, it's been three days since I saw you."
I chuckled, grabbing the same book I'd returned earlier and slouching lazily into the seat across from her.
"You started it, and now you're the one all flustered. Here's a tip: don't start something you can't finish, girl. Honest advice."
Misaya lowered her head slightly, but not from embarrassment.
Something shifted.
The blush vanished from her cheeks. Her gaze lifted, sharp and unreadable.
Her tone dropped. Cold. Calculated. Dangerous.
"Ryouma..." she said slowly.
"You've changed."
"You've become a very, very bad boy..." Her voice dropped, silky smooth with a razor's edge.
"And you know what a bad boy needs most?"
She leaned forward slightly, a hint of wickedness in her smirk.
"Punishment."
Her tone was cold, serious. Eerily seductive.
But I didn't flinch. I leaned back in my chair, completely relaxed, welcoming the challenge.
"Alright, mommy," I said, voice low and thick with mockery. "Let's meet in the Holy Grail War next time. And if I win..."
"I'll be the one punishing you, bad girl."
Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
Just stared.
And I knew right then—this game had only just begun.
"What if you lose?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity—but also with something darker.
There was a sharp edge to it, like she wasn't just wondering about the outcome, but hoping to see what would happen if I failed.
"I won't," I said flatly, and without a moment's hesitation, I hurled the book I was holding straight at her. It was a thick one—Scáthach's biography.
Then I stood from my seat, walking up to her with calm, deliberate steps.
I leaned in close—so close that my breath brushed against her ear. "Don't let your father summon Caster. Summon her instead. Use that book as the catalyst."
She'd be the perfect test case—an experiment to measure just how powerful Manaka really is. Can she one-shot Scathach the same way she effortlessly crushed other Servants? That's the question.
To be honest, I barely played FGO. Just the prologue. Then I uninstalled it and moved on. That was enough.
But Misaya? She has every reason and every bit of motivation to go against Manaka. That makes her perfect for this. Give her the chance to summon someone like Scathach, and we'll see what Manaka's really made of.
As for other top-tier Servants? Meh. My understanding of the Nasuverse's power scaling isn't that deep. I still have no clue how to summon an Alien God or Void Shiki.
But Scathach? That one's doable. I just poured my Root-origin into her biography and bam—made her summonable. That's what Manaka told me: how to summon the Servants I like, without needing her to do it for me.
And to be clear, relying on Manaka for everything is a terrible long-term plan. As hyped up as she is by fans, let's not forget—canon Manaka makes dumbass decisions all the time. She makes decisions based on emotion, not logic, and she gets played like a fiddle by the author's shitty writing—ahem—I mean, by Alaya.
Yeah, I said it. Half of her downfall is because of bad writing, but in-universe? She got played. Schemed by Alaya. Why? I don't know. But it happened. And that alone is enough reason not to trust her completely.
She's the kind of girl who moves with her feelings first and forgets to check the bigger picture. That's exactly why I want to test her. If she ends up getting played by Misaya and taken down by Scathach—even in a world where Arthur isn't around to hold her back—then I can safely assume something else is going on. Something bigger.
It would mean the Counter Force is targeting her. Wants her dead.
And if that's the case? Then we finally know who the real enemy is. And more importantly—how to fight it.
That means I need to seriously start considering aligning myself with the so-called "villains"—Alien God, Goetia, the True Ancestors, anyone and anything that stands against the Counter Force. Because if Alaya's the one pulling the strings, then the only winning move is to tear the board apart entirely.
With the decision in mind, I turned away, ready to leave without another word.
But Misaya caught my hand—firm and sudden—pulling me back with unexpected force, only to press her lips against mine in a deep, hungry kiss.
Her eyes locked with mine, wide and intense, filled with a desperate sort of longing.
"You don't just tease a girl like that and walk off, you scumbag," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Stay. Just… stay with me a little longer."
I let out a small smirk and nodded, taking my seat again.
Because let's be real—when a beautiful girl basically begs for your presence like that, it'd be criminal not to oblige.
And I was nothing if not generous when it came to indulging women who admired my greatness.
Seeing me settle back down, the corners of her lips curled into a genuine smile—a soft but radiant expression that made her seem lighter somehow, less twisted.
"Ryouma..." she murmured, her voice carrying something fragile behind it.
Whatever illusion she had built up in her mind about me, I didn't give a damn.
What mattered was that, for now, she wasn't acting like a psychotic women. Instead, she looked like a girl—just a girl, a maiden caught up in something dangerously close to love.
I didn't even bother glancing at the book again. Nah, that could wait. My eyes were locked on her—taking in every inch of her face, admiring her striking beauty.
She stared back at me with a look that was both tender and possessive, like she wanted to burn me into her memory and never let me go.
We didn't speak another word. Just stared at each other, sinking deeper into that silence that spoke volumes.
A silence charged with emotion, attraction, and that ever-present undertone of dark intent.
...
Author Note:
Yeah, we've finally reached the plot after so many smut scenes. The previous votes may end up being useless because the MC's enemy is going to be the Counter Force—or maybe even something beyond that. We don't have time for internal conflict when there's an external enemy powerful enough to tear us apart.
I'm not sure if Manaka in canon could one-shot the Counter Force, or if her connection to the Root really matters in the grand scheme of things, but so far, the fact that she was ultimately defeated by their schemes already speaks louder than words.
Now, I'm totally invested in the story after writing this chapter. I never expected this story to actually have a plot or real tension. Up until now, it's just been self-indulgent writing that honestly started to bore me. But now?
Yeah—just imagine the MC and his equally deranged sister plotting to burn the world and reshape it in their image. This is the kind of plot I've always wanted to write, but never had the opportunity to.
Also, I'm tired of MCs always siding with humanity and Chaldea. It's time for the villain camp to rise.
Next week, I might start updating this story regularly again, but let's see if I can stockpile enough chapters first.