Cale sat at his study desk, staring at his reflection in the ornate mirror. His hands were trembling slightly as he picked up the small fruit knife that had been lying on the table.
Okay, think this through. If this is real, I need absolute confirmation.
Dreams felt real until you woke up, but pain was different. Pain was the one thing that couldn't be faked, the universal language of reality written in nerves and blood.
"This is just a shallow scratch," he muttered, pressing the blade lightly against his index finger. "This knife won't even—"
The blade sliced through his flesh like it was made of paper.
Blood spurted from the cut, far more than should have been possible from such a light touch. Cale's eyes widened as he stumbled backward, the chair clattering to the floor. He hit the ground hard, his other hand clamping over the wound as hot blood seeped between his fingers.
"It's too sharp! Ahhhhh! I really fucking transmigrated!!"
The pain was exquisite and undeniable. Through the haze of agony, memories that weren't his own crashed over him like a tidal wave. As he rolled on the floor clutching his bleeding hand, the full weight of his situation became horrifyingly clear.
Cale Regulus Midgar. That was the name he now carried, along with all the catastrophic baggage that came with it.
Well I did not finish the game so it was necessary
The original owner of this body had been a special kind of stupid. The type of arrogant noble who thought his family name made him invincible, who had run his mouth about the royal family in public like it was casual dinner conversation. Blasphemy against the crown wasn't just frowned upon—it was social suicide.
They had stripped him of everything. His noble status, torn away like cheap paper. His title, his connections, his future, all of it reduced to ash. The sentence was exile, permanent and absolute. Even his own family had turned their backs on him, unwilling to weather the political storm his idiocy had summoned.
Every woman in his life had scattered like leaves in autumn. Every single one except for Arya Ellen, his stepsister. She had stayed until the very end, those sad eyes watching him with something that might have been pity or disappointment or both.
Her final words echoed in his mind with crystal clarity: "Never set foot in this empire again. Violators will be killed."
Cale sat up, gasping for breath. His hand pressed against his temple, fingers scratching at his scalp as sweat poured down his face. The cut on his finger throbbed in time with his racing heart.
"Huff... huff... I only thought the setting was the same. But I didn't expect..." His laugh came out broken, almost manic. "I actually transmigrated into this guy's body. This mentally retarded yellow-haired freak."
Wait, yellow-haired. Whatever, doesn't matter right now.
Of all the characters to end up as, it had to be the antagonist. Not even a cool antagonist with style and class, just the persistent thorn in the protagonist's side who existed solely to make bad decisions and fuck things up at every opportunity.
"Yep. Good. All the crazy shit drops on my head." He crawled toward the bed, every movement feeling too heavy, too real. Sitting on the edge, he drew his knees up and pressed his head between them. "What should I do..."
A knock at the door cut through his spiral like a blade.
Why are these people only coming when I've just got this body?
Cale straightened up, rolling his shoulders back. The persona settled over him like an ill-fitting coat, arrogant and dismissive and entitled. It felt wrong, but it would have to do.
"Come in."
The door opened to reveal Estrid, one of the two maids assigned to his service. Luna was still in training, which meant Estrid handled most of his day-to-day needs. She stepped inside with practiced grace, her black uniform pristine and perfectly fitted to her curves.
Cale's eyes tracked over her automatically. Twenty-six years old, unmarried, had served the household faithfully for years. She was also, according to the fragmented plot knowledge rattling around in his skull, the same woman who would eventually betray him to the protagonist's faction.
I should take her in before she switches sides. If I can secure her loyalty now, maybe I can change that particular thread of fate.
"Master Cale." Estrid bowed slightly, her voice professional and measured.
"Oh, you are... Estrid." He paused deliberately, as if trying to remember her name, something the original Cale had never bothered to do consistently. "What's the matter?"
His gaze drifted lower, drawn almost magnetically to the generous swell of her chest. The uniform did nothing to hide her figure. A twenty-six-year-old woman, experienced in service, untouched by romance, and loyal to a fault.
At least, she had been loyal until she wasn't.
"The clothes for today's dinner have arrived," Estrid explained, her tone unchanged. "Madam asked me to bring them to you."
Cale let a smile curl across his lips, slower and more deliberate than the original's typical sneer. Something warmer, almost seductive.
"Okay. Put them on the table there."
Estrid's composure flickered. Just for a moment, her eyes widened slightly, a faint color touching her cheeks. She moved to comply, setting the formal attire down with careful precision.
"Master..." Her gaze caught on his hand. "Are you injured?"
Cale blinked, following her line of sight. Right. The cut. In his existential panic, he had almost forgotten about the still-bleeding wound on his finger.
"Oh, this..." He lifted his hand, examining the gash with detached interest. "It's nothing. Do you have some band-aid or anything to cover this up?"
"A band-aid?" Estrid's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't know what this 'band-aid' thing is, but to stop such a small cut—"
She moved with surprising speed, gathering her skirt in one hand as she dropped gracefully to her knees before him. Cale's mind went blank, assuming she had some cloth or medical supplies tucked away somewhere in her uniform.
What he didn't expect was for her to take his injured hand in both of hers, lift it to her face, and press her tongue directly against the wound.
Heat exploded across Cale's face. Unlike the original owner of this body, who had treated such gestures with entitled indifference, he felt every second of contact like an electric current running up his arm. Her tongue was warm and soft as it traced over the cut, collecting the blood with deliberate care.
Then she took his entire finger into her mouth.
The sensation was overwhelming. Warm, wet, impossibly intimate. His heart hammered against his ribs as she held his finger there, as if her mouth itself was some kind of healing potion.
When she finally released him, a thin strand of saliva connected his fingertip to her lips, stretching between them like a silver thread before breaking.
"The bleeding has stopped." Estrid's voice was soft, almost reverent. "Every drop of young master's blood is precious."
Cale trembled. He couldn't help it. In his previous life, affection had been a scarce commodity. His parents had been distant, his relationships transactional. To receive such tender care from anyone, let alone a beautiful woman kneeling before him, felt like having his soul touched.
Estrid rose smoothly, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with one finger. Her expression was almost childlike in its earnestness. "Please don't get hurt so easily."
"O-okay." The stammer escaped before he could stop it, his face burning hot. "Understood. I will remember that."
She turned to leave, her skirt flaring out with the movement. For just an instant, Cale caught a glimpse of white fabric beneath, her panties visible for the briefest moment before the skirt settled back into place.
"If you don't need anything else, I shall return to work."
"Oh... okay. Thank you."
The words felt foreign in his mouth. The original Cale had never thanked the servants. Ever. But Estrid didn't comment on it, merely offering another small bow before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
The moment she was gone, Cale grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved his face into it, his legs kicking in the air like some love-struck teenager from a romance anime.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." His muffled voice barely penetrated the fabric. "This is too foul."
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Ding! +5 Scum Points earned]
[Current Balance: 10 Points]
Cale stumbled to the window, resting his elbows on the sill as he stared out at the estate grounds. His reflection in the glass wore an expression somewhere between dazed and delirious.
"That black-haired maid too," he muttered, thinking of Luna. "I've got to take her in. She's... she's way too cute. Hehe... heheheh..."
Estrid walked down the corridor, her steps measured and professional as always. But her mind was elsewhere, turning over the strange encounter like a puzzle she couldn't quite solve.
Why had Young Master Cale, who typically couldn't even be bothered to remember her name, suddenly thanked her? And that smile had been different from his usual expressions. Warmer. Almost kind.
She shook her head slightly. Perhaps she was reading too much into it. People didn't change overnight.
Cale lay sprawled across his bed, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts gradually reorganized themselves into something resembling coherence.
He had everything, didn't he? Good looks inherited from his family's blessed bloodline. A duke's son with royal connections. Plenty of money, at least for now. Hot maids serving his every need. By all rights, he should have been living the dream.
So why the hell had the original Cale felt the need to provoke the protagonist?
The answer came with sickening clarity. Because that's what the plot demanded. The original Cale existed to be an obstacle, a source of conflict, a cautionary tale about arrogance and stupidity. And it all started tonight.
The coming-of-age ceremony. The banquet. That was where Cale was supposed to drug the crown princess, setting off a chain of events that would eventually lead to his complete destruction.
"Hmph." Cale's lips curled into a smirk. "If I don't drug her, she won't die. Isn't that easy?"
He had a chance to change his fate. To live as a rich young master with a harem and no responsibilities. All he had to do was not be a complete idiot. But then doubt crept in,
What if the plot was fixed? What if the crown princess died anyway, regardless of his actions? What if fate itself conspired to put him exactly where the story demanded he be?
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He sat up abruptly, running his hands through his hair. "Systemmmm! Where are you? Gramps? Sir?"
Maybe he should just go to the banquet and beg the protagonist for mercy. Get on his knees, grovel a little, promise to stay out of his way.
I don't think he'll make excessive demands. Like licking his shoes or something. If it were some hot girl in stockings, I'd happily kiss her legs. But some guy? Hell no.
The system interface materialized before him, its presence oddly comforting.
[Does Host wish to access the Shop?]
[Current Balance: 25 Scum Points]
Cale lunged forward, his arms spreading wide as if to embrace the floating screen. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes even as he smiled.
"Holy god, they haven't abandoned me just yet."
He browsed quickly, purchasing a few attribute stat increases. Nothing dramatic, but enough to give him an edge. Then his eyes landed on something that made his heart skip.
[Future Death Flash - 10 Points]
[Allows user to see visions of potential death scenarios several hours before they occur. Warning: Visions may be disturbing.]
"Hehe, with this I'll know a few hours before my death." He purchased it without hesitation.
[Skill Acquired: Future Death Flash]
[Activating...]
The world dissolved into shadow.
When Cale's vision cleared, he found himself in darkness. His body felt wrong, heavy and restricted. He tried to move and couldn't.
Looking down, he saw rope, thick cords wound around his wrists and ankles, binding him to what felt like a chair. His chest was bare, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized his entire body was covered in bruises. Dark purple and yellow marks painted his skin like a grotesque canvas.
"Hey, you've got to be kidding me."
A figure emerged from the shadows. Black hair, pale skin, delicate features twisted into an expression of intense focus.
Luna.
"Luna, open this..." His voice came out strained, both from fear and from whatever had left him so battered.
She approached slowly, each step deliberate. When she reached him, her hand lifted his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. There was nothing of the shy, sweet maid in those eyes. They burned with something feral, obsessive, utterly unhinged.
"You finally woke up." Her voice was soft, almost tender. "I've been waiting for you to wake up."
"You—" Pain lanced through him as he tried to shift. "Ouch, it's hurting like hell."
"Pain is inevitable." Luna's thumb traced along his jawline. "You should know it's to teach you a lesson."
Her finger slid lower, trailing down his chest with agonizing slowness. Over his sternum, across the defined ridges of his abs, down to his pelvis. Cale's breath caught, his body torn between fear and unwanted arousal.
"How evil, cruel, and selfish you are," she continued,
her voice taking on a singsong quality. "You should make everyone hate you. You should act like scum. But you..." Her eyes narrowed. "You're changing. I didn't want to do this."
Her hand wrapped around his cock, fingers closing with just enough pressure to make him gasp. She pressed her thumb against the tip, rubbing slow circles while her other hand drifted lower, nails scratching lightly across his balls.
Cale was terrified, but his body, the traitorous thing, responded anyway. His mind screamed at him to focus on escape, but the sensations were overwhelming, making coherent thought nearly impossible.
Man, mostly I would've enjoyed this, but there was no info on her being a yandere. Maybe I never looked into her description much. How do I get out now?
Luna's free hand moved to her own face, fingers splaying across her cheek as her expression twisted into something between ecstasy and madness.
"Don't worry." Her grip tightened slightly, her thumb still working his tip with practiced precision. "With me teaching you, our love will surely shine together. I will cleanse you thoroughly with my love, over and over again."
Horror shot through him. But his body betrayed him completely, his cock hardening fully in her grasp despite every instinct screaming at him to resist.
Luna's lips curved into a predatory smile. She pressed down harder, her movements becoming more deliberate.
"No..." The word escaped as a whisper. "No... noooo..."
Cale jolted awake, his body drenched in cold sweat. His heart hammered so hard he thought it might burst through his ribs. For several seconds, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stare at the ceiling of his actual room.
"That was just... a dream."
But the phantom sensations lingered. The rope burn on his wrists. The ache of bruises that didn't exist. The feeling of her hands on him, possessive and inescapable.
"So it's not that she's shy," he muttered, forcing himself to sit up. "She acted like that because I initiated it. Then am I the reason her yandere personality is coming out?"
A precognitive dream. A warning of a drastic ending caused by something he would do, or had already started doing. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard fragmented words, as if carried on a wind that didn't exist.
"Do... not... change."
"Do not change." Cale laughed, the sound brittle and sharp. "Is this asking me not to change the setting? You seriously want me to go through some BDSM nightmare?"
He collapsed back onto the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as pieces clicked together with horrible clarity.
"So me trying to beg the protagonist will be wishful thinking, huh? And in order to survive, I need to actively walk toward my own destruction."
Come to think of it, Cale was still alive at the end of the story.
Barely. Crippled, limbless, reduced to nothing more than a talking head kept alive by healing magic. An old man who had lost everything, including his body.
"Hah. So I need to do something." A genuine smile spread across his face, wild and reckless. "Hehe, this fate is challenging me."
"I'm a crazy idiot who survived the trial and tribulation of modern society. And now I even have a privileged noble class backing me."
The banquet. The crown princess. The protagonist. All the pieces were already in motion, waiting for him to play his part. But who said he had to play it the same way?
Cale stood, straightening his clothes and checking his appearance in the mirror. The face that stared back was handsome, arrogant, and utterly unrepentant. Perfect.
A knock came at the door. Estrid again, no doubt, come to escort him to prepare for the evening's festivities. As he walked toward the door, Cale's gaze inevitably fell to her thick thighs when she appeared, his mind wandering despite the gravity of his situation.
Man, I sure do want to be crushed between them. I should be worried about what's going to happen ahead, though.
But worry was for people who played by the rules. And Cale, transmigrator and future harem protagonist, was about to rewrite every single one.
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