I often wonder what hentai writers go through. They create characters who get fucked for about 20 minutes before they get scrapped.
Must get harder every time.
Forgetting that guilt trip of an intro, I turned to Erect.
"Show me the hentai," I demanded, like a judge sentencing someone to life in horny prison.
The Hentaiger Continent must be making the good stuff. Real cultural exports. Artistic strokes of genius. Picassos with tentacles.
Now listen.
Por- is banned in this world. But Hentai isn't por-.
It's anime with ambition. Emotion with motion. Plot with plaps.
It's ART.
Don't argue. My cope is valid.
"Are you sure you want to see those, my lord?" Erect asked with the seriousness of a priest catching me in church with lotion and WiFi.
"Yes. Do you have them?"
"I have, yes. Let me bring them."
Erect left like a delivery boy who knew my order was cursed. In a minute, he returned with two books thicc enough to squash a baby elephant.
I was excited. Like "she texted me back" excited.
Erect put them on the table. I picked one up.
Black cover. No title. Mysterious.
It's either forbidden hentai or a cult manifesto. Either way, I win.
I opened the first page.
"Spirituality is often considered difficult but when you believe in God, everything is easy."
I blinked like a depressed robot trying to process human emotion.
I turned the page.
"Why God is important?"
"Die for love."
"No difference between people."
"Kill your lust."
WHAT THE LIVING CELESTIAL FUCK IS THIS?
I looked up at Erect like he just handed me a Bible at a strip club.
"What kind of hentai is this?"
Erect frowned. "I'm not sure what other kind you mean, my lord. It's always been like this."
Oh no.
This wasn't hentai. This was Horni Propaganda Deradicalization Literature.
I slammed the book down like it owed me emotional support.
"So only books like this get published?"
"Yes. To teach people about life, ethics, principles... But no one reads them."
I don't doubt that.
Now I just want to sleep. All of this is a waste of time.
"Dinner is ready!" Sophia yelled like a woman who didn't realize she was summoning me to a food-based war crime.
I followed Erect to the dining table wondering what unholy ingredients I was about to consume. Hair? Toenail curry? Crocodile placenta lasagna?
Three chairs were placed. Sophia sat beside me.
She was technically my sister now, so her being beside me did nothing to my horniness levels. Like a hentai ad with no "Skip" button—visibly present but irrelevant.
"What did you make?" I asked. "List the horrors with ingredients."
She smiled sweetly. The kind of smile you see before a Joker monologue.
"We have fried rhino skin, crocodile tail, giraffe's testic—"
"STOP."
I raised my hand like I was in a classroom where the subject was PTSD.
"Do you have anything NORMAL? Like rice? Grains? Foods that don't taste like zoo animal divorce settlements?"
"We have rice pudding and porridge."
THANK. THE. LORD.
I jumped at those like a prisoner tasting freedom.
"I'll eat these. You two can continue the Hunger Games."
As I ate, I activated one of my favorite skills:
[ Mmmm ]
Yes, that's the name. It makes anything taste better. Even guilt.
After finishing the dinner, Erect and I left the table.
"I want to sleep. Where's the bedroom?" I asked.
"You have to sleep with me, my lord."
"Nope. I'll take the sofa. Tomorrow, I will go to my castle. Any more of your hospitality, and I'll need trauma therapy."
"No. I can't allow that. I will sleep on the sofa if that's the case." Erect suggested.
"Sure." I accepted his offer faster than a man clicking "Yes" on new terms and conditions without reading them.
So I took the bed. Erect took the couch. Sophia had her own room.
Being a good brother, Erect didn't offer me that bed and I also didn't ask for it. I am over her now. I never had a sister so this is also a new experience for me.
Feels weird calling someone your sibling when they tried to poison you a few days ago.
Tomorrow, I'd return to my castle. Cook real food. Avoid giraffe meat. And maybe start a business. This world is more underdeveloped than a plotline in a canceled anime.
I will also call my family so I don't feel lonely.
Talking about money, the currency of this world is called Morals.
Yes, people buy stuff with morality.
Capitalism but guilt-trippy.
Commoners earn by working or selling things. Heroes and soldiers get paid from financial departments in each continent.
And the Hero King (a.k.a. Me) rules them all. I control money like a sugar daddy with God powers.
Before I arrived, each continent's strongest Hero handled money. Now? All under me.
The IRS bows to me. I am the GDP.
The common people give tax to this department and then the money is distributed to the Heroes and soldiers.
The Hero King receives the highest salary because well, he is the Hero King. Duh. I can get my salary whenever I want.
Anyway, I would focus on that stuff later as for now, I let things happen as they were going before me.
I will only deal with this continent's financial department for a while.
Now you may wonder how do I know all this? I never asked Erect about this stuff so how do I know these details?
Well, the short answer is… actually, I can't think of any logical answer right now.
Just kidding.
I got info-dumped by God.
The Supreme Man sent this intel straight into my brain like a motivational TED Talk mixed with Google Docs.
He gave me all the financial data…
But skipped important things like:
Por- banThe food being zoo leftoversThe fact that "Hentai" here is secretly the No Fap Motivator.
Still, after a day filled with philosophical betrayal and testicle cuisine, I drifted to sleep.
Like a man who didn't know tomorrow would probably involve more crocodile meat and confusion.
I woke up the next day to the sound of someone outside yelling like a man who just discovered his OnlyFans subscription was auto-renewed.
It was loud. Angry. Like a drunk pigeon fighting its reflection.
Apparently, some sort of quarrel was going on outside Erect's house.
Probably about politics, unpaid goat taxes, or whether pineapple belongs on giraffe testicles.
I was still wiping the sleep crust off my eyes when I heard one man scream:
"I'm going to the Hero King for justice! I want justice!"
Ah. Cute.
This poor man was marching to the castle like a warrior on a noble quest… unaware that the Hero King was currently scratching his ass inside Erect's house in last night's underwear.
Well, I yawned, rolled off the bed like a depressed potato, and stood up.
If this man wanted justice, I'd give it to him.
Because deep inside me…
Somewhere between my trauma, sarcasm, and digestive system…
Lies a Hero.
Ahem.
"I am the Hero no one needs and deserves."
Wait…
That's not how it goes.
Let me try again.
"I am the undeserving Hero you don't need."
Wait no—
Shit.
Why is this quote harder than advanced math during a stroke?
Forget it.
Forget all the quotable wisdom.
Let me just channel my inner orphan trauma and say the only thing that matters:
"I am Batman."