Kei Karuizawa…
Honestly, if I hadn't awakened the Impregnation System, I would never have considered her as a serious love interest. Not once.
Yeah, I know how that sounds. I know how the weebs from my past life worshipped her. Some fantasized about a gentle, romantic life with her—holding hands under cherry blossoms, quiet confessions, all that vanilla sweetness.
Others imagined darker things: blackmail, coercion, reducing her to a personal plaything.
It doesn't matter how many of them pretend to be pure-hearted saints; the internet taught me long ago that human fantasy is a filthy, unfiltered thing, and nobody is exempt.
She was a popular anime heroine in my past life, after all.
That fame followed her across worlds
But let me be absolutely clear: I never doubted her loyalty. I never doubted her usefulness. I never once questioned what she was capable of when she committed herself to someone.
Those weren't the issues
The issue was that, before the system, I didn't need another love interest.
I didn't lack affection. I didn't lack competent chess pieces. What I lacked—desperately, obsessively—was leverage. I needed a ladder. I needed access to the upper echelons, the elite strata, the invisible hands that held Japan's lifeblood in their manicured grips.
I had money. I had talent. I had love and fame already coiled in my palms. And when a man already possesses everything he could ever want for himself?
He doesn't seek peace. Peace is for the satisfied, the complacent, the weak.
No. When you already have everything, what you truly crave is the climb. The ladder. The ruthless ascent into the class of people who decide, with a casual stroke of a pen, whether millions live or die.
That is the final frontier.
That is the addiction that money and talent can never quite satisfy.
Kei Karuizawa could not give me that.
Arisu and Fuuka? They could. Their families, their connections, their bloodlines—those were keys to doors I could not otherwise open.
I never gave a single shit about their smug expressions, their arrogant attitudes, their entitled, spoiled manners. Only small-minded people obsess over the personal flaws of those who can elevate them.
Only children refuse to do business with someone just because they find them annoying.
Unless you were born with a silver spoon already crammed between your lips, you cannot afford such petty luxuries.
That is realpolitik. That is business. It was never personal. It was always, only, about self-interest and the cold calculus of personal gratification.
As long as someone doesn't actively sabotage me or drain my resources, I don't give a damn if they are the most beloved saint or the most reviled sewer rat in human history.
To a man climbing the greased pole of power, people are only two things: assets and liabilities.
Before the system, Kei Karuizawa was a liability.
Yes, she was fragile. A delicate, beautiful bird that any predator could crush if I wasn't constantly watching over her shoulder.
She was a weakness—a soft, pulsing throat exposed to every blade in the darkness.
And more than that, she was a backstab waiting to happen.
Not through malice, but through vulnerability.
The price of her loyalty, her love, her absolute devotion was never money, status, or comfort.
It was always something far more demanding.
She needed someone strong enough to shelter her from the wind and rain.
Permanently.
Absolutely.
Without hesitation or failure.
That's it.
That's the transaction.
Give her an unbreakable roof, four walls that will never crumble, and she will give you everything she is, everything she has, everything she could ever become.
It's not a bad deal, objectively.
But before the system, I was preparing to do things that would shake Japanese society to its rotten foundations. I was planning to tear down hierarchies, expose corruption, claw my way upward through their corpses.
In that kind of war, there is no such thing as a safe harbor.
I didn't have time to be anyone's shelter. I barely had time to shelter myself.
But now?
Now it doesn't matter.
The system already took care of everything. The status I needed—granted. The wealth I lacked—acquired. The connections, the influence, the political capital, the raw, naked firepower—all secured.
I have turned myself into an impregnable fortress, walls thick enough to withstand any siege, foundations sunk deep enough to survive any earthquake.
And inside those walls, there is now room.
Room for shelter. Room for fragile things that once had no place in my world.
So yes. Kei Karuizawa is now one of my love interests.
Not because the weebs in my past life would approve. Not because she's the popular archetype, the broken bird waiting for a healer. Not even because her loyalty is absolute and her devotion is genuine.
But because I am finally strong enough to keep her.
And a man who builds an impregnable fortress but leaves it empty?
That man hasn't won.
He's just built himself a gilded coffin.
I have no intention of dying alone at the top.
So she stays. She thrives. She becomes mine in every way that matters, and the system ensures she will carry my legacy forward in the most literal sense possible.
This isn't mercy. This isn't charity.
This is simply what it looks like when an asset finally outweighs its liability.
"Takashi… are you alright?"
Kei's voice carried that unmistakable tremor of genuine concern, the kind that only surfaced when she caught me slipping—when my thoughts drifted too far inward and my presence in the room became something distant, unreachable.
She was still positioned beneath me, her body warm and yielding against the sheets, waiting.
Waiting for me to stop thinking and start taking.
She was still wearing it all.
The red blazer, already unbuttoned and hanging loose off her slender shoulders.
The navy shirt beneath, clinging to the soft curve of her chest with each nervous, anticipatory breath.
Her signature blue ribbon, tied with that same meticulous care she applied to everything, even now.
The short white skirt, rucked up slightly from where she'd shifted beneath me, revealing the pale, smooth expanse of her thighs.
Her blue hairband.
The Advanced Nurturing Academy uniform still clinging to her form like the last layer of armor before surrender.
Waiting for me to peel it all off.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
To savor the unveiling before I ravished her through the night.
"I'm fine." My voice came out smooth, unhurried.
I let my gaze travel over her, heavy and deliberate, drinking in the image she made—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes that flickered between uncertainty and raw wanting.
"You're breathtaking like this, Kei Karuizawa."
The sweet talk rolled off my tongue without hesitation, a practiced deflection to steer the conversation back to its proper course.
Back to her.
No need to reveal the labyrinth of dirty thoughts churning beneath my calm surface—the kind of thoughts that would repel most women on this planet.
Especially the feminist ones.
Her face flushed a deep, vivid crimson at the compliment.
Her fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet beneath her.
"Please… be gentle, Takashi-kun." Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile and honest. "This is my first time."
I chuckled, low and warm. "Of course, my love."
The foreplay had already run its course before this moment—the whispered words, the teasing touches, the slow erosion of her remaining inhibitions.
I had no intention of dragging it out any further.
There was a time for patience, and there was a time for taking.
My fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties.
A single, fluid motion, and they were gone, sliding down her thighs and past her knees before I tossed them carelessly to the floor.
A small, pale flag of surrender, abandoned on the carpet.
She gasped when I positioned myself—a soft, breathy sound that caught in her throat.
Then I thrust forward, and the gasp became a sharp, muffled moan against my lips as I kissed her, swallowing the sound of her own breaking.
My cock pierced through her pink folds and tore through her hymen in one clean, unhesitating stroke.
No teasing.
No slow, incremental intrusion.
Just the sudden, overwhelming fullness of being claimed.
She whimpered into my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders, but I didn't slow.
I couldn't.
Not when she felt this tight, this hot, this perfectly yielding around me.
My hand found her thigh, palm smoothing over the silken skin, fingers pressing slightly into the soft flesh as I began to move.
And then I activated it—Sex Magick.
The effect was immediate, as it always was, as it never disappointed.
The pain, the soreness, the inevitable sting of first penetration—all of it dissolved like morning frost under a rising sun.
Erased.
Replaced entirely by rolling waves of pleasure that built with every stroke, every shift of my hips, every subtle angle adjustment that made her toes curl and her back arch off the mattress.
We parted from the kiss, both breathless.
I pulled her closer, and she responded instantly, her arms tightening around my neck, her legs hooking over my hips to pull me deeper.
We became a single, undulating rhythm—give and take, thrust and yield, fill and clench.
"Ah… Takashi-kun…!" Her voice was already breaking, already losing its careful composure.
"So good…! Give me more…! Please…!"
"Faster…!
I didn't hesitate.
I never hesitated.
My thrusts became brutal, relentless—each one a deep, punishing drive that rocked her entire body against the mattress.
The headboard began to knock rhythmically against the wall.
Her moans grew louder, less restrained, spilling from her lips in broken, breathless cries.
And still the pleasure built, undiminished, amplified by the magick coursing through our joined flesh.
She squirted for me on the third stroke.
Then again on the fifth.
By the tenth, she was barely coherent, her eyes glazed, her mouth slack, her body spasming around my cock in waves of overstimulated ecstasy.
"Get pregnant, Kei Karuizawa!"
The words tore from my throat, raw and commanding, as I felt the pressure building at the base of my spine—that familiar, volcanic surge threatening to flood everything.
"Yes, Takashi-kun!" Her voice was a desperate, ecstatic scream. "Breed me! Make me yours! Please—!"
I lifted her waist slightly, adjusting the angle, driving deeper than before.
And then I erupted—hot, thick ropes of cum pumping directly into her waiting womb, flooding her with everything I had.
Her eyes rolled back, her body seizing in a final, violent climax as she felt me fill her, claim her, mark her from the inside.
"Ah, yes! Fuck—!"
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The only sounds were our ragged breathing.
I remained buried inside her, softening but still seated deep, unwilling to withdraw just yet.
Her inner walls fluttered around me in residual aftershocks, milking the last drops.
Finally, I pulled out.
My cock slipped from her well-used, semen-filled pussy with a soft, wet sound, and I watched a thin trickle of white escape her swollen folds, trailing down her thigh.
She didn't seem to notice—or care.
Her gaze was fixed on me, heavy-lidded and utterly dependent, shining with raw, undisguised lust.
"Takashi-kun…" Her voice was hoarse, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. A challenge. "How about… round two?"
I chuckled, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. I handed it to her, watching as she accepted it graciously, her fingers brushing mine.
"You should drink first. Maybe take a bath. I want to know what it feels like—having sex with a woman when she's all sweaty, and then again when she's all fresh and clean."
She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving mine over the rim of the glass.
When she lowered it, her smile had shifted—darker, more knowing.
"I don't mind, Takashi-kun."
A pause.
A deliberate, lingering pause.
"Or… are you going to join me in the bath, too?"
The implication was unmistakable.
Crystal clear.
She wanted me to take her under the cold water.
To press her against the slick tile and pound her senseless while steam billowed around us and her cries echoed off the walls.
So, yeah.
Fuck yeah.
...
Note:
Anyway, here's the update, my friends. I've been shit at keeping to my schedule for this fic. As much as I wanted to update quickly, unfortunately, I never foresaw the cost of burnout.
I had many ideas in my mind, even drafts that I could easily have put into words, but writing it? Yeah, for some reason, it felt repetitive—since my mind had already built everything for me.
The story itself already had a huge payoff, and the MC already basically had everything at his fingertips, which made the story feel complete in my definition.
But yeah, I still continued it, nonetheless—at least until every heroine in COTE gets lewded.
As for my next premise for COTE, I'm planning to write a Shiina Hiyori incest story with the MC as her father. It'll be taboo and fucked-up, and to prevent this site from sabotaging me again, I slapped characters age are 18 and above warning upfront in the first chapter. I'm tired of the unreliability of this site's moderators.
There are stories with minimal smut that dominate the top rankings, yet for some reason, they get removed and banned—which has made me completely lose confidence in the moderators.
I've also reserved backups on Scribble Hub and AO3 for the future, in case Webnovel decides to ban incest and taboo content completely. Yeah, Royal Road is basically off the table—they like power fantasy, not smut.
As for QQ? Well, I don't like the forum formatting for writing. However, I'll head there eventually if Scribble Hub decides to go "nun mode" like WN currently is doing, which has banned a lot of smut fanfics.
I'm going to cast votes here, considering this your privilege for waiting so long for an update. Which girls did you most want to lewd in the next chapter? I have three choices for you: Shiina Hiyori, Masumi Kamuro, or Suzune Horikita? One of them will be next.
Or would you prefer me to write the MC interacting more with his current harem members like Arisu, Kushida and Honami, rather than seeking new targets? Make your choice—if not, then I'll pick the lane for myself.
If you're enjoying this story, feel free to throw in all your power stones, rate it 5 stars, or add it to your library and collection. For every 250 power stones will unlock a bonus chapter.