I wasn't fine.
But try telling that to Sarah, who gave me that suspicious healer's cross-eye — the one that says, you're lying, but I'll let you suffer anyway.
"I'm fine," I muttered as I brushed her off with the kind of confidence reserved for people who were absolutely not fine.
She stared for a moment longer, chewing her gum like she was grinding down my excuses. She shrugged. "If you say so, loser."
Yeah. Classic Sarah. Concern packaged in sarcasm.
By the time I got to class, my brain was about three miles behind me. Professor Dean Caster's voice was the same monotone drizzle it always was — a sad symphony of words like "mana redistribution," "post-calamity economics," and "moral equilibrium."
Normally, I'd tune it out and fantasize about the fucking some MILFs or hot chicks. But not today.
That golden text from earlier was still burning in my mind:
[ New Mission:Emotional Resonance Detected. ]
[ Target Within Range. ]
What the hell did that even mean? Emotional what-now? Was this a love quest? A therapy side mission? A cosmic joke?
My head throbbed. I was about to drift off completely when I saw a shadow fall across my desk.
"Mr. Hanson," Dean Caster said, his voice practically cutting through the fog in my skull. "Perhaps you'd like to enlighten the class on the ethical limitations of tiered mana privatization?"
Oh, wonderful.
Public humiliation hour.
I blinked. My mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Then, a faint shimmer blinked across my vision. Nova's voice slipped through the static of my thoughts like silk through fingers:
[ Response Protocol Activated. Suggested Answer:'Tiered mana privatization inherently promotes class disparity through the concentration of magical capital, destabilizing lower-tier economies.' ]
I didn't even process it — I just said it. Word for word.
The class fell silent.
Dean Caster froze. His eyebrows twitched and his aura — that smug, self-righteous shimmer of authority — faltered for just a second, and I felt it.
His mana pulse collided with mine, and for a terrifying, electric heartbeat… mine devoured his.
The room felt heavier.
Students blinked. Even Sarah looked up from her notes, her gum popping mid-chew.
Dean Caster adjusted his collar, eyes darting away. "Ahem. Correct. Class dismissed."
And just like that, the man who could monologue for hours about "post-calamity ethics" bolted out like he'd seen a ghost.
Everyone started packing up, mumbling about how weird that was. I stayed seated, pulse still hammering.
What the actual hell had just happened?
Only Sarah lingered.
She sat on the edge of a desk, scrolling through her holo-screen, gum snapping like a metronome for my confusion.
"You planning to move," she said lazily, "or are you gonna sit there having an existential crisis?"
"Working on it," I muttered. I rubbed my face, then whispered, "Nova, what's emotional resonance supposed to mean?"
The familiar golden script bloomed before my eyes.
[ Emotional Resonance:Established Connection Detected. ]
[ Objective:Stabilize the Emotional Equilibrium of the Target. ]
[ Condition:Target must experience positive emotional elevation. ]
My brow furrowed. "Positive emotional— wait. You're saying I need to… make her happy?"
[ Affirmative. ]
[ Reward:To Be Determined. ]
I glanced at Sarah, who was completely unaware that the universe had just assigned her as my cosmic therapy project.
She looked up and caught me staring, but she simply rolled her eyes. "What? You look like you just found out mana's illegal."
I forced a grin. It was half amusement, half dread. "Nah. Just… thinking."
[ Warning:Mission Timer Activated. Emotional Resonance decay in 23:59:59. ]
A timer now floated beside her name like a cursed halo.
My stomach dropped.
"Fantastic," I muttered under my breath, my voice rougher than a rusty tentacle. "Twenty-four hours to make the most emotionally complex woman on campus happy. Yeah. This'll end great."
My stomach, already doing the Macarena with dread, chose that exact moment to drop like a lead balloon into my taint.
A twenty-four fucking hour timer. To make Sarah happy. The woman whose default expression was "I'd rather be anywhere but here, possibly stabbing someone."
This wasn't just about making her happy.
No, Nova's golden script had specified: 'Positive emotional elevation.'
My brain, hopelessly corrupted by years of manga, anime, and particularly depraved hentai, had immediately done the calculations.
"Positive emotional elevation" for a woman like Sarah, especially a target of a cosmic quest spearheaded by a system that devoured mana and whispered answers into my skull? That definitely screamed carnal bliss.
It screamed joy in bed. It screamed fuck her until she forgets her own name and achieves spiritual nirvana.
I watched her, still scrolling on her holo-screen, her gum snapping like a trigger-happy dominatrix.
Her legs were crossed, a long, exposed stretch of smooth skin.
Not petite, no, but toned from… what? Maybe punching things? running from things? Whatever it was, it made her hips curve in a way that had definitely graced more than a few doujinshi covers in my private collection.
And her chest… not the absurdly oversized, physics-defying melons of some of my favorite heroines, but still firm, still… there.
Under that worn, slightly too-tight top, I could practically see the faint, glorious outline. My dick, ever the optimist, twitched. Bouncy. They would absolutely be bouncy.
This wasn't going to be a simple "buy her flowers" mission.
No, if it was Nova, it had to be something… primal. Something that tapped into the very essence of "fuck yeah, I'm alive!" And in my world, that usually meant one thing.
Or, rather, several things, all involving copious amounts of fluids and enthusiastic thrusting until she was screaming my name and probably a few atrocities.
"So, 'just thinking' about what, Hanson?" Sarah's voice sliced through my increasingly depraved thoughts, making me jump like I'd just been caught downloading a new release with my pants around my ankles.
She stared at me, one eyebrow arched, and her eyes were sharper than a freshly sharpened obsidian dagger. "Thinking about how to finally grow a pair and talk to a girl without sounding like a wet sock?"
Oh, you have no fucking idea, Sarah. My internal monologue, however, was far more elegant: Talk? My sweet, oblivious sadist, I'm thinking about how to effectively ram my dick into your unsuspecting body until you scream with joy and the mission timer evaporates.
"Uh, nah," I lied, forcing a smile that I'm pretty sure felt more like a grimace. "Just… the lecture. Mana privatization. Heavy stuff, you know?"
She snorted, a surprisingly unladylike sound.
"Heavy? It was Caster drivel. He'd bore the cum out of a porn star during a five-way." She pushed herself off the desk, and then, stretching lazily, and for a glorious, heart-stopping second, her shirt pulled taut, emphasizing those firm, bouncy curves I'd been so intently (and internally) appreciating.
My hentai protagonist instincts flared. Bounce. They would definitely bounce.
My dick, now fully erect, silently agreed.
"Speaking of boring," she continued, oblivious to my internal orgasm, "I'm going to grab something to eat. You coming, or are you going to sit there and contemplate the meaning of life, the universe, and why your pants suddenly got tighter?"
My face flushed hotter than a freshly fisted alien orifice. She knew. Or, she suspected. Or she was just messing with me.
Either way, the implication landed like a ton of bricks.
My trousers, to their credit, were doing a fine job of concealing the full extent of my mission-induced arousal.
My miserable, average-sized dick was currently straining against the fabric, dreaming of her splendid tits.
"Uh, yeah, sure," I stammered, as I scrambled to gather my things. "Food. Good. Mana fuels the body, you know? And… other things." Like explosive orgasms that trigger positive emotional elevation and copious amounts of cum.
As we walked out, the timer beside her name was a mocking, golden constant. 23:56:12. The clock was ticking. And here I was, walking beside the target of my cosmic sex quest, trying to figure out if "making her happy" meant taking her to that all-you-can-eat ramen place, or if I should just tackle her into a secluded alcove and hope for the best.
Nova hadn't specified where the positive emotional elevation needed to occur, but my gut (and my dick) told me it was definitely going to be somewhere horizontal and probably involve a lot of vigorous activity.
We ended up at the student cafeteria, which was smelling vaguely of burnt toast and desperation. Sarah grabbed a tray, piled high with something indistinguishable, and then turned to me, her eyes narrowed.
"Alright, Hanson. Spill it. You're acting weirder than usual. And that's saying something, considering your usual state is 'mildly concussed hentai protagonist'."
I choked on air. She knows! My mind raced. How much did she know? Did she somehow sense the mission? Did she know her glorious tits were now the subject of a cosmic objective to be pleasured into oblivion?
"W-what do you mean?" I managed, trying to sound like I was casual, like I wasn't currently mapping out the most efficient way to get her clothes off and make her....you get the idea.
"You're fidgeting like you've got ants in your pants; you're staring at me like I'm a particularly complex math equation, and you keep mumbling to yourself. Is this about Caster? Did you finally figure out he's secretly a lizard person?"
I shook my head vigorously. "No, no lizard people. Just… a lot on my mind. Deep stuff." Like what position would maximize her pleasure, how many times she'd cum, and if Nova would give me bonus points for using all my fingers.
Nova's golden script popped up again, an unhelpful, glowing reminder:
[ Current Target Emotional State:Mildly Annoyed. Negative Trajectory Detected. ]
"Fuck," I muttered. My first attempt at covert observation was already backfiring.
I was actively making her less happy. This was harder than that one tentacle monster game where the heroine kept resisting, no matter how many appendages were probing her. My pathetic dick cringed.
"What was that?" Sarah asked, her annoyance level apparently ratcheting up a notch.
"Nothing! Just… uh… wondering if you'd like to… experience… something… new?" I blurted, my inner hentai brain taking the wheel and attempting to steer this conversation straight into an explicit dating sim dialogue tree.
She blinked at me, while still chewing her gum.
Stared. And then, a slow, predatory grin spread across her face. "Something new, huh, Hanson? And what exactly did you have in mind? Cosplay as a magical girl and make Caster cry?"
My heart hammered against my ribs like a desperate drum solo.
This was it.
The moment of truth.
She was fishing.
She was open to suggestion! This was like the pivotal choice in a visual novel where you either get the good ending or a swift kick to the balls.
"No, no cosplay," I said, trying to reign in my racing thoughts.
My eyes, however, betrayed me, darting down to her mouth, then her magnificent, bouncy tits.
My internal dialogue was a cacophony of "her lips! her glorious tits! her body about to experience maximum pleasure and my cum!"
"I was thinking… something more… intimate," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Something profoundly… personal. Something that would make you feel… euphoric. So happy, you'd forget everything else. Like… like a cosmic wave of pure… fucking bliss."
Her grin widened, revealing a flash of white teeth. "Intimate, personal, euphoric, cosmic bliss, huh? You're certainly not holding back on the adjectives today, Hanson. You sound like you just read a particularly stimulating fanfiction."
You have no fucking idea how close you are to the truth, I thought, my entire body humming with a mixture of terror and unholy excitement.
[ Current Target Emotional State:Amused. Slight Positive Trajectory Detected. Keep pursuing dialogue. ]
Amused? That was a start! A slight positive trajectory! Maybe this wasn't going to be a complete dick-splosion of failure after all.
I could work with amused.
Amused could lead to curious.
Curious could lead to… well, if my collection was anything to go by, curious led directly to a gushing torrent of cum and a thoroughly satisfied heroine, preferably with bouncy, glorious tits.
God, I'm so obsessed with her tits.
"Well, you know," I continued, encouraged by Nova's almost-encouragement, "I've been thinking a lot about… human connection. And how sometimes, the most profound connections… they happen when you're… completely vulnerable. Completely… uninhibited."
I was practically quoting a hentai protagonist now. Just let me fill you with my seed, and you'll understand true connection, you adorable slut!
Sarah threw her head back and laughed, a full, unrestrained sound that actually made a couple of nearby students look up.
It wasn't a sarcastic laugh; it was genuinely happy, bordering on delighted. And my dick, sensing the sudden surge of "positive emotional elevation," gave a hopeful throb.
[ Current Target Emotional State:Delighted. Significant Positive Trajectory Detected. ] [ New Sub-Mission: Maintain Target's Delighted State for 60 seconds. ]
My eyes widened. A sub-mission? Jesus Christ.
This was like a fucking RPG, but instead of fighting goblins, I was fighting Sarah's emotional stability with my increasingly desperate, hentai-fueled verbal diarrhea.
"So, you're suggesting," Sarah said, wiping a tear from her eye, her laughter trailing off into a breathless chuckle, "that your big, grand plan to make me 'euphorically happy' involves… sex?"
I froze.
She said it. The magic word. The forbidden fruit. The ultimate objective. All my carefully constructed euphemisms had apparently folded under her direct assault.
My face, I was sure, was the color of a ripe tomato.
My dick, however, was in full celebration mode, practically saluting.
"Well… I mean… if that's what it takes to achieve… optimal emotional… resonance," I stammered, feeling like a complete perverted idiot, and yet, oddly, also like a hero on the verge of unlocking a secret ending.
"I just want you to experience... pure, unadulterated, bouncy, cum-filled joy, Sarah. Is that so wrong?"
She stared at me, her amusement morphing into something unreadable.
Sarah was the kind to get into bed with all the jocks and still call it 'healing'. What was so wrong if we did?
Oh, my bad.
Spoiler: I'm not a bad-ass soccer player with abs that look like they were perfectly cemented to crush into people. Literally.
Then she took a deep breath, and her glorious tits heaved. "Hanson," she said, her voice surprisingly soft, "I think you need to sit down and maybe explain exactly what the fuck is going on in that twisted little hentai brain of yours."
The mission timer for "Delighted State" was at 0:00:27.
This was my shot. This was my chance to either secure victory or get my nuts kicked into next Tuesday, my sad, average dick forever cursed.
"Okay," I said, drawing a shaky breath. "Okay. But first, promise me you won't try to punch my dick off after I tell you everything."