"Ouch—"
"Ahh…" Dave whispered, holding his hand against his left cheek.
He turned toward her, eyes wide. 'Wait… why does she look so angry? Is she about to punch me again? What did I even do?'.
She clenched her left hand into a fist, her jaw tightening, but after a moment, she exhaled and lowered it slowly.
"So you think you can sneak into my room and I wouldn't notice?" she said, her tone sharp and dripping with irritation.
Then, narrowing her eyes, she added, "Tell me—where did you hide my pastry? The one I kept in the fridge. And don't tell me you ate it."
"I… I ate it," Dave admitted, lowering his voice. "I didn't know it was yours… sis."
Her eyebrow twitched. The air grew heavy. She tightened her right fist, veins visible across her knuckles.
"Okay then…" she said, her voice calm but dangerous. "I'm giving you two options. Either I punch that soft, boxing-bag belly of yours until I'm satisfied… or you get me the exact butterscotch pastry from the store."
"I don't have money to buy the pastry…" Dave muttered, irritation flickering across his face.
"Here," she said, pulling a few bills from her pocket. "Take this—forty Velis. It should be enough to buy it. Keep the change." Her tone was low and firm, carrying that natural authority of someone used to being obeyed.
Dave took the two notes, glancing down at them. "But… I don't even know where the store is," he said awkwardly.
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Ugh… how can you be this dumb? If I'd known you weren't just a loser but an idiot too, I never would've let my mom marry your fat father."
Her words stung like a slap—sharp, cruel, and perfectly aimed.
"Go straight from here, then turn left at the grocery shop. It's right across from it," she snapped, frustration edging her voice.
Dave felt nothing. Her words slid off his mind like rain on glass. All he could think about was seizing those tight, perfect tits, kneading them until she gasped; then flipping her over and spanking that juicy ass until it flushed strawberry-red, until her moans gave out and she begged for mercy.
"Okay," he said flatly, and walked out.
Flip-flops slapping against the wooden floor, he vanished through the door.
The wide boulevard stretched between the houses, broad enough for two heavy-laden carts—each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses—to rumble past side by side with room to spare, their weathered stone facades rising like silent sentinels.
Electricity poles jutted at odd angles, wires humming faintly overhead, while rusted letterboxes sprouted haphazardly along the curb.
A handful of shops clung to the street's edge—dim windows glowing with lantern-light, their awnings sagging under the weight of afternoon heat.
Dave walked straight, flip-flops thuding against the cracked pavement, until the grocery shop loomed ahead: shutters down, a faded "CLOSED" sign swaying in the breeze.
He turned left.
A warm gust carried the scent of sugar and yeast. Above the next doorway, a weathered sign creaked: TOM'S BAKERY in chipped silver letters. The bell jingled as he pushed inside.
The glass case gleamed with rows of pastries—most tagged under 20 Velis, a few climbing past 30. Dave pointed to a golden butterscotch swirl, its glaze still bubbling from the oven.
"Thirty-five Velis," the baker grunted, sliding it into a wax paper sleeve.
Dave didn't even know how valuable this currency was. Most pastries were priced below 25 Velis, but only a few rose above 30.
With a quick calculation, he realized 35 Velis for a pastry was expensive.
Dave stepped out of the bakery, butterscotch sleeve still warm in his grip.
"So that's why the bitch was yelling—her pastry in the fridge, door wide open. My fault? Hell no. She left it there." Dave muttered, licking the last butterscotch crumb from his lip.
The wide boulevard stretched ahead, heavy-laden carts clattering past on either side, each pulled by a pair of snorting horses. Sunlight glinted off the stone facades.
Then it hit.
A faint ping echoed inside his skull, soft at first, like a distant notification. His ears dulled. The world muffled. The ping grew—louder, sharper, relentless—vibrating through bone.
Dave staggered, palms slamming over his ears. Vision blurred. Knees buckled. What the hell—?
Just as blackness clawed in, everything stopped.
No ping. No dizziness.
A translucent blue screen materialized in front of his eyes, hovering like glass in thin air.
[ SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE ]
[ USER DNA REQUIRED FOR ACTIVATION ]
A small glowing box pulsed in the center.
Dave blinked, confused. He rubbed his index finger against the inside of his cheek, gathering a thin sheen of saliva, then tapped the screen.
The panel flickered—static crackling like a dying radio—then dissolved in a burst of red light.
[ W SYSTEM ACTIVATED ]
[ USER NAME REQUIRED ]
A holographic keyboard shimmered into existence. Dave typed with confident swipes through the air:
D A V E D I H H G E R.
[ WELCOME, DAVE DIHHGER ]
[ ENTER THE SYSTEM ]
He tapped ENTER.
Six hexagonal tabs appeared in a sleek grid:
[PROFILE] [SKILLS] [QUEST] [STORAGE] [SHOP] [LOCKED]
Top-right: a white hexagon icon with a bold black W — the system's currency symbol.
Center-top: W SYSTEM in glowing white.
Dave froze, heart hammering against his ribs. "This… this is a damn game interface. Someone's playing me—or handing me the controller?"
He resumed walking, flip-flops slapping the pavement, eyes locked on the HUD. Tapped [PROFILE].
[Name: DAVE DIHHGER]
[Age: 17 — VESSEL PRIME]
[Sex: MALE]
Below, a flashing [!]:
[ W INFO SYSTEM !! ]
He tapped it. A paragraph unfurled like a system log:
———
W SYSTEM DESCRIPTION:
Designed to drain target talents in exchange for pleasure—without consent.
Targets may develop extraction resistance. Counter with SHOP items for smoother conquests.
One target at a time. Requires DNA sample (blood, saliva, hair, etc.).
Stronger DNA = higher irresistibility.
Once locked: user emits pheromone aura from cock—intensity scales with proximity.
Closer = higher success rate.
———
The window glitched out and vanished.
A new panel slid in on the right, pushing his bio left:
[ DNA REQUIRED ].
Dave's lips curled into a predatory grin."So the system wants to play dirty? Fine. Time to repay that punch with interest."
He murmured, eyes gleaming with dark promise.