The pleasure lingers like a low, thrumming current under your skin—hot, insistent, refusing to fade even as your hand falls away from your aching cock. You stand there in the steamy bathroom, chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths, the cool air from the small exhaust fan brushing against your exposed shaft and making it twitch involuntarily. Precum still beads at the tip, a slow, teasing drip that lands with a faint pat on the tiled floor. The MILF posters stare down at you—those slick, dripping pussies and heavy, swaying tits seeming almost alive in the flickering fluorescent light—and your cock pulses again, half-hard and heavy, as if daring you to keep going.
But the reality crashes in, sweeter than any orgasm: this body, this second chance, the system. You've been reborn. Bound to something that's already rewriting your life.
A slow, incredulous grin spreads across your face. You're adapting fast—faster than you ever thought possible. The voice in your head had called you "Host," like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is now.
You draw in a long, deliberate breath, tasting the humid mix of soap, sweat, and your own musk. Then, silently, you think the word:
System.
The world sharpens. A translucent blue panel materializes in your vision, hovering like augmented reality only you can see—crisp edges, glowing softly against the grimy bathroom tiles.
┌────────────────────────────┐
│ COMEBACK SYSTEM │
├────────────────────────────┤
│ Host: Arjun Mehta │
│ Age: 19 │
│ Level: 1 │
│ Daily Reward: ₹10,000 │
│ Current EXP: 0 / 100,000 │
│ Next Upgrade: 100,000 EXP │
│ Earnings deposited daily │
│ at 12:00 noon to registered │
│ bank account. │
└────────────────────────────┘
The words sink in like warm honey. Ten thousand rupees every single day. No shifts, no begging for overtime, no coming home smelling of cheap instant noodles and despair. Three hundred thousand a month. Over three million a year—more money than you ever saw in your last life, handed to you while you sleep.
You dismiss the panel with another thought, and it vanishes as smoothly as it appeared. The bathroom rushes back—the faint drip of a leaky faucet, the distant clatter of early risers in the corridor, the sticky heat clinging to your skin. Your cock is still out, dangling thick and flushed between your thighs, twitching with every heartbeat, the head glossy and sensitive from all that futile stroking. You feel invincible. Desired. Powerful.
In your old life you slaved a full month for a pathetic three thousand rupees take-home—credit cards maxed, loan sharks circling, eating Maggi noodles for dinner while creditors blew up your phone. The system must have seen that wreckage and taken pity. Or maybe it saw potential.
Either way, it chose you.
A low, triumphant laugh rumbles in your chest. You tuck your still-half-hard length back into your shorts with deliberate slowness, savoring the brush of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way it throbs in protest at being confined again. You splash cold water on your face, the shock of it sharp against your heated cheeks, then run damp fingers through your thick, dark hair.
No more scraping by. No more shrinking into yourself.
This time, you're going to live—freely, lavishly, unapologetically.
You push open the bathroom door, the morning light from the corridor spilling over you like a promise, and step back into the world that's now yours to conquer
You step out of the bathroom into the narrow hostel corridor, the door creaking shut behind you with a soft thud. The morning air feels cooler here, carrying the faint, familiar cocktail of scents—stale coffee from someone's mug left overnight, the sharp tang of deodorant sprays battling unwashed socks, and underneath it all, the earthy dampness of Mumbai's humidity seeping through the open windows. Your skin still tingles from the cold splash of water, your cock finally softening but leaving a lingering, satisfied ache in your groin, fabric brushing teasingly against it with every step.
As you turn the corner toward your dorm room, the door swings open and your three roommates spill out, laughing about something—probably last night's late-night gaming session. They nearly bump into you, a chaotic tangle of limbs and backpacks.
First is Vikram "Vicky" Sharma, your best friend since high school graduation—the die-hard gamer and unapologetic anime hentai enthusiast. He's got messy black hair sticking up from headphone abuse, thick glasses sliding down his nose, and a faded Naruto T-shirt stretched over his slim frame. His eyes light up when he sees you. "Arre, Arjun! Tu kahan tha yaar? We were about to raid the cafeteria without you."
Next to him lumbers Rohan "Fatty" Patel, the warm-hearted giant of the group—round-cheeked, always smiling, with a belly that earns his nickname but a heart bigger than the campus. He's carrying a plastic basket of freshly laundered clothes, and you catch the clean scent of Surf Excel detergent wafting from it. In your previous life, you remember how he'd quietly toss your sweaty underwear in with his own load without ever making a fuss. He claps you on the shoulder, his palm heavy and reassuring. "Bhai, you look… different today. Glowing or what? Good sleep finally?"
Bringing up the rear is Karan Kapoor, the athletic star—tall, broad-shouldered, skin tanned from hours on the basketball court, his IIT jersey slung over one arm. He's got that effortless charm that makes girls in the corridors turn and whisper, dark hair tousled just right, a easy grin flashing white teeth. In your old timeline, he was the one who always dragged everyone to alumni meetups years later, keeping the group tight. He nods at you, dribbling an imaginary ball. "Sup, Mehta. Ready to get destroyed in FIFA later?"
Seeing them like this—young, carefree, exactly as they were before life pulled you all in different directions—hits you with a warm rush of nostalgia and something sharper: gratitude. These guys stuck by you through everything in the last life. Now, with the system humming quietly in the back of your mind, you feel a surge of confidence, your enhanced body moving with easy grace.
You flash them a genuine smile, broader than any you've worn in years, voice steady and warm. "Hey guys, haven't you eaten yet? Shall we go to the cafeteria? Let's go—I'm starving."
They chorus agreement immediately—Vicky already rambling about the anda bhurji, Fatty joking about needing seconds, Karan slapping your back as you all fall into step down the corridor. The four of you tromp down the concrete stairs, sneakers squeaking, laughter echoing off the walls painted in faded institutional green. Morning sunlight slants through the windows, dust motes dancing in the beams, the distant roar of Mumbai traffic growing louder as you push through the hostel doors into the open campus.
The walk to the cafeteria is short but lively—Vicky waving his phone around showing off some new hentai clip he swears is "art," Fatty offering to buy everyone extra parathas, Karan teasing you about finally looking like you could keep up with him on the court. You feel the system's gifts in every stride: muscles loose and powerful, lungs pulling in the warm, spice-scented air without effort, skin prickling pleasantly under the sun.
You reach the cafeteria just as the clock tower chimes twelve sharp. The place is buzzing—long steel tables packed with students, the clatter of metal trays, the sizzle of tawa griddles behind the counter pumping out clouds of ghee and masala. The air is thick with mouth-watering aromas: fresh pav bhaji bubbling, crisp vada hitting hot oil, steaming chai in clay kullads.
As you join the queue, your phone buzzes once in your pocket—a soft vibration against your thigh.
You discreetly pull it out. A bank notification glows on the screen:
₹10,000 credited to your account.
Sender: COMEBACK SYSTEM DAILY REWARD
Your pulse skips, a secret thrill warming your chest. The line moves forward. Fatty is already piling plates, Vicky arguing with the canteen uncle for extra cheese on his grilled sandwich, Karan flirting effortlessly with the girl serving chai.
You breathe in deep, the scents of home-cooked hostel food wrapping around you like a promise.
This is your new life—surrounded by friends, money flowing in without effort, and a body ready for anything.
And it's only day one.