My name is Shade Fou Bartfort. I turned eighteen just a few days ago. I am the fifth child—the fourth son—of a decaying and forgotten rural barony on the most remote edges of this kingdom of floating islands, and damn it, my life was already an absolute mess long before everything finally collapsed and turned into a literal nightmare.
I remember every detail of my previous life as if it were yesterday. I was an ordinary Japanese salaryman, the kind who grinds twelve, fourteen hours a day at a soulless company, coming home late at night just to collapse into exhausted sleep and repeat it all again the next day. My younger sister, a selfish freeloader, forced me to clear idiotic otome games for her while she enjoyed trips with friends. I hated it with every fiber of my being—those spoiled, arrogant heroines, those perfect princes with fake smiles, that whole society where men like me were reduced to mere accessories, trophies, or domestic slaves. I died from pure overwork, classic karoshi, and reincarnated here… only to discover that the game was reality. And, of course, far worse than any script could ever show.
In this world, women rule everything without mercy. They control the fertile lands, the hereditary titles, the armored airships that cross the skies, the armies of knights in enchanted armor. Men? We are useful only as long as we serve some purpose—strategic marriage, manual labor, or cannon fodder in wars against monsters or sky pirates. If you're born into a poor noble family like mine, a barony of dry, isolated agricultural islands with mana so scarce it barely sustains a basic barrier against flying beasts, you're nothing more than a mob. A nameless extra with no relevance, destined to live and die in the shadows of the true protagonists.
Daily labor in the fields shaped my body over the years—firm, defined muscles from hauling heavy sacks of raw mana crystals, a hunched back from hours under the merciless sun of the floating islands. My face is ordinary, nothing remarkable: messy black hair constantly tousled by the wind, black eyes that don't shine with noble mana, average height that commands no respect. In a royal academy filled with powerful heiresses with golden hair and hypnotic eyes, or capturable princes with radiant auras, I would go completely unnoticed. Exactly as a mob should.
I know the entire script of this cursed "game." I know the name of the protagonist who will arrive at the central academy next school year, I know exactly who the five main romantic targets are, I know the good routes where everything ends in happy marriages and the bad routes where extras like me end up enslaved, mutilated, or dead in some pointless battle. My plan was simple: survive quietly, use this meta knowledge to avoid obvious traps, maybe infiltrate the academy as an ordinary student and slowly climb the hierarchy, finding a mediocre wife who would give me some minimal status.
It was a decent plan. At least until a week ago, when everything started to fall apart.
The symptoms appeared slowly, treacherously. First, a constant fatigue I couldn't explain—I woke up feeling destroyed, as if I hadn't slept a single hour, even after collapsing into bed for nine straight hours. I thought it was just the heavy labor in the fields, harvesting mana roots under the scorching heat, carrying heavy supply crates to the village. But then came the nightly chills, the drowsiness that struck me in the middle of the day, forcing me to stop working and lean against a tree so I wouldn't collapse. Strange dreams began to invade the few hours of sleep I managed to get: cold, distant voices whispering my name in the dark, echoes of something ancient and hungry.
I knew exactly what it was. I had heard the legends told around campfires on the island's cold nights, stories whispered by old peasants about the ancient curse.
The Nightmare Spell.
In this kingdom, it's treated as a rare but inevitably fatal plague for the unprepared. At eighteen, when the body reaches full maturity, some unfortunate souls are "chosen"—marked by the curse. Sleep becomes irresistible, a force that crushes all resistance. If you give in and fall asleep, you're dragged into the First Nightmare: a solitary trial of life or death, tailored to your abilities. Survive the horrors inside, and you gain an Aspect—unique magical powers, becoming a respected Awakened. Fail… and your soul dies. Your body here becomes an empty shell, and a horrifying Nightmare Creature is born into the real world, slaughtering everything around it until it's contained.
Powerful noble families prepare their children from an early age: sword masters, ancestral artifacts, mana legacies that increase their odds. Heiresses of duchies have high-rank Awakened as personal guardians, ready to put down any monster that emerges. Me? Nothing. Absolutely zero. My mother, a cold, calculating noblewoman, barely looks in my direction—I'm just another surplus child. My older brothers fight over the few fertile lands that remain. My youngest sister already schemes marital alliances with viscounts to climb the court. No one would shed a tear for me.
So I decided to grant myself one last luxury, something to remind me that I was still human before the end.
I gathered all the coins I had saved over months of helping out with extra field work—backbreaking, poorly paid labor. I bought a large piece of real meat, fresh and juicy, not that processed synthetic sludge that we, the poor and peripheral folk, are forced to swallow every damn day just to survive. The smell alone made my mouth water at the village butcher's stall. I sat on an old bench in the central square of our island, under the shade of a withered mana tree, and devoured each bite slowly. The flavor exploded in my mouth: salty, hot, with that rich blood running, the tender texture melting on my tongue.
"Fuck… worth every damn coin I spent on this."
I felt a bitter, almost rebellious satisfaction. The rich noblewomen of the central islands eat this every day, banquets with exotic meats from aerial monsters. Me? Once in my life, before the end.
I finished the bone clean, tossed it neatly into a nearby bin—no messing up the square and getting chewed out by the guards—and stood up slowly, my stomach full for the first time in months.
Time to do what had to be done. I wasn't going to risk turning into a Creature and killing innocent people in the village.
I walked through the dusty streets to the local guard post—a compact fortress with pulsing magical barriers, watchtowers against pirates, where the kingdom's knights maintain a fragile order in the peripheral islands. I passed by ordinary families returning from the fields, children running around, a few minor nobles in small airships flying overhead. For a second, I envied those who had enough mana to fly freely.
A guard in light armor, his face marked by scars from battles against flying beasts and sky pirates, sized me up from head to toe when I entered the reinforced hall. With my simple clothes, torn and dirt-stained from the fields, I looked more like a runaway servant than a noble.
"Lost, kid? This area's restricted for low-class folk."
I'm a noble on paper, with an empty title, but who cares about details in a backwater like this?
"I'm not lost. I've come to voluntarily declare myself as a bearer of the Nightmare Spell, in accordance with the Royal Directive of Containment and Isolation."
The guard froze in place, his eyes widening in pure panic. His hand flew to the crystalline communicator on the wall, triggering alarms.
"Holy fucking shit… FULL DARK CODE! IMMEDIATE ISOLATION AT THE MAIN GUARD! BRING THE ANTI-MANA CHAINS NOW!"
Within chaotic minutes, reinforced manacles etched with anti-mana runes bound my wrists and ankles, dragging me down into a shielded cell deep underground. The air down there was cold and damp, reeking of rusted metal and the ancient fear of other infected. Guards armed with enchanted spears and mana shields watched from behind translucent barriers, ready for any outburst.
The heavy door creaked open hours later. An older, more experienced knight entered slowly—unkempt graying beard, tired, hollow eyes of someone who had seen dozens of Creatures born and slain. He sat on a reinforced chair on the other side of the bars, studying me with a mix of pity and professionalism.
"Full name and origin, kid."
"Shade Fou Bartfort. From the Bartfort Barony, southwestern peripheral island of Holfort."
He noted it down on a faintly glowing communication crystal, recording everything.
"Bartfort… I've heard of it, vaguely. Big family, poor and dry lands. Nobles in name only, commoners in everyday practice."
I shrugged as much as the heavy chains allowed, the cold metal biting into my skin.
"That's exactly the life we live."
"How long can you stay awake before giving in?"
"A few hours at most. Dusk should knock me out completely."
He let out a deep sigh, scratching his beard with calloused fingers, his voice low and weary.
"Then I'll be straight and honest with you, no bullshit. Do you know how the Spell really works?"
"I have a decent idea. The irresistible sleep drags me into the First Nightmare. Inside, trials and challenges adapted to my current abilities. I face dangers, monsters, riddles… survive intact, awaken a unique Aspect and become an official Awakened. Die in soul in there, become an empty shell here, and a Nightmare Creature is born in my place, strong enough to wipe out the entire village."
He raised a gray eyebrow, clearly surprised by my knowledge.
"Fuck, you know more than most spoiled little nobles from the central islands, who think they'll get easy powers. Good sign. But listen carefully: the First Nightmare is theoretically 'balanced'—adjusted so it's not impossible for someone like you. But in practice, for a kid with no formal combat training, no family mana inheritance, no support artifacts… the odds are fucking low. Many like you don't even last the first hour."
I knew that deep down. No privileges, no preparation—it was Russian roulette.
"If you get minimally lucky, you'll gain a straightforward offensive Aspect—something for close combat or destructive magic. If you roll support, illusion, or something weirder… improvise intelligently. No known Aspect is completely useless if used right."
I suddenly yawned hard, sleep attacking like a black tide rising.
"And one more crucial thing: any 'person' or ally you meet in there isn't real. They're just echoes, illusions created by the Spell to test or deceive you."
"Perfectly understood."
He hesitated for a moment, lowering his voice even further, almost conspiratorial:
"Try to resist as long as you can, kid. Fight the sleep out here for as long as possible. If you fail too early in there, the Creature that's born will be strong as hell. We don't have any high-rank Awakened stationed nearby to contain something like that. The entire village could go to hell because of you."
I almost laughed bitterly. Even in death, I'd be a burden to others, a mob getting in the way of the protagonists.
My vision began to blur at the edges. Eyelids heavy as lead sinking shut.
Everything darkened slowly, the world fading away.
In the absolute, icy void, a cold, mechanical, impersonal voice resonated directly inside my mind, echoing like a final judgment:
[Aspirant! Your soul has been marked by the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for the immediate First Nightmare…]
[Soul analysis in progress… Severe anomaly detected: Dual reincarnated soul. External, non-native knowledge registered and integrated.]
[Unique Aspect awakening now…]
The mechanical voice vanished, and suddenly I was… awake. Not in the guard's cold cell, but standing in a luxurious corridor, with walls of white marble veined with blue mana, floating chandeliers spilling golden light, and air scented with exotic flowers and expensive perfume. In the distance, enormous windows revealed far-off floating islands, airships cutting through the twilight sky. I recognized it instantly: the Royal Academy of Holfort, the heart of the kingdom, where the most powerful noble heiresses gathered to hunt for husbands and scheme alliances.
Fuck. The First Nightmare had thrown me straight onto the "main stage" of the script I knew so well. But something was wrong—the place felt too empty, distant echoes of female laughter lingering, as if it were a twisted version, ready to screw me over.
Before I could process it, glowing words appeared in the air before me, floating like a translucent hologram, clinging to my vision as if tattooed onto my retina. A cold, impersonal interface, with pulsing red borders.
[Sexual Beast System awakened.]
[Rank: Divine (Defective)]
[Welcome, Master. Your unique Aspect has been activated due to the reincarnated soul anomaly. Vital Points are now essential for survival within the Nightmare Spell and in the real world.]
I blinked hard, thinking it was a sleep hallucination. "What the fuck is this?"
The words kept scrolling, detailing everything as if a sadistic mind had written them in flaming letters.
[Vital Point consumption: 1 per minute (1440 per day). Without points, instant death.]
[To gain Vital Points, complete sexual tasks. Base rewards:]
Simple kiss: 5 points
Intimate touch: 20 points
Oral sex: 50 points
Vaginal sex (virgin): 500 points (x10 initial multiplier)
Anal sex: 300 bonus points
Permanent tasks: Exclusive partner (increasing multipliers for repeated acts), harem (bonuses for multiples), etc.
[Leveling up requires 10,000 initial points. Mandatory timer activated: Time remaining until level 2 — 30 days. Failure results in fatal penalty.]
The only thing keeping me from completely freaking out was the absurd potential of those numbers. Fucking a virgin would give me points for entire days? Extra for anal? A permanent partner turning into an infinite source? Hell, if not for the insane consumption rate, this would be the dream of any virgin loser like me.
But then came the strange comments in parentheses, as if some pervert had added handwritten notes:
(Ah, yes… imagine her moaning your name while you take her from behind. Delicious.)
(Virgins are the best—tight, innocent, points exploding.)
I felt heat rise through me, but I shook my head. Focus, Shade. This isn't real… yet.
And then the poisons…
[Poison 1: Awakening of the Beast — Random activation or triggered by extreme desire. Total loss of control for 30 minutes. Body acts purely on savage sexual instinct. (Have fun… or destroy everything.)]
[Poison 2: Instant Death — If the exclusive partner is removed from the list or performs acts with others, Vital Points are immediately reduced to zero. (Betrayal? Not with the Beast.)]
Two poisons. Rare as hell. One turns me into an uncontrollable horny beast, the other kills me if I "lose" a girl. Perfect for a virgin mob with no one.
I screamed mentally: "This is broken! How the hell am I supposed to level up mandatorily? And points per minute? I'll die in hours!"
But the interface ignored me, only showing a red flashing countdown timer:
[Current Vital Points: 100 (initial bonus)]
[Time until depletion: 1 hour 40 minutes]
Suddenly, the ground trembled. Distant doors opened, and figures emerged—noble girls in academy uniforms, shining hair, predatory eyes. But something was off: empty eyes, smiles far too hungry. Echoes of the Spell, just as the knight had warned.
One of them, a tall blonde with absurd curves, stepped closer, her voice sweet but distorted:
"You look lost, commoner. Do you want… help?"
My body reacted before my mind—a fierce heat surging through my veins, my cock hardening against my will. The interface flashed:
[Initial task detected: Intimate touch with virgin echo — 200 potential points.]
"No… this is a test." But the hunger grew, the Awakening of the Beast brushing against the edges.
She extended her hand, fingers grazing my chest. The sensation was far too real—warm skin, intoxicating perfume.
I stepped back, but the corridor seemed to shrink, more echoes appearing, laughter reverberating.
[Warning: Awakening of the Beast imminent if desire is not controlled.]
Fuck, the Nightmare was trying to force me to use the system right away. Would killing echoes give normal combat points? Or did only sex work here?
The blonde advanced, her clothes magically coming loose, exposing perfect breasts, pink nipples hardening.
"Come… touch me. I'll be your first."
The timer ticked. 1 hour 30 minutes.
I snarled, intelligence fighting instinct: "If I give in now, I become a slave to this. But if I don't… I die with no points."
Another figure appeared—a brunette with green eyes, the typical villainess from the script, with a sculpted body.
Two at once? The system flashed a harem bonus.
My control slipped. Heat exploded, vision reddening.
[Awakening of the Beast activated.]
Everything became primal. Reason vanished. Only desire—animal hunger, the need to dominate, to fuck, to mark.
I lunged forward, hands grabbing the blonde, mouth devouring hers as the brunette laughed and joined in.
Overwhelming sensations: soft skin, false but convincing moans, bodies intertwining on the marble floor.
Points rose fast—kisses, touches, brutal penetration.
[ +50… +200… +500 (virgin echo destroyed)]
But deep down, a tiny part screamed: This isn't real. They're tests. But the Beast didn't care.
Thirty minutes of pure sexual chaos, echo bodies dissolving into mana after "use," points piling up.
When it ended, I collapsed, panting, control slowly returning.
[Vital Points: 3420]
[Time extended: 2+ days]
The corridor dissolved. A final mechanical voice:
[First Nightmare completed. Survival confirmed. Returning to the real world.]
Everything darkened again.
I woke up in the cell, guards staring at me in shock. The old knight was there, eyes wide.
"Impossible… you lasted hours. And no Creature was born."
I gave a weak smile, the interface still visible only to me.
Points ticking slowly.
The Beast was awake. And hungry.
In this world of cruel queens, I was going to devour everything.