The sensation of powerlessness was terrifyingly foreign.
The spirits had always been Helen's limbs—her very breath. She had never needed to command them; they were sentient guardians that naturally manifested the moment her safety was threatened. But here, in this distorted world, they remained silent no matter how desperately she screamed in her mind.
'Why...? Why aren't they coming?'
She was being violated by a bottomless loser, a human filth she wouldn't even step on, yet the world remained indifferent.
"What's the matter? Still looking for your old spirits?" The loser sneered, his hand continuing to knead her chest with a rough, possessive grip.
"You... you bastard..."
"You still haven't woken up. Well, it's understandable since you've forgotten your place entirely. Your boyfriend will be patient with you."
"Who... who is your girlfriend...!"
"Saying that even after seeing the crystal ball? I'm hurt." He leaned in, pressing his wet lips against the curve of her neck.
"St-stop it!"
"If you keep screaming, people will see. Class is about to start, you know."
"What?"
"Everyone's inside the lecture halls. Except for us—the outcasts. Do you really want them to see you like this?"
Helen froze. Could she truly let anyone see the "Genius of Sylvestra" pinned against a wall, her pride being squeezed away by a non-entity? But to escape this, she needed help.
"Someone, help m—umph!"
The loser's hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her plea. She was being dragged away by a man she had spent her life despising. It was a reality she couldn't have imagined even in her wildest nightmares. She was a Sylvestra; he was a nobody. They belonged to different planes of existence.
"No one is going to help you," he whispered.
"Don't... talk... nonsense."
"Oh? Want to bet? If I drag you into that classroom right now and start playing with you in front of the professor and the students, how do you think they'll react?"
Helen's lip trembled. "I won't believe it. Whatever you've done with this illusion... I won't believe a word of it."
"You got slapped by those punks earlier and you still think this is just a dream? Really?" He gave her breast a violent, bruising squeeze.
"Hyaaah!"
"Look at that. You're moaning just from a little squeeze. This can't be an illusion, can it?"
"D-don't be... ridiculous... hngh!"
His fingers found her nipple, twiddling it with agonizing precision.
"You love it here, don't you? I taught you well."
"Nngh, hah... st-stop..."
Just then, a figure appeared at the end of the hall. It was Professor Simond—the head of the Spirit Department, the man who had praised her as the pioneer of a new era.
"Professor Simond! H-help me!" she screamed, her eyes wide with hope.
But the professor's gaze didn't even settle on her.
"Young Master Propard, how many times must I warn you to get to class on time?"
"My apologies, Professor," the loser replied smoothly.
"Pr-professor?" Helen stammered, her heart sinking as she realized he was ignoring her presence entirely. "Professor, it's me! Helen! Helen Sylvestra! I'm being harassed by this... this loser! Deal with him! Now!"
Only then did Simond turn his gaze toward her. It was a look of pure, frigid contempt—as if he were looking at a cockroach. He clicked his tongue and turned back to the boy.
"Propard, didn't you say you would properly educate this commoner, Helen?"
"...Eh?"
"I apologize, Professor. She's been difficult today."
"A commoner using informal speech and barking orders at a noble and a professor? Unacceptable. If you don't break her in and teach her proper manners, I'll have her expelled—and you along with her."
"I understand. I'll handle it."
Helen watched in a daze as the professor walked away.
"See? That's your place here."
"This... this can't be..."
Even knowing it was an illusion, the weight of those gazes was suffocating. This was what it felt like to be a "loser." To be helpless. To be nothing. The sensation of the world pressing down on her was so vivid it made her head spin.
"I think you finally understand. Let's go to our 'secret classroom'."
As she was dragged away, the defeat began to settle into her bones. The realization that she was nobody was a poison that seeped into her heart. By the time she regained her focus, she was in a deserted, dusty old classroom.
"How is it? Our place of memories."
"It's disgusting. I want to leave. Stop this..."
"You heard the professor. I have a duty to educate you. I was the one who stopped them from expelling you, promising I'd tame a commoner like you into someone useful."
"Your jokes aren't... funny... nngh!"
RIIIP!
"Kyaaaah!"
He didn't wait for her to finish. He shredded the ragged uniform right off her body.
"I tried to be nice, but you're being stubborn. I guess I have to use force."
Underneath the rags was underwear just as pathetic—faded, frayed, and bobbled from too many repairs. It was the mint-colored set she actually liked in reality, but here, it looked like trash. Her beautiful, white skin glowed in stark contrast to the filth.
"You really are pretty, I'll give you that."
"You... you..."
"I told you, I'm using force. Experience what it's like to be utterly taken by the 'loser' you looked down on."
He unhooked her bra and lunged, his hands engulfing her breasts. They were large, soft as cream, and they deformed under his rough grip.
"Don't... mmmph..."
Helen bit her lip, realizing her moans only fueled him. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to endure. 'If I just stay quiet, if I don't give him the reaction he wants, he'll get bored.'
She focused all her will on holding her breath. 'Just a little longer. Until he loses interest.'
But her body betrayed her. Her nipples hardened, straining against his palms, drinking in the unwanted touch.
"Cute that you're trying to hold it in, but your body is honest."
"..."
"It's okay. I'll have you screaming soon. I know exactly where you like it."
He leaned down and bit her. He took the soft upper curve of her breast into his mouth and sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed.
"Nnngh...!"
The ticklish, electric spark of pleasure made her hips twitch. She ground her thighs together, trying to escape, but to an observer, it looked like she was writhing in heat.
'Why... why am I like this for a loser...'
A deep, dark sense of humiliation welled up. She, the apex predator of the social food chain, couldn't even overpower this worm. She felt lower than a herbivore.
But as his tongue flicked over her nipples—moving with a terrifying, practiced skill—her body began to succumb to the shame.
"They're getting so hard. Do you love it that much?"
"Once my spirits return..."
"Then you'll be my slave forever, because they're never coming back."
Her heart hammered against her ribs. The silence she tried to maintain only made the feeling of defeat sharper. To be stripped, to be sucked, to be handled like a toy... it was more than her pride could bear.
"Hah... hah..." Her breath hitched. Her rage was molten, yet her helplessness was absolute. The heat in her head began to blur into the throbbing in her chest.
No one had ever touched her like this. Not the students, not the thugs—no one dared to even look. But this loser was treating her like his property. And the world—the professor, the school—validated him.
"Alright, you're warmed up. Open your mouth."
"What?"
"I said open up. I'm going to give you something better."
"Do you think I'd just—mgh!"
He grabbed her cheeks, forcing her jaw open. Her lips parted involuntarily. In this world, nothing went her way.
"Stick out your tongue. Before I pull it out myself."
Terrified of more pain, Helen complied, her tongue peeking out.
"Let's have our 'Vow of Loyalty' kiss."
"Wh-?"
"In this Academy, I am your Master."
"Don't be—mmph!"
His tongue invaded hers, aggressive and hot. She tried to bite down, but his grip on her face was like iron. It was a slick, wet intrusion that felt like a tentacle of corruption.
When they finally broke apart, a silver thread of saliva connected them. The mouth is one of the most sensitive parts of the body, and his tongue had awakened nerves she had never used.
'Disgusting.'
It was her first kiss. A territory no man had ever trodden. And it had been stolen by him. The thought that his essence was inside her sent a shiver of pure loathing through her soul. She wanted to spit, but he didn't let go.
She closed her eyes, but that only made the sensation more vivid. Somewhere between revulsion and ecstasy, the "demon's tongue" refused to leave her mind.
'Why... why did it have to be like this? I just wanted to know about Uris...'
Tears leaked from her eyes. Not from pleasure, but from the sheer, realistic weight of her misery. It felt more real than anything she had ever known.
"Phew. You must have really loved that kiss from your Master."
The loser's mouth was smeared with her saliva, and her lipstick was smudged across his face. It looked filthy. Depraved. He laughed and reached down between her legs.
"Leaking like a bitch in heat, aren't you?"
His fingers plunged under her skirt, finding her center.
"Hyaaaaah!"
She couldn't hold it back anymore. The jolt from below was too much.
"You're soaked to your thighs. Too busy enjoying the nipples and the kiss to notice?"
He withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening with her clear, thick arousal.
"No... that can't be..."
"See for yourself. There's a mirror."
He dragged her by the waist and forced her to stand in front of a full-length mirror. Helen stared.
The girl in the mirror had glazed, unfocused blue eyes. Her face was flushed crimson, her hair a disheveled mess stuck to her damp skin. Her lipstick was smeared like a clown's mask, and her nipples were turgid and prominent. Beneath her lifted skirt, her panties were completely translucent, saturated with fluid that was now trickling down her inner thigh.
"This is... me?"
It can't be. I hated it. I was disgusted. How could I...
"Be honest now," the loser whispered in her ear, his smile dark and triumphant.