I needed 100 points to buy one day of life.
10 points per cup of milk. 20 if it was their first time lactating.
And I was in the body of an overweight lottery winner at an elite hunter academy surrounded by teenagers who probably thought I was human garbage.
"Okay. Okay. Think."
I leaned back in my chair. Felt the metal creak under my weight.
The last thing I remembered from my real life was walking out of Melissa's apartment. I'd fucked her until she passed out. Left her drooling on the sheets with that blissed-out expression she always got when I hit her spots just right. Grabbed a Gatorade from the 7/11 on the corner because hydration mattered.
And then—
Nothing.
Blank space where my memory should've been.
And now I was here. In this body. In this world.
The world from that shitty web novel written by some virgin who definitely didn't know the difference between a G-spot and a myth.
I glanced around the amphitheater again. Really looked this time.
The stadium was divided into sections. Guild affiliations, probably. The front rows near the stage had students with gold trim on their shoulders. They sat straight. Confident. Some of them were on their phones. Bored.
Behind them were the silver and bronze sections. More attentive. Less expensive clothes visible under the uniforms.
And then there was my section. The back. Lottery admissions. Maybe thirty of us total scattered across a hundred empty seats like we were contagious.
Nobody was sitting close to anyone else.
Nobody was talking.
We were the rejects. The charity cases. The "Scratch-Offs" who'd somehow won a ticket into a world we didn't belong in.
And I had less than 72 hours to seduce someone before I died.
"—which brings us to our newest students," the woman on stage was saying. "Will our lottery admissions please stand?"
Oh hell no.
But my body was already moving. Muscle memory. Conditioning. I stood up along with the other lottery winners around me.
Five hundred heads turned to look at us.
I felt the weight of their stares. Dismissive. Curious. Amused.
From the front row, a guy with platinum-blond hair and a jawline that could cut glass glanced back at us and smirked. He said something to the girl sitting next to him. She laughed.
The woman on stage continued. "The International Hunter Coalition is proud to offer opportunities to those who might not otherwise have access to this level of training. We believe that talent can emerge from anywhere, and—"
Bullshit.
This was a PR stunt. I could see it in the way the guild-affiliated students weren't even pretending to pay attention anymore. The lottery program existed so the academy could point to it and say they cared about equality while the real power stayed exactly where it had always been.
With the rich kids in the front rows.
With the guild heirs who'd been training since they could walk.
With everyone except us.
"You may be seated."
I sat. The chair creaked again.
The ceremony kept going. Another speaker. This one talking about gate theory and dungeon ecology and the importance of teamwork.
I tuned it out.
I had bigger problems.
The system interface was still there, hovering at the edge of my vision. I focused on it.
Skills: Snake Eyes Lv. Max (Active)
Okay. Fine. Let's test it.
I activated the skill.
My vision sharpened. Colors became more vivid. And suddenly, overlaid on every woman in my field of view, was a small tag displaying—
Bust size.
32B. 34C. 36D. 30A.
The measurements floated above their heads like nameplates in an MMO.
"Jesus Christ."
This was insane. This was genuinely the most degenerate power system I'd ever encountered and I'd read cultivation novels where the protagonist absorbed women's "yin essence" to level up.
But it worked.
I could see exactly who had what. And more than that—when I focused on someone for more than a second, I could feelsomething shift. A pull. Like invisible threads connecting me to them.
The charm effect.
Snake Eyes didn't just identify measurements. It made them look at me. Made them notice me.
I tested it. Focused on a girl three rows ahead. Red trim on her shoulders. Bronze guild affiliation. Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail.
34C.
She shifted in her seat. Scratched her neck. Glanced back over her shoulder like she'd felt someone watching her.
Our eyes met.
She froze.
I held her gaze. Didn't smile. Didn't look away.
Her cheeks flushed. She turned back around quickly, shoulders hunched.
It worked.
Even in this body—this soft, overweight, lottery-winner body that had no business getting a second glance from anyone—the skill made them look.
"Okay," I muttered. "Okay. I can work with this."
The ceremony was winding down. The speakers were wrapping up their final remarks. Something about dorm assignments and orientation schedules.
I had 71 hours. 48 minutes.
I needed targets.
I reactivated Snake Eyes and started scanning the crowd systematically.
Looking for women who were:
Isolated (no friend group hovering around them)
Low-status (lottery winners or low-tier guild affiliations—more likely to be receptive)
High-yield (the better their superpower, the better the milk, probably)
My gaze swept across the lottery section first.
The skinny Asian girl two seats away: 32A. She was hunched over, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to disappear.
Three rows down: Latina girl, athletic build, 36C. She was staring at her phone with a bored expression.
Further back: Black girl with box braids and glasses, 34B. She looked like she was taking notes on the speech.
None of them screamed "easy target."
But I had to start somewhere.
The woman on stage finished her speech. "Please collect your orientation packets from the tables at the south entrance. Your dorm assignments and class schedules are inside. Welcome to San Nicolas Academy. Dismissed."
The stadium erupted into movement. Five hundred students standing, talking, heading toward the exits in clumps and groups.
The guild sections moved together. Organized. Already divided into their social hierarchies.
The lottery section scattered like roaches when the lights came on.
I stood slowly. Felt the weight in my legs. The tightness of the uniform.
This body was wrong in every way that mattered. But I still had my mind. My experience. My knowledge of exactly how to read people and give them what they wanted.
And I had a system that turned my biggest weakness—being a shameless piece of shit—into my only advantage.
I started walking toward the south entrance, keeping my eyes open, scanning faces, looking for an opening.
71 hours. 45 minutes.
The clock was ticking.