The first thing Dylan felt upon waking was a pain that ran through his entire body.
A sharp pain pierced his head as if someone were striking his skull from the inside, over and over without rest. His body tensed suddenly and a muffled groan escaped his lips.
"…gh—"
He couldn't think clearly. He was very confused by the flood of memories that didn't belong to him, and when he tried to focus on them they disappeared, as if he were trying to remember a dream that became blurrier the more he tried to recall it..
'What… is happening to me…?'
He brought a hand to his head and pressed hard as his breathing became irregular and his heart beat far too fast for its own rhythm.
Fragmented images crossed his mind, unfamiliar voices, чуж sensations, memories he didn't recognize… but that were there, embedding themselves deep into his memory.
And then, suddenly, everything stopped.
The pain vanished without warning and his breathing took a few seconds to stabilize, and when he finally managed to open his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the softness beneath his body. It wasn't his bed. It was too comfortable… too luxurious.
He blinked several times until he could focus properly.
Above him stretched a high ceiling, decorated with elegant moldings and golden details that softly reflected the sunlight. The light came in through a large window covered with heavy curtains, thick fabric, like the kind only someone with money could afford.
He slowly turned his head, still dazed.
The room was spacious, excessively spacious for a child. The furniture, made of dark and finely carved wood, had ornamental details typical of a noble fantasy house with stone walls. A thick carpet covered the floor, muffling any sound, and near the window there was a small sofa accompanied by a low table with delicate ornaments.
Everything in that place conveyed status, wealth… power.
'…This isn't my house.'
He frowned and tried to sit up. This time he managed, although the movement felt strange, as if he had exercised so much that even moving was difficult.
"What…?"
He raised a hand in front of his face. His hand was quite small and childlike. With rather thick fingers.
He froze.
'…Wait.'
Before he could process it, the pain returned, more intense and deeper.
"gh—!"
He brought both hands to his head as his vision blurred and his body leaned forward.
At that moment he had recovered the memories of his current body and recognized the place where he was, it was the world of an RPG game he knew all too well because he had dedicated too many hours to it due to its large amount of content that allowed playing for more than 300 hours and still finding new things.
The game was about the lives of five heroes. The hero of magic, the one of sorcery, the one of battles, the one of hope, and the one of victory. Each lived in a different kingdom from the others, and the same applied to each of their stories. They only met at specific events until reaching the end of the game where all the heroes would gather 15 years after the beginning of the story to face the demon king if they survived.
The pain disappeared again, leaving him in a heavy silence.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as his mind finished putting everything together.
"…It can't be."
'No… this…'
He sat fully on the bed, this time more carefully, observing his own body with growing discomfort.
His arms were small but very thick from being overweight, and the same applied to his hands, which were chubby.
He got off the bed carefully, struggling to keep his balance. His steps were clumsy and unsteady, but he still managed to move across the room until he found what he was looking for.
A full-body mirror, framed with carved wood and golden details, placed near the wardrobe.
He stood in front of it for a moment.
And lifted his gaze.
The reflection gave him the answer.
A boy with red hair and pink eyes, somewhat messy, with rounded cheeks and a small but clearly overweight body. His features weren't grotesque… but not pleasant either.
"…Ah."
There was no real surprise in his voice.
Only acceptance.
'I see.'
He stepped a little closer, observing himself carefully and analyzing every detail coldly. That face, that body, that type of design… it was enough.
"…The pig."
The nickname came naturally from his lips.
He had become the son of Count Firzed, who was a minor noble. A secondary character who barely appeared in the game… except for a chain of events that all players remembered.
One that appeared in the route of the hero of hope.
His expression hardened slightly.
'The heroine…'
He was the one who courted death by violating the female protagonist of the hero of hope, and as a result, he always ended up dying without exception. No matter what choices he made, he would die at the hands of the hero of hope.
If he survived the hero of hope, he would die at the hands of some academy boy seeking revenge for sleeping with his girlfriend, sister, mother, or fiancée. The same applied to girls of low nobility seeking revenge for defiling them.
He remained silent for a few seconds, staring at his reflection, evaluating the situation he had gotten himself into.
"…How convenient."
Anyone in his situation would panic and worry, would try to change to avoid that future or become a better person.
But he didn't feel that.
"…And why should I?"
He frowned slightly, calmly reflecting on the memories of his previous world that overlapped with those he lived as Dylan the pig, but somehow Dylan's way of thinking rooted itself in him.
That character was hated, yes, but he wasn't the worst in that world. There were nobles more cruel, more corrupt, and more violent… and yet they weren't treated the same.
His gaze returned to the mirror, stopping on his face, his cheeks, his body.
Then he understood it completely.
"Ah… I see."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Appearance."
If someone attractive and talented did something questionable, it was tolerated, even justified by others. But if someone like him did the same… it was unforgivable, that was the conclusion he reached.
"What a hypocritical world."
He didn't feel upset.
If anything, he found it convenient.
"If I'm already trash… then I have nothing to lose."
He told himself as he organized his thoughts. According to his memories, the assault event had already occurred and he couldn't change the past. If he had reincarnated earlier, maybe he would have tried to change things… but now it was already too late.
He had done too many horrible things and his reputation was completely ruined, and for some reason he didn't feel regret for Dylan's actions, which made him feel a bit disgusted with himself, but that thought was quickly discarded.
Besides, his position didn't help.
He was the son of a servant, and the only reason he was still alive, despite his own father despising him, was because he was also the last reminder of the only woman the count had truly loved. That guaranteed him a certain level of protection.
Thanks to that, he could live without too many worries. He received comforts, indulgences, and permissive treatment from his father, who preferred to cover up his actions rather than correct them.
But the rest of the family was another story.
His stepmothers openly hated him. To them, he was nothing more than a stain on the lineage, an obstacle for their own children. But since he only stood out for his bad reputation and was just a bastard, they wouldn't try to kill him until he grew older, because if his father found out, their children would lose the chance to become heirs.
His half-siblings saw him the same way, and it wasn't uncommon for them to insult or despise him for being "the servant's son," and he couldn't contradict them because his father remained neutral when it came to his children.
Which put Dylan at a disadvantage with his siblings because they were backed by their mothers, while he had no other kind of support, so he always lashed out irrationally at the servants.
Even so, none of that changed the fact that he had grown up surrounded by luxury, protected from the real consequences of his actions and would continue like that unless he messed with a noble of similar or higher rank than his father, or caused a major problem his father couldn't shield him from.
He turned slightly, observing his body more closely, evaluating it as if it were an object that needed optimization.
"…Although this is a problem."
He grabbed the fabric of his clothes, noticing the excess, the discomfort, and the clumsiness.
His eyes narrowed with determination.
He needed to become more attractive and stronger to survive the encounter with the hero of hope. And on top of that, he had something no one else in that world possessed.
Information, he knew where many artifacts and characters were located, and best of all, there were still many years before the start of the game and many more before the final battle that could leave the world in ruins.
"I'm going to change this body."
Not to be a better person. Not to redeem himself.
"But to do whatever I want." he muttered to himself before looking at his reflection one last time before hearing someone begin to knock on the door.
Knock… Knock…
"Young master, it's time to wake up," a fairly young girl's voice was heard.
Dylan didn't have time to respond before the girl opened the door and entered.
"Young master? You're already awake?" She was surprised and began to get nervous because her young master never woke up on his own, and she feared that he had gotten up in a bad mood for not having done his morning routine and would start hitting her.
Seeing her, Dylan recognized her instantly. Emily, the same girl whom the Hero of Hope could have recruited into his clan. His servant, several years older than him. And also, the traitor who had informed the hero about each of his horrible actions and told him how he could defeat Dylan without repercussions, the reason why he was now here, waiting for his revenge.
A wave of irritation ran through Dylan, but he held it back. Huff… Why did he get angry so easily lately?
"Pet," his voice was a cutting whisper, "why did you take so long?"
Emily's body tensed. Mmmph. A small tremor shook her as she saw her young master's expression. She knew what that frown meant. The whip. "You made me wait, and my patience is running out. Continue your work or I'll have you dismissed."
Dylan walked toward the bed and sat on the edge, with an authority that didn't belong to his age, but to his power.
"Y-yes, young master," she stammered. With a trembling voice, she closed the door and, without hesitation, knelt. The sound of her knees hitting the floor was almost inaudible. She got on all fours and crawled toward him, each movement a mix of submission and disgust. She had no choice. With fingers that barely obeyed her, she pulled down his sleep pants and opened her mouth.
"Good girl…" Dylan murmured as he felt the moist warmth of her mouth envelop him. "If you do your job well, I'll consider it." Despite his youth, his member was imposing, and Emily struggled to accommodate it.
Dylan sighed, letting his head fall back and closing his eyes. The dull pain hammering his temples began to fade, replaced by a pleasant and comforting sensation. As she tried to take more of his length, her trembling hands slid to the back of his thighs, pressing gently, driven by fear of making a mistake.
"…More."
The order was a whisper, but to Emily it sounded like thunder. Despite the nausea and disgust, and the strangeness that her young master hadn't finished yet, she obeyed. She increased the pace, her head moving with more force, clumsy but determined. Glup, glup. The sound of her straining throat filled the silence of the room. She adjusted to him, and Dylan felt that wet, tight contraction along his length.
He opened his eyes and looked down. He saw Emily's brown hair, disheveled from the effort. He saw the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes, a testament to her discomfort. And still, she didn't stop. She sucked with desperate softness, her shiny saliva mixing with the pressure of her lips.
Slurp.
"Mmm, you do it so well," Dylan said, stroking her hair with his free hand. The soft texture under his fingers was a strange contrast to the situation. "You're more useful than I remembered."
For Emily, that touch was a miracle. It wasn't a blow, nor an insult. It was a compliment. Her eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and hope, and she sucked harder, eager to please him. Her breathing became uneven, noisy, and wet.
Hah… hah…
Dylan observed the scene with distant curiosity. In the game, she was just an NPC, a means to an end. But here, in flesh and blood, her absolute obedience was… satisfying. It reminded him of his power. He was the master, she was the pet.
"Swallow everything," Dylan ordered, slightly pressing the back of Emily's neck, forcing her to take him deeper. She coughed, a muffled and brief sound, and his member slipped out of her mouth with a wet and pleasant pop.
"Now."
She nodded, still trembling. She had been at it for twenty minutes and her jaws ached, she was short of breath. But with renewed determination, she plunged in again, sucking hard while her hands clung to his legs to keep her balance.
Dylan felt time running out, he had to prepare for breakfast with his family. With a quick movement, he grabbed Emily's head with both hands and pushed her against him, once, twice, until the wave of pleasure ran through his body, completely erasing his headache.
Emily felt like she was drowning. The warm, salty liquid flooded her, and tears finally streamed from her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. When Dylan finally released himself, he pulled her away. A thin, shining thread of semen stretched from his member to Emily's lips, who collapsed onto the floor, coughing and gasping.
"cough, cough"
She struggled to get back up and finish cleaning Dylan's member out of fear that he would get angry if she left her work unfinished.
Seeing how hard she was trying for him, Dylan felt quite pleased, so he began stroking her hair.
"I remember you had a younger sister who suffered from coagulated mana syndrome." When Emily heard what Dylan said, she trembled, thinking she had done something wrong and her young master would take it out on her little sister, but Dylan's next words surprised her.
"If you behave just as well from now on, I'll cure your sister." She didn't believe him because almost all people affected by coagulated mana syndrome die before reaching adulthood, which is 12 years old, and he probably said that as a warning that if she didn't keep doing a good job, he would do something to her sister.
She finished cleaning the rest of the semen with her mouth. "I-it's fine, cough, young master, I will keep doing my best to satisfy you."