Some bastard named Murphy once said:
"Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong."
Whoever this Murphy guy was…
"I hope he's rotting in a ditch somewhere."
Because lately, it feels like that guy personally cursed my existence with a middle finger and a smirk.
Now, you're probably wondering:
"Why the hell is this guy cussing out a dead philosopher or whatever?"
Well...
Time skip
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So.
The last few days?
They've been... off.
Not in the "My-ex-wants-to-come-back" way.
More like "God-is-watching-me-through-a-cracked mirror" kind of off.
Turns out — surprise, surprise — someone's behind my transmigration.
Yup. Someone — or something — thought it'd be fun to pluck me out of my fucked up reality. The one i was rotting in with peace, and toss me into this psychotic mess of a novel, the one where i will rot more then before.
'The one place were i only dream about going, but in reality i don't want to go.'
It's a place where death wears a smile, while dreams try to eat you alive.
And that mysterious cosmic sadist? Apparently, they've got plans.
Big ones.
'Like make my life miserable.'
So naturally, my mood has been circling the drain.
I've been walking around like an over-caffeinated ghost with a grudge. Snapping at people, interrupting conversations I wasn't even part of — basically pulling full Karen-mode, minus the haircut and racial profiling.
Even my teachers noticed this change in behaviors, one of them Morgan basically asked if something was wrong. Sweet of her, really, i mean really~
And what did I do?
I fed her a half-truth wrapped in a half-lie, marinated in vague trauma and sprinkled with enough sarcasm to make a deaf person wish they would stay deaf for the rest of their life's.
Her response was....
Silence.
A cold, heavy, and dead silence.
Then she give me a look. The kind of look you give a homeless man who's just screamed at a pigeon for being an undercover cop.
You know the one— pity mixed with mild concern.
She said that "Everything will be fine."
'I don't know what the fuck she mean by it.'
Honestly, I can't blame her. I wouldn't trust me either right now.
'But what can I say?'
My brain's running on paranoia and sleep deprivation. Someone out there is tugging on my puppet strings, and I can feel it — every breath, every decision, like I'm walking on a chessboard someone else is playing.
'I'm not losing it.' because i already lost it.
Now I'm just trying to look cool while falling apart.
'If i am going down, i would go with a style.'
So yeah, that's my life right now. A slow-motion car crash with a laugh track in the background.
Now, cut to the present…
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The air inside of the training hall was sharp with the scent of sweat, steel, and ego.
My feet were aching. My hands, numb. My arms felt like sacks of wet cement tied to my shoulders with barbed wire.
And across from me stood Morgan — the Princess of the Valor Clan.
A woman who, in the novel, was referred to as the "Crimson Butcher" on the battlefield, and the "Black Swan" in court.
I knew what she was. A battle maniac. A prodigy born of war and forged in it. Someone who once single-handedly held off an army of monsters in the North. Someone who laughed in the face of death, then cut off its head and used it as a training dummy.
And here I was, trying to last more than ten seconds in a spar.
Spoiler: I was not succeeding.
She lunged, and I barely twisted out of the way, feeling the air part around her blade as it passed. She didn't just swing a sword — she sang with it, each motion as elegant as it was deadly.
I went low, aiming for her thigh — a desperate move, sloppy and rushed. She parried with a flick of her wrist and then—
BAM.
Her boot met my side like a wrecking ball in a motherly apron.
I staggered back, managed to keep my footing, then did what any normal, rational man would do: tried to stab her in the chest.
Not romantically. Literally.
'Bad move.'
She countered effortlessly, hooked her leg around mine, and the next thing I knew, I was airborne, flying like a sack of garbage thrown by God himself.
I landed with a full-body thud on the cold training mat.
My sword no where to be found.
'Bitch!' i cursed at everything,
"Ugh!!"
Groaning, I blinked up at the high ceiling, wondering if the architect had included a depression tax when building this academy.
Morgan walked over, her blade lowered, her eyes just slightly less murderous than usual.
She wasn't even breathing hard, to me it looks like this was not even a warm up for her.
"Congratulations, Sunless or Alex whatever you are." Her voice was low, refined — the kind that echoed in battlefields and nightmares alike. "You lasted a full hour. Not many can say the same."
She smiled. It wasn't warm, It wasn't comforting. It was the smile of a predator who had just finished playing with her food.
I didn't reply. I couldn't. I just laid there, trying to remember how bones were supposed to work.
'Fuck. is she trying to kill me or seduce me? …Nope. Definitely the former.'
'But God, I think I'm in love.'
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I limped out of the training hall like a wounded veteran with PTSD and chronic horniness. Every muscle in my body was sending complaint letters to my brain, all marked
URGENT!!!
"Fucking hell..." I muttered, dragging my half-dead body toward my shower room. "That woman didn't go easy on me. No foreplay, no safe word, just full-on 'Dark Souls boss' mode with huge tits."
I cracked open the locker room door with the grace of a man who has given up on life—only to instantly regret it.
Inside, lit by the dim fluorescent lights like some forbidden Renaissance painting, stood Morgan.
Naked.
Gloriously. Fucking. Naked.
Her back was turned, her long black hair cascading down like shadows, pale skin glowing like ivory, muscles coiled like a predator even when she was standing still. Her boobs were on full display, they looks like a huge white melons with pink cherry.
'I love cherry.'
She was mid-step, one leg slightly raised, and for a moment—just a cursed, soul-damning moment—her legs were spread.
And I saw everything.
'Is it reddish pink ?' i thought as i tilt my head, then a thought hit me.
'God is dead. I've seen Valhalla. I'm going to hell.'
I calmly—very calmly—closed the door.
'Abort! Abort! Abort!'
I turned around like a damn cartoon character, fully intent on sprinting into another dimension. My hand hadn't even made it to the doorknob before I felt it:
A presence.
A shiver crawled up my spine like a rat with frostbitten claws.
Then, before I could do anything…
SLAM.
I was pinned against the wall. Cold metal to my back. Warm breath to my neck.
'Ahh~fuck'
Morgan stood in front of me, fully dressed now—black armor back on, red cape draped over her shoulder, lips curled into something between a smile and a promise of violence.
Her eyes?
Those crimson voids stared straight through my skull and into the caveman inside me that had just seen god's most dangerous creation.
"You saw."
It wasn't a question, but a commend.
'I have to lie, but for the fuck sakes i can't.'
"Cough!" i coughed, as i said in the most innocent voice.
"Can y-you define w-what do you mean by 'saw'."
She leaned closer. Her tone didn't change. Cold. Precise. Lethal.
"What did you see?"
"Um. Skin. A lot of it. Very healthy skin. Can you tell me what is your skincare brand. I promise not to tell anyone." i said a random nonsense, in hopes to get out of this situation.
But it seems like hope has left the chat.
Her brow twitched, she is probably wondering what to do with this guy.
'I am going to die.' i mean i need to come up with something, then i started babbled whatever comes on my mind.
"I didn't mean to walk in!!, It was an accident, a happy—I mean—tragic accident. I'm a victim here! Of fate! Of hormones!"
She tilted her head, hair falling over one shoulder, and honestly she looks so damn pretty.
"I should kill you."
I nodded quickly, almost as if i agree with her logic.
"That's fair. Honestly, I would too. But maybe instead we could… forget this ever happened? You know, as professionals?"
She was silent. Studying me. Like a scientist deciding whether the rat deserves to live after stealing the cheese.
Then she leaned closer, as she bite my ears.
'Fuck~' i tried my hardest to not moan, like a slut in heat.
Then she whisper away from my ear.
"…If I ever hear a single word about this… I won't kill you."
My hopes soared for half a second.
"I'll break every bone in your body. Slowly."
'Yep. There it was.'
I nodded like a bubblehead. "Noted. No words. Not even vowels."
I make a action of my lips are sealed shut.
She stepped back. Just enough to let me breathe again. I didn't dare move.
Morgan looked me up and down, as if memorizing my entire soul, then turned sharply on her heel.
She stopped at the door and, without looking back, said one final thing:
"Nice reaction time, by the way. You closed the door faster than most."
Then she left.
And I just stood there, plastered to the wall, questioning every life decision that led to this moment.
'God help me if she ever finds out I already knew her proportions from the novel…'
Shaking my heard to get rid of these Horney thoughts, i made my way out of the showers room, and started running towards my room.
That night i had a lot of wet dreams
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The next day.
I stood once again on the training platform, staring at Morgan.
Long black hair tied back. Black armor glistening. Crimson cape fluttering like a bloodstained flag. Crimson eyes locked onto mine like a predator's laser pointer on a panicked mouse.
'I already knew how this is gonna ended.'
Death.
Or worse—embarrassment.
"Ready?" she asked, her voice silk wrapped around barbed wire, as she slowly took the training sword.
"Emotionally? No," I muttered almost like a whisper but it seems she head it, gripping my practice sword like it could protect my dignity.
The duel began.
Now here's the thing. From the novel i have read that most people lose to Morgan in under ten minutes or mostly 30 minutes. Because she's not just a Master—she's a monster. A beautiful, elegant, leg-breaking monster.
'But i lasted three hours.'
Three hours of dodging, parrying, sweating, panicking, and internal screaming. Somewhere around hour two, I think I left my soul behind and started fighting on pure survival instinct… and perversion.
Because right now?
I was caught between her thighs.
Literally.
Morgan had somehow flipped me mid-duel and locked my head between her thighs in a vice grip that could probably crush a car. Or a man. Or all my future children.
I couldn't breathe.
But I also didn't try to escape.
"You're not struggling," she said flatly, her tone also held some confusion.
"W-would y-you?" I croaked, face planted against her thigh armor, hearing the echo of angels… or concussions.
"...."
There was a beat of silence before she released me and stood tall, towering above like some gothic goddess who'd just judged me and found me both guilty and pathetic.
"You lasted three hours. You're the first to ever go that long against me."
'Stopped the crap princess i know that you go easy on me.' but ofcourse i didn't voice out my thoughts, as i flopped onto my back, limbs spread, cheeks flushed redder than her cape.
"Thanks… and… can you please stop crushing me with your thighs?" I wheezed.
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "So you did notice."
I said nothing. Just nodded like a traumatized victim
She left the ring with a small smile that I'm 60% sure was real and 40% I might still kill you later.
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I limped toward the showers, moving like a veteran of six wars. I need to take a shower why because i smell bad, like someone just dropped me in a sweat filled tank.
'I saw her leave already. She's not here. Shower time, baby. Nothing bad ever happens twice.'
I slid the door open, stepped inside—and walked straight into hell.
Their i saw three things
First Water.
Second Steam.
And third Morgan.
Standing under the cascading water, naked as the day the gods made her—if the gods were drunk and overly generous. Her raven-black hair clung to her back, her alabaster skin glowing under the fluorescent lights. Her crimson eyes turned slowly, locking onto mine like a sniper scope.
Time froze.
My soul left my body again. My brain threw up an error screen.
I backed out slowly, raised my hand, and—don't ask me why—flashed a peace sign.
"I come in peace… I leave in pieces." i said with a smile.
And before i know it, i was outside the locker room before I even realized what happened.
Then the door burst open, and Morgan stepped out fully dressed again—this woman had a cheat code for wardrobe changes—and before I could pull off my signature coward's sprint…
SLAM.
Against the wall again.
Deja-fucking-vu.
Her face was inches from mine, red eyes glowing with something between murder and curiosity, she held my chin, her hands were warm and big.
"Your excuse today?" she asked, voice sharp enough to make me cum ( Which she honestly did ).
"I-i thought y-you l-left," I replied honestly, while also trying to remove her hand why because she was now holding my whole face.
"…And that's why you looked disappointed when you saw me?" her voice cold as she removed her hand.
I blinked trying to understand her
"I—uh—you—well I mean—look, can you really blame me?"
Morgan stared at me long and hard. Then she stepped back, letting go.
"You're lucky I find your suffering entertaining."
"Thanks. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in this life."
Seeing her left, i let out a sigh as i fall on the floor.
I was hunched over, red-faced, heart hammering like a jackhammer in a blender.
I touched my cheek where she touch me.
"…That was so hot," I muttered to myself.
And then promptly bonked my head on the wall, whispering, "Down, bad. Down catastrophically bad."