Hayashi had the dream he'd always wanted—vivid, indulgent, and utterly unrestrained.
In it, he commanded a harem of hundreds, each woman more alluring than the last. He could pluck any one from the crowd, pose her in his old world, snap a few scandalous photos with his phone, and watch them ignite the internet.
Night and day, he lost himself in the fantasy.
The dream offered every imaginable roleplay—threesomes, foursomes, sisters entwined, master and apprentice tangled in forbidden passion, virgin mothers trembling with innocence.
Just as Hayashi bent Yelara—his silver-haired conquest—into a lewd pose and prepared to claim her, he caught sight of her passing by.
Seraphina.
The moment he saw her, Hayashi's pulse spiked. He had dreamed of her before, but never like this. A twisted grin spread across his face as he stalked toward her.
Seraphina's cheeks flushed crimson. Instinctively, she crossed her arms over her ample chest, glowering.
"You wretched boy! That vile smirk—and you're naked! What in the hells do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like?"
With a rough shove, he pinned her to the bed despite her protests—"No! You're my sworn son!"—and wrenched her hands apart, binding them with one firm grip. His free hand tore at her clothes. Buttons scattered like fallen petals.
Then—freedom.
Two ripe melons, each larger than his head, sprang free from their silken prison. The scent of warm fruit filled the air as they bounced against his face with a lewd smack.
Hayashi's throat went dry. He buried his face between them, sucking greedily, drunk on their sweetness.
"You degenerate! How dare you defile your own stepmother!"
Her voice wavered—half outrage, half something darker. Hayashi glanced up, taking in the shame and arousal warring on her face. His cock throbbed in response.
Of course. This was a roleplay fantasy. His own mind knew exactly what he craved.
He sucked harder, drawing a sharp pop from her flesh. Seraphina's breath hitched.
"Liar," he taunted. "Your body's begging for it."
"Shut up! Any woman would react like this if—if—!"
"Then why aren't you fighting harder?"
Sweat glistened on Seraphina's flushed skin. Her chest heaved as she glared down at him, panting. "I am fighting, you brute! But you're too strong. How could a helpless woman like me escape?"
"Helpless?" Hayashi barked a laugh. "The legendary Seraphina, reduced to playing damsel?"
"I—!"
Her stammering denial only fueled him. His fingers dipped lower, teasing her most sensitive flesh until tears welled in her eyes.
Once he'd drunk his fill of her, Hayashi ignored her half-hearted struggles and stripped her bare. Her body was a masterpiece—alabaster skin, curves like sculpted marble. The sight alone was enough to undo him.
Beyond reason, beyond restraint, he positioned himself—
And then—
————
He woke up.
Hayashi blinked at the ceiling, disoriented. Slowly, he lifted the sheets.
His underwear was soaked.
"Goddamn it. Always at the worst moment."
Still, the dream had been intense. Seraphina's reactions—the way she'd trembled, the way she'd pretended to resist—it all felt real. Like a lucid dream.
"Roleplay. Stepmother Seraphina. Who knew my imagination was this creative?"
He chuckled, stretching. "Once I've won her over in reality, maybe I'll make it happen for real."
After a quick shower, he dressed, shrugging off the dream's lingering heat. Vivid as it was, it meant nothing.
———
Meanwhile, in the Land of Fire
"Ah—!"
Seraphina bolted upright, hands flying to her chest. Her bedroom was empty. Moonlight spilled through the windows.
"My lady? Are you unharmed?" A young girl—Nimue—rushed in, scanning for threats.
"A nightmare," Seraphina muttered, waving her off. "Leave me."
Once alone, she checked the windows. No signs of intrusion.
Then, beneath the sheets, she confirmed the truth—her body was untouched. No bruises. No violation.
"Just a dream."
But why did it hurt so vividly? Why could she still feel him—the stretch, the撕裂般的 pain as he forced inside?
And Hayashi—who the hell was that? She'd never taken a sworn son.
Worse, she remembered everything. Every touch. Every taunt. Dreams weren't supposed to cling this fiercely.
Her hands trembled as she cupped her breasts—too full to shield completely. Her thighs squeezed together, as if she could still feel him there.
Forty years of chastity, shattered in a dream.
"Nimue!" she barked suddenly. "Find me everything on a ninja named Hayashi!"
———
Sand Village, Dawn
A crowd had gathered outside Hayashi's home.
Emerald, a seasoned Jonin, smirked at the onlookers. "What's this? A festival?"
A middle-aged ninja bowed obsequiously. "Lord Emerald, we've come to witness your spar with Hayashi! Your prowess is legendary."
The flattery was clumsy, but Emerald preened. These low-tier Sand ninja were beneath him, but useful for now.
"Loyalty will be rewarded," he declared, stroking his beard.
As he strode forward, the crowd parted—
Just as Hayashi's door swung open.
Three women stood waiting.
Yelara, silver-haired and smirking, leaned in. "Took you long enough. I was about to climb through your window."
Hayashi's stomach dropped. That would've been a nightmare.
"Did you rest well, my lord?" whispered Lilith, her violet eyes soft.
Before he could answer, the tallest of them—a gentle giantess with a warrior's grace—smiled. "We were worried. Have you eaten?"