No time for idle chatter.
Satoru's mind raced, piecing together the sordid plot of this hentai doujin like a detective unraveling a cursed script.
First things first: Yotsumoto Ryoka and Matsubara Ayumu were childhood sweethearts, the kind of pure, heart-melting duo you'd root for in any wholesome rom-com. Ryoka, Shirao High's karate club captain, was a force of nature—strong enough to make even the toughest delinquents rethink their life choices. Today's mess? It all traced back to the national tournament, where she'd crushed the blond punk's school so thoroughly he'd come crawling for payback.
This little "incident" would spark her connection with Aihara Yamato, the bespectacled college heartthrob. They'd start dating soon after.
…But if you thought this was just a fluffy setup for Ayumu's love story, you'd be dead wrong—still wet behind the ears!
It wasn't like that at all!
Aihara Yamato wasn't some knight in shining armor. He was a scumbag—a conniving, lowlife schemer!
Truth was, he and the blond gang were in cahoots. Yamato had orchestrated this whole "hero saves the day" farce to slither into Ryoka's heart, only to shatter her body and soul once she fell for him.
And it got worse—way worse. Picture this: Yamato blindfolding Ryoka, forcing her to "entertain" the blond crew while she couldn't see a thing, all while poor Ayumu was tied up, forced to watch the nightmare unfold via live stream…
What the actual hell?!
Satoru's scalp tingled, goosebumps erupting like a horror show. Cold sweat drenched his back. Sure, he'd toyed with the idea of "isekai" when he first stumbled into this wrong-place-wrong-time mess, but this? Trapped in a hentai world this unhinged? No way he saw that plot twist coming!
Damn it all!
He had to act—do something.
His skin paled further, a fresh wave of chills crawling over him like ants. This moment was ground zero—the "source of all evil." If he could pull the plug here, cut the thread tying Ryoka to Yamato, he might just save this doomed childhood pair…
And yeah, let's get one thing straight.
Satoru was a pure love warrior. A steel-clad, unyielding champion of wholesome romance!
His encyclopedic recall of NTR doujins? Purely strategic—knowing the enemy's playbook required sacrifices. He'd skimmed those pages with nothing but righteous indignation, critiquing every panel with a burning passion for justice!
But even with his pure love credentials maxed out, he couldn't just charge in and scream, "Ryoka, don't trust him! They're all in on it!"
To her, Yamato was the gallant savior who'd just bailed them out. Satoru? Just some rando with zero street cred. He'd not only fail to save them—he'd probably get a tag-team beatdown for his troubles.
Going in guns blazing won't cut it. I need a sly, tactical save…
"Well, if you're all good, I'll head out," Yamato said, his voice smooth as silk, wrapping up with Ryoka. "Still shaken? I can walk you two home."
"No need…" Ryoka steadied Ayumu, flashing Yamato a radiant smile that could melt glaciers. "We won't trouble you, Aihara-san. Our place is close by."
"Haha, fair enough." Yamato's grin was all charm, the kind that screamed "trust me." "We're strangers, sure, but no need to be so formal. Just call me by name—I'm a bit older, so how about 'Yamato-nii'?"
"Um…" Ryoka hesitated, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. Gratitude and his suave demeanor had her guard down, and she parted her lips softly: "Yamato…"
She didn't get to the "nii."
"Uh, excuse me…"
Another figure stepped out from the street's far end—a teen, probably Ryoka's age, a few years younger than Yamato. Tall, but lanky, nowhere near Yamato's chiseled physique. More like Ayumu's build, but a good head taller.
His face was ghostly pale, dark circles smudged under vacant eyes like he'd been mainlining manga all night. Still, he had that idol-boy charm—sharp features, a delicate edge. But his vibe screamed nervous energy, probably spooked from watching the brawl unfold.
He hadn't jumped in to help, but Ryoka didn't hold it against him. Moral crusading was pointless, she figured. This kid looked like a strong breeze could topple him—if he'd waded in, he'd just be another casualty to drag off the field. Lucky they'd crossed paths with a powerhouse like Aihara-san instead…
It was Satoru.
"…Kobayashi?" Ayumu mumbled, barely audible, squinting at him.
Satoru didn't catch Ayumu's whisper. He raised a hand, like a student itching to speak up in class.
"Hm?" Yamato's brow twitched, just a flicker.
This guy wasn't in his meticulously crafted script.
"I… called the cops," Satoru declared, voice steady despite the sweat beading his brow.
"!?" Yamato's brow spasmed harder, like a glitching sprite.
"I saw the whole 'fight' go down," Satoru went on, catching his breath. "But I'm way too weak to jump in, so I couldn't help. Instead, I dialed the police." He paused, letting it sink in. "A regular scuffle might've been fine, but these guys? They had weapons—knives, the works. When the cops roll up, this'll be a criminal case. Don't worry—these punks won't hassle you for a couple years at least."
"!?" Yamato's brow was practically breakdancing now.
Satoru flicked a cautious glance at the "knocked-out" delinquents. Some of those supposedly unconscious goons… their shoulders were twitching.
"…That said," Satoru added, scratching his head with a sheepish grin, "might be a bit of a hassle. Since I reported it, they'll probably want statements—names, addresses, maybe some stuff about relationships. Shouldn't take long, though. Heck, Aihara-san might even score a 'good citizen' plaque for this."
"No big deal…" Ryoka mused, considering it. She hadn't planned on getting the law involved, but with a report already filed? Perfect. She was terrified of these creeps targeting Ayumu again. If this could end the threat for good, a little paperwork was nothing.
But Yamato? He was sweating bullets—especially at the "relationships" bit. One investigation, and his whole scheme would collapse like a house of cards!
This guy—
Yamato shot Satoru a death glare, the bashful teen still scratching his face nervously. He wanted nothing more than to knock him out cold.
The delinquent crew wasn't sitting pretty either. Jail time for a failed job? No way. Especially since…
"You bastard!"
The blond punk sprang up in a dramatic carp leap—his "knockout" pure Oscar-worthy acting. He hadn't been out for a second. "You promised big rewards—hell, even a shot at Ryoka! This ain't what we signed up for! You're the only one getting the goods!!"
"…You idiot!!"
Yamato snapped, his cool-guy facade crumbling like a bad plot twist.
If Blondie had played possum a moment longer, he could've salvaged this with some fast-talking. But now? The jig was up—anyone with half a brain could see it!
"Boys, scatter! If the cops nab us, we're done!!" Blondie roared.
At their boss's command, the "comatose" goons sprang to life like respawning NPCs…
Ryoka and Ayumu locked eyes, jaws dropping, utterly gobsmacked.