Ariel's POV
I was fuming about how disadvantage being my gender is. Why is this world biased towards men my mind clouded too distracted. My chest burned with rage as I barely noticing the truck heading towards me.
Oh, shit.
There wasn't even time to scream. I braced for pain, for something—
But nothing came.
I was supposed to feel pain.
Did the truck miraculously stop?
I opened my eyes to see a beautiful blue sky so blue it seemed photoshopped.
No screeching tires. No blood. Just the air tasted clean, almost too clean. It was quite too quiet. My heartbeat slowed.
Wow. Death is beautiful, I told myself.
If this is it, then fine. I'll make fun of my last moment while it lasts.
Then—
Ding dong!
A voice spoke, synthetic but casual, like a lazy chatbot that never finished its coding.
"Last moment? Welcome, Host "
Host? I echoed, blinking.
"Host has been detected as a time traveler and has been bound to the Beast World's Reproductive Power System."
I stared at the empty sky. "What the heck?"
"As an host you can choose to accept or refuse. If Host refuses, the system will return you to the accident—where survival probability is zero—and will seek another candidate."
The world around me shimmered—grass swaying gently in the wind, warm light on my face, birds chirping like nothing was wrong.
"Beast world? Is this a prank? Am I—what, schizophrenic now?"
"Host has limited time to decide."
My pulse spiked again. Anger bubbled up — hot, sharp. "Oh great. I die, wake up in heaven's open field, and some creepy pervert A.I. tells me I'm its breeding tool. Perfect."
I dug my fingers into the grass. It was real. Too real. Soft, rough at the edges, blades curling between my nails. When was the last time I even saw grass this high?
Either I'm dead, or insanity looks stunning.
But if this "system" thing is real, I basically have no choice. Death, or... what? Be a breeding puppet in a world I don't understand?
My laugh came out shaky. "I left that studio because the director wanted me to fuck him for a role I earned. I fought that. Now death wants the sequel?"
The sky stayed silent.
"Host inactivity detected. Timer initiated. Ten… nine…"
My throat went dry.
So it was counting.
"Okay, okay!" I snapped. "What exactly does 'bound to a reproductive system' even mean? You want me to hatch eggs or something?"
"Clarification: reproduction is vital in Beast World.
Rewards include enhanced vitality, system perks, and—"
"Stop. Stop right there. You're selling prostitution as a power-up."
Silence. Then—
"System does not recognize term: prostitution."
I laughed — a short, ugly sound that came out more like a sob. "Of course you don't."
For a heartbeat, everything in me collapsed — the anger, the sarcasm, all of it. I was just a woman who didn't get her shot, standing between death and a nightmare dressed like a fantasy game.
And then I remembered the director's hand brushing my back. The way he smirked when I refused him. The way everyone stayed quiet.
No one saved me then.
Maybe no one will now.
But I'll be damned if I let this world turn me into a product too.
I clenched my jaw. "Fine. You want a host? You've got one.