Welcome, dear reader.
Hmm… Not a fantasy connoisseur or a fine scholar… oh, you're one of those!! The kind who clicks "18+ Mature" and scrolls past the warning labels.
Good. You'll fit right in.
So, let's start from scratch, Welcome, dear pervert reader.
First of all, let's meet our protagonist … the man, the myth, the gooning legend.
The man, who is said to have masturbated 11 hours straight in a single day, breaking the world record, not that anyone in the world knows.
Actually, it's our MC who is a bit too low key and doesn't want to tell the world his great deeds, you know humility and modesty stuff.
While others chase fame, he remained devoted to his sacred arts.
Hmm!? Where is he right now? Not in a classroom, not at a job, not outside touching grass.
Nope.
Oh, there he is, in his degenerate heaven Hunched over like a cryptid in the glow of a dying monitor, eyes red from another all-night marathon of smut web novels, halfway between enlightenment and digital decay, his fingers tapping away feverishly as he chases endless pixels and strokes of erotic prose.
As for the state of the room? curtains of course, tightly shut closed, air stale, filled with musky smell, old ass fan rattling like it is begging for mercy. And his computer the only light source, but man… even it looks tired of him.
If monks sought nirvana through meditation, this guy's chasing it through bandwidth.
Every scroll, every click, every next chapter is another prayer to the almighty algorithm...his chosen god of distraction.
Anyways, Lo and Behold: a modern monk of the web… devoted to the sacred art of gooning.
…
Anyways, he's twenty-four and running on (Yes you have guessed it right) instant noodles, caffeine, and pure denial.
Still "studying," technically, though it's hard to call it that when his GPA's flatter than his social life. His degree's dragging its broken body toward year six, still begging to be finished.
But of course, our man, being a real alpha male, wouldn't listen.
But man! Just like us, his whole life is an ecosystem of neglect… half-eaten noodles, tabs of web novels, forgotten ambitions moldering in the corner, and a generous layer of existential dread coating everything.
Every night unknowingly bleeds into the next, a loop of scrolling, scrolling, and occasionally wondering where it all went wrong before going right back to scrolling.
Family? Barely sees them.
Friends? Faded into online ghosts.
Relationships? The last real conversation he had with a woman was when his fat landlady asked for rent while munching like a cow.
As for the appearance part... honestly, he's not ugly. Just...normal. You know, decent looking enough to turn a few heads if he bothered to try.
If he cleaned up, hit the gym, maybe remembered what sunlight felt like, and maybe—just maybe—smiled like a functioning human being… yeah, he could probably get a girlfriend.
But that sounds like effort.And effort is for people who still believe things get better.
So, he doesn't bother.
Anyways for him 2d is always better than real flesh and blood. No expectations, no drama, no awkward texting at 3 a.m., and no breakup playlists. Just pixels, storylines, and fantasies that don't ghost you halfway through the semester.
At least it won't break his heart and throw him into a never-ending cycle of self-doubts.
This dude's got a classic case of existential dread or more simplified depression with no apparent cause.
No tragic backstory. No breakup. No villain origin moment.
Just the universe doing what it does best: quietly screwing with you for no discernible cause.
From the outside, his life doesn't even look that bad.
He's got a roof, Wi-Fi, food (technically), and enough health to complain about it online.
But on the inside?
It's like someone left him on "low battery mode" permanently.
Everything works, but nothing feels worth using and you are dying internally without any rhyme or reason.
Maybe it's his lack of motivation.
Maybe it's all those self-destructive habits that have led him down a dangerous path, one where his only solace comes from the boundary-pushing content he devours.
Or it's just growing up and finally understanding the true face of the world, realizing it's just all manipulated shit, your "dreams" were just slogans to keep you obedient, and no matter how hard you try it's all in vain.
Anyways, Fuck world, fuck society, fuck therapists and their symptom-based-role-play; he's beyond all that.
Instead of living in this shitty world, he'd rather live in fantasy worlds… ones where every protagonist gets a harem by chapter ten and builds an empire by chapter thirty. At least, he can get some sense of achievement through the MC and daydream.
Anyways back to the topic.
Oh, it seems our hero is about to reach the climax - both figuratively and literally - today he's knee-deep in a civilization-building smut novel.
You know the type… the protagonist transmigrates to a primitive world, starts from zero, builds kingdoms, tames tribes, collects women like Pokémon. Every gooner's favorite fantasy.
Peak escapism. Peak gooner fuel.
As he read, his hands trembled not figuratively, for real, as he struggled to focus.
His body aching from a 20-hour fast in dedication to his impending virtual conquest.
With a surge of excitement, he rapidly scrolled down as he finally reached a pivotal scene, which he had been waiting for, where the protagonist finally claimed his female lead, which this shitty writer has delaying for hundreds of chapters as he urged the MC "fuck her now, lick her armpits, fill her pussy, yeah, yeah now."
But alas! just as the story reaches its climax, unfortunately, so does our MC's biological one.
Suddenly there was sharp pain.
A weird, twisting pain right in the chest.
At first, he ignored it. Probably hunger, he thinks. He hasn't eaten since… yesterday? Maybe the day before? Who cares?
But the pain doesn't stop. It deepens, crawls up his arm, face and shoulders, tightens like a hand gripping around his heart, no, more like an elephant is jumping on his heart, the screen starts swimming around, like he was on some cheap ass drug.
Suddenly, an inexplicable thought struck him, 'Is this the heart attack he's heard about…?' his thoughts grow foggy, consciousness slipping away.
"Really coming for him at the worst possible moment?" he muttered trying hard to focus on screen to at least read the scenes he had been waiting for, when the MC's cock finally penetrated the cold, high and mighty female main character bitch.
His own cock raging like a mighty heavenly dragon, just waiting for a single stroke to unleash its fury and paint the world(ceiling) white.
But unfortunately… it was all in vain, as it became harder and harder to focus.
"Wait… am I really dying?"
He laughs… wheezes, actually. The thought's absurd.
You can't just… die while gooning.
Right?
Right??