The first thing he felt was warmth.
Not the vague warmth of blankets.
The warmth of skin.
Bare skin.
Soft flesh pressed against his arm, heavy and alive, warm enough that he could feel the slow rhythm of another person's breathing through it. His consciousness surfaced slowly, dragged out of deep darkness by sensation before thought, and when his eyelids finally lifted, sunlight poured into his vision.
White ceiling.
Tall windows.
Golden light.
And then… a body.
A woman lay beside him.
Completely naked.
Not half-covered, not modest, not shy — simply naked, as natural as breathing. Her long hair spilled across the pillow, dark strands brushing against his shoulder. One full breast rested against his arm, the weight of it impossible to ignore, nipple soft and relaxed in sleep. Her waist curved gently into wide hips, smooth thighs loosely tangled with his own, skin warm and faintly scented with soap and milk.
His breath stopped.
Slowly, stiffly, he lowered his gaze.
He was naked too.
No blanket.
No cloth.
Nothing.
His chest, stomach, thighs — all bare to the morning air. Between his legs, his cock lay loose and heavy against his thigh, thick with the dull heat of sleep, balls resting warm beneath it, skin already sensitive to the slightest movement.
His mind went completely blank.
…What the hell…
Before panic could even bloom properly, the door opened.
Not quietly.
Not carefully.
Just… opened.
A naked man walked in.
Broad shoulders, relaxed posture, chest marked faintly by teeth and nails. Between his legs hung a thick cock, heavy enough that it swayed lazily with each step, balls full and loose beneath it, completely unhidden and completely unashamed.
The stranger stretched, muscles flexing, shaft lifting slightly before settling again.
Without hesitation, he leaned over the bed and pressed a soft kiss against the sleeping woman's forehead.
Her breast shifted with the movement, nipple brushing against his arm.
"Thanks for last night," the man said easily. "See you at the baths later."
She hummed in her sleep. "Mm… don't forget the milk festival tomorrow…"
"Wouldn't miss it."
Only then did the man glance at him.
Their eyes met.
The stranger smiled.
Warm. Friendly. Completely casual.
"Morning."
And then he left.
Still naked.
The door closed softly behind him.
Silence returned.
The man lay frozen, heart hammering so violently he could feel it in his throat.
…This is not a dream.
The woman beside him stirred.
Her eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening slowly, unfocused at first, then bright when she saw him. She smiled — soft, intimate, familiar — and leaned in to kiss his cheek, lips warm against his skin.
"Good morning, husband~"
The word hit harder than the naked stranger.
"H… husband…?"
She laughed gently at his expression, clearly amused. Sitting up without the slightest concern, she stretched lazily, breasts rising and falling, nipples tightening faintly in the cool morning air as sunlight painted her skin in gold. Her stomach was flat and smooth, hips wide and inviting, thighs parted casually as if nudity were the most natural state in existence.
"You look confused again," she teased. "Bad dream?"
Again.
That single word made his scalp prickle.
She stood and walked toward the window, hips swaying softly, ass full and round in motion, completely unconcerned by his stunned stare. When she drew back the curtains, the world revealed itself.
A city.
Alive.
Bright.
And shameless.
People filled the streets — walking, talking, laughing. Vendors sold bread and fruit while sitting bare-chested on counters. Couples leaned against walls, hands roaming casually over breasts and hips as they chatted. Friends greeted each other with kisses that lingered far too long to be polite by any Earth standard.
In the distance, steam rose from a massive bathhouse complex, sunlight gleaming off wet stone. Above its entrance, a glowing sign declared proudly:
"Morning Mixed Baths — Now Open."
On the bedside table beside him sat three empty cups, thin white traces dried along the bottom.
Milk.
"…Where… am I…?" he whispered.
She turned back with a gentle smile. "In bed."
Then, with a playful tilt of her head:
"And in trouble, if you don't hurry. You're late for work."
Work.
The word dragged memories from somewhere deep.
Hallways.
Classrooms.
A campus.
Students.
A title.
Instructor.
His chest tightened.
He remembered dying.
Pain.
Light.
Darkness.
And now this.
She walked back and wrapped her arms around him in a naked hug, breasts pressing softly against his chest, warm skin molding to warm skin.
"You really do look strange today," she murmured. "Relax. The world didn't change overnight."
The world.
Didn't change.
He glanced again at the open city, the naked strangers, the bathhouse steam, then back at his wife — calm, affectionate, completely natural.
"…People… live like this… every day?"
"Of course," she replied lightly. "This is normal life."
Normal.
She kissed his lips gently, lingering just enough to make his breath hitch, then pulled back with a mischievous smile.
"Come on. Shower first. The baths will be crowded."
Baths.
Crowded.
Mixed.
His cock stirred slightly at the thought before he could stop it.
And as she left the room humming cheerfully, hips swaying, he sat alone on the edge of the bed, staring at his bare hands and shaking quietly.
…I didn't reincarnate into another world…
…I reincarnated into a civilization built by perverts.