Prologue

The stagnantly lukewarm soapy bathwater felt serene when paired with the fost lamp mildly hissing, lighting up the bathroom he was in. He felt like he hadn’t moved in an eternity—or not. As he was lazily glancing towards the open window, the outside felt familiar. A specific time of day, or even which day it was, allured his conscience. Hmmm, the thought of poking his head out of the window came through, but just something about doing so felt foreign—perhaps forbidden? He seemingly had nothing due today anyways, so the faint thought now slipped out of his mind like a silent fart in the middle of the night.

Looking forward, he paid close attention to the curves of the shadow’s petite body frame. Something about it seemed really familiar, so much so that Harry could almost see its fiery red hair in the shadow and the maidly black headpiece that would typically sit on top of it. “Sora?” His weakly inward call didn’t echo in the bathroom; instead, it felt like it had just traveled into a void, forever lost.

The energetic girly voice that would be a telltale of Sora did not respond to the call; rather, everything in the room remained the exact same.

Maybe it is her! The gentle touch that washed Harry’s upper back, with perfect rhythmical precision and care, somehow kept on hinting that it was her. She’s kinda shy and all. As he kept staring towards the shadow, Harry felt this manly desire surface outwards as his second brain hardened its longing for her. His first brain, meanwhile, was in a stalemate war. One camp filled it with thoughts of turning his head and seeing the true wonders of humanity hidden under her black and blue maidly clothing. The other half seemed impotent, with a mix of fear of hurting her for taking advantage of this situation, all while being scared of an ominous feeling lurking in his chest that could become real if he faced her. As the war in his brain raged on, he slowly filled his lungs to the brim, then let out a long-winded breath that pushed the stale bubbles away in his bathtub.

Wait—how did I get here? Wasn’t I fighting Maiara? The latter faction won the stalemate, now asking that question far louder than anything else. Unable to remember anything immediately, Harry’s mind rewound to his earliest memories. Arriving at a cluster of quite jumbled, corrupt memories he had before awakening at Sanbi Kingdom. These memories somehow felt as if they belonged to someone else. Yet, he felt a strong connection to it—kinda like when you see a video of you from twenty years ago, and you know it is yourself in the picture. Still, you’ve changed so much that you’re no longer the same person. In one of the faded memories, a kid that resembled himself was seated between a couple that had to be his parents. He couldn’t tell their faces or anything about their characteristics anymore, but the feeling of calling them Mom and Dad was there. They were together, chowing down tacos and watching TV, while their chubby black-and-white dog was sprawled on the floor near their feet. They seemed simple, yet they were closely connected and happy, even when the dog farted up a storm that smelled like someone was opening a can of expired canned meat and pairing it with heavily aromatic gutter water.

Somehow seeing the kid’s nauseated reaction turning into a laugh with his parents didn’t make Harry laugh alongside them. On the contrary, his eyes grew wetter and wetter instead, seeing himself longing to relive that exact moment. Forcing his mind to focus on the parents, Harry still could not see any of their characteristics as he felt this ominous sensation of loss curling through his insides. Within a blink of an eye, the dog disappeared. Trying to look at where the dog was, he then felt his parents call him by a name other than Harry, but he just couldn’t hear it. Although, it didn’t matter anymore as the parents suddenly disappeared as well, leaving the kid behind alone, except it was no longer a kid but a much fatter version of Harry drowning himself in food and beer.

Without a choice in the matter, Harry now saw a mental picture of an even fatter version of himself holding a knife against his own chest. The memory brought a strong desire to end it all, but he just couldn’t shove the knife through his frightened, racing heart. With shaking hands, he lost his grip, letting the knife clank on the kitchen counter as the misery and emptiness of his memories pierced deep into his soul.

Harry shook his head to get that thought out, but the exact memory crept back in. Now his mind seemed to focus on how the counter looked cheap and old—maybe it wasn’t even a kitchen countertop, since nothing else came up in that memory. When was I this fat? Clearly, this had to be before I woke up at Sanbi Kingdom, but when? I hope Eiri will find out for me—

A sudden mental lock cleared out, bringing with it far more vivid memories, full of details and even stronger feelings—like going from 480i to 8K. Harry slightly smiled, remembering how welcoming Sanbi royalty was after he woke up in the bloodied room that smelled like a wet dog—or, technically speaking, the smell of bagarisa musk. He chuckled inwardly, remembering how once Nina tried to prank him by putting her finger on his belly button then proceeded to profusely gag when she smelled the pungent musk off his dirty belly button for no apparent reason. The same not-so-smart kid dressed in pink was the one to give him his name Harry after making a spectacle of it, ending on a high note by nearly falling to her death.

Another memory popped into his head of that same odd day. It was when Nina threw a rakuja at him at some point during dinner; he could still taste the tangy, sweet juice from the rakuja as it exploded on his face. The chuckles began to wane when he saw Eiri’s and Maiara’s faces. More memories of them began surfacing, specifically when Eiri gave him a pink promise over the secrets she spilled—or rather, her commentary of what really happened to him. She was so nice to me, but—

Harry now remembered the tension he felt when the contract was laid out in front of him for the first time at the dinner table. Even with Itagiba’s drunken stupor, Harry remembered more vividly how Eiri kept to herself while Neferteri kept observing him the whole time. Her demeanor was subtle, but something about it felt far more threatening than the bulging muscles of Itagiba’s forearm wrapping around Harry’s neck, feeling droplets of spit hit his face as Itagiba drunkenly blurted an outward monologue about the king of Sanbi not being good enough for him. Why did Eiri say all of that if she wasn’t going to help me anyways?

“Will it hurt?” Harry’s own voice echoed in his head as his mind skipped forward to later that night, when he was crying on Eiri’s shoulder, having no idea what to do with the offer he was being given. Oh wait—she did.

Yeahhhh, but look on the bright side! It’s a one-time thing. Eiri’s voice felt like a warm lullaby. Soon after, memories of the Gandew duel started to roll past his brain, from facing Maiara in the duel intro where she cursed like a sailor towards him, to being embarrassed when Sora smelled him up and down like a security dog sniffing for cocaine at an airport.

When she is about to strike you, raise the Tolerideme shield so that your arm takes the brunt of it, then stab her in the belly with the other hand. Harry could still feel this sort of fatherly moment from Itagiba as he prepared him for the fight by wrapping an odd shield on his arm and giving him a short sword. But then that feeling grew dissonant when he also remembered Itagiba saying, That should make things interesting for everyone.

Why did Itagiba help me? Harry closed his eyes, seemingly blind to whatever else was in the room. A solid answer did not seem to form in his head. I guess why even Eiri helped me? He could see their faces in his head, both looking friendly, but he couldn’t feel the same energy coming from them. Did Eiri ask me to keep this quiet because she feared Itagiba as the king? But isn’t she the king-maid? A silence grew in his head as he searched for the definition of that strange term. Why does king or maid alone feel normal, but king-maid doesn’t?

The memories of fighting Maiara on the Gandew duel, or Forway duel, or whatever it was called, came to mind; the deafening throbbing pain that he felt from the broken bones still felt real as she struck him with all her might. In response to her attack, he could still hear the crowd chanting his name as he sensed this wired-up feeling taking over him, making him rush with a knife towards Maiara on his turn, only to then have everything go black when he saw her roundhouse kick come flying towards his neck, unable to even react to how quick everything flew by.

That was until he suddenly gasped, waking up back in the bathtub, sitting forward while Sora was still carefully brushing his upper back in the same spot. Harry wanted to look at her, but it felt like he couldn’t—her tantalizing petite naked body was calling out for him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to actually do it. He wanted to know more, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to stop caressing his back. Plus, the warmth of the bathtub was simply too great. Hugging his knees, at least as much he could because of his massive belly, Harry let out a deep breath, looking at the bubbly water slowly waving around, having a rather calming effect.

The stagnantly lukewarm soapy bathwater felt serene when paired with the fost lamp mildly hissing, lighting up the bathroom he was in. He felt like he hadn’t moved in an eternity—or not. Plus, a feeling of déjà vu was growing ever-present. As he was lazily glancing towards the open window, the outside felt familiar. A specific time of day, or even which day it was, allured his conscience. Hmmm, the thought of poking his head out of the window came through, but just something about doing so felt foreign—perhaps forbidden? He still seemingly did not having anything that required his attention, so the faint thought disappeared into the vastness of his mind like rain falling in a lake.

Looking forward, he paid close attention to the curves of the shadow’s petite body frame. Something about it seemed really familiar, so much so that Harry could almost see its fiery red hair in the shadow and the maidly black headpiece that would typically sit on top of it. “Sora?” His weakly inward call didn’t echo in the bathroom; instead, it felt like someone had cast silence on him.

The energetic girly voice that would be a telltale of Sora did not respond, and she kept scrubbing Harry’s back in the same exact spot as if she were a robot.

Maybe it is her! The gentle rhythmical, precisional scrub that washed Harry’s upper back somehow kept on hinting at her being there. She’s kinda shy and all. As he kept staring towards the shadow, Harry felt this manly desire surface outwards as his second brain hardened its longing for her, now throbbing with carnal desires. His first brain, meanwhile, was in a stalemate war. One camp filled it with thoughts of turning his head and playing with the true wonders of humanity hidden under her black and blue maidly clothing. The other half seemed impotent, with a mix of fear of hurting her for taking advantage of this situation, all while being scared of an ominous feeling lurking in his chest that would become real if he faced her. As the war in his brain raged on, he slowly filled his lungs to the brim, then let out a long-winded breath that pushed the stale bubbles away in his bathtub.

The fost lamp flickered, coincidentally calling more of Harry’s attention to Sora’s shadow. His mind formed imagery of him grasping and sucking on her tantalizing perky breasts as his hands slid down her body, inviting themselves to her playground. His second brain throbbed firmly at the thought of feeling her warmth. His heart began pounding with an eagerness never seen before while his mind focused on a single purpose of furthering his genes. Harry tried to move his body, but it didn’t obey him at first, so he kept trying. With each attempt, the light coming from the fost lamp seemed to respond with a flicker of its own; the more mental fortitude Harry placed on seeing what had to be Sora’s naked body, the more reactive the light became.

Just a bit more! C’mon! The muscles on Harry’s neck and upper body began bending to the will, allowing him to peek more into the familiar bathroom he was in—his clenched-up face and gritted teeth looked like he was trying to pass kidney stones rather than trying to stare at boobs. With a sudden sharp turn, Harry’s body caved in and allowed a full view of the girl’s petite body, now scrubbing the air as if nothing had happened. His eyes went straight to her small perky breasts, deliriously calling to be played with. His right hand moved on its own, feeling Sora’s warmth and softness while his index finger and thumb pinched her erect nipples. His left hand was summoned towards his throbbing second brain demanding to be stroked.

Meanwhile, the fost lamp in the background behind the girly figure began to hiss louder, sounding like a tea kettle boiling. Accompanying that deafening noise was a white light from the same lamp that quickly grew blinding.

With his eyes hurting from the light, he blinked a few times, causing Harry’s attention to snap back from purely carnal desires, allowing him to see an empty face with only a wild grin staring him down. “No no no no no”—like a snap of a finger, the fost lamp flickered intensively as the petite body began morphing between multiple girls’ bodies, with the grin remaining the same. Amidst his arrhythmic heart, his mind brought back something that seemed to have slipped through the cracks: Harry was sleeping when a girly figure pinned him down and injected something into his neck. He could still feel the large needle penetrating deep into him, releasing a cold concoction into his bloodstream that poisoned his mind and body.

He felt this sensation within him explode as if he was in extreme danger, and he had to do something right that instant—somehow. His heart pounded painfully hard, and his breathing got so brief he felt like his diaphragm was about to snap. The sound of tinnitus ringing in his ear was like that of a flashbang going off.

Remembering a girly figure flipping him belly-up during that savage attack in the middle of his first night at Sanbi Castle, he saw a girl with a vicious grin right before she started to suffocate him with her privates. Maybe she had long hair or short hair. It was impossible to tell based on the amalgamation of feminine-looking bodies that created this humanoid-looking figure both in his corrupted memory and in the bathtub in front of him.

“EIRI! HELP!” Harry clamored out loud in the bathroom, snapping back from his memories, but his voice didn’t seem to reach anyone, not even his own ears. He curled away from whoever that was, seeing that humanoid thing scrubbing the air instead as if nothing had happened. Noticing the fost lamp appearing to be exploding as it shone like the sun, Harry tried to get away, but the white light consumed him—