Kasumi stepped off the train, blending into the crowd like it was second nature. She didn't stand out. No one gave her a second glance, which made her harder to follow—but not for me. I kept my eyes locked on her from the moment she stepped onto the platform.
I followed behind her at a controlled distance, moving with the same rhythm as the crowd. Not too fast, not too slow—just enough to stay close without drawing attention. My eyes never left her.
As she exited the station and started moving through the streets, I adjusted my pace, letting the flow of people create a natural buffer between us. She clearly knew the route—showing no hesitation at corners or street signs. She walked like she'd done this journey a hundred times before. I didn't rush. I kept enough distance to avoid suspicion, but stayed close enough to follow her every step without losing track.
Eventually, the city lights thinned out, and storefronts gave way to narrow sidewalks and residential blocks. We arrived at what looked like a quiet neighborhood. Nothing fancy—just an average Japanese apartment complex. The buildings stood in neat rows, all following the same uniform design. Concrete walls. Repetitive balconies. Sliding glass doors reflecting dim streetlamps. Clean and orderly, but soulless. Functional.
There were no signs of extra security. No guards. No intercom system. Not even a locked main entrance. Just a glass door with a push handle and a faded floor directory mounted on the wall. Anyone could walk in. People came and went freely.
Kasumi entered one of the buildings without slowing down. I watched from across the street as she climbed the stairs inside and disappeared onto the third floor. She didn't even look back once. After all, she probably didn't think anyone would follow her.
I crossed the road and leaned casually against a nearby vending machine, pretending to check the menu. Occasionally glancing up like I was thinking about what drink to buy. Then I waited.
Time passed slowly. A few residents entered or left the building, but no one bothered me as I waited.
Then, finally, my patience paid off. A door on the third floor creaked open, and the man mentioned in Kasumi's summary stepped out. Mid-forties. Overweight. Greasy black hair flattened against his scalp. He wore a stained tank top stretched over his gut and a pair of loose shorts. He didn't even look around—just turned to lock his door.
That was my opportunity.
I moved.
Dashing across the street, I slipped through the front door and took the stairs two at a time—silent, controlled. By the time the man finished turning the key and slipping it into his pocket, I was right behind him.
One jab to the back of the neck. A sharp strike to the side of his skull.
He dropped instantly.
I caught him right before he hit the floor and dragged him back into his apartment, closing and locking the door.
No one saw what I did.
It was finally time to examine this guy.
The man lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious and snoring softly. His body twitched once, but he didn't wake up.
The apartment was a dump. Garbage bags piled in the corners. Fast food wrappers and greasy containers covering the table. Dirty laundry soaked in some kind of yellow stain. The sink overflowed with unwashed dishes. Flies buzzed near a half-finished bowl of rice on the counter.
I stepped over an overturned can of beer as I dragged him to a chair in the center of the room and tied his arms behind his back with the belt he was wearing.
The piggy didn't even wake up—not yet, at least.
I crouched in front of him and stared.
This was the man who was supposed to be the hentai protagonist? In his mid-forties, undisciplined and physically unfit.
"System, is this truly the correct guy?" I finally asked, a trace of skepticism in my voice.
---
[Processing request… Formulating response…]
[Affirmative, host. This is indeed the guy. Would you like a summary to be provided for him?]
---
I thought for a moment before responding.
"No, there's no need. Just tell me how high his attributes are."
---
[Processing request… Formulating response…]
[The Hentai Protagonist's Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, and Spirit attributes are at (+)0.4, while his Luck is at (+)10—the exact opposite of yours.]
---
I stared at the screen for a moment.
"Interesting… so he has the exact reverse of my luck."
And yet… he was so weak.
He lived a peaceful life with a roof over his head. No one beat him. No one starved him. No one spat on him. No one treated him like trash. He was ugly, pathetic, and weak—but at least he was still free. Still fed. Still alive. Unlike me.
"Why?" I muttered as I groaned faintly.
I stood up and looked around the room. Piles of dirty laundry. Used tissues. Sticky floors. He didn't even try to keep it clean. No shame. No effort. No consequences.
"You don't even do anything. You haven't earned anything. And yet here you are, sitting comfortably while I had to claw my way through hell just to live another day."
I crouched beside him again, watching his eyelids twitch as he began to wake up.
"What makes you special? Hm?" My voice was low. Calm. "What exactly did you do to deserve this life while I got the one filled with pain and suffering?"
No answer. Of course not—the piggy was still asleep.
I reached out and slapped his face hard.
"Wake up."
His eyes fluttered. Confused. Groggy. He looked around the room, saw me, and flinched.
"Too late." I clenched my fist.
"I'll find what makes you special myself."
The man's mouth opened like he was about to scream.
I struck first.
A quick, light jab to the side of his neck—precisely aimed. Not enough to knock him out. Just enough to shut him up. His throat tightened, and he gagged, eyes bulging as his voice caught in his windpipe. No sound came out. Only a dry rasp.
He started to panic.
Good.
I grabbed a handful of his greasy tank top and pulled him forward slightly, locking eyes with him. Then, slowly, methodically, I began to punch him. Light punches. Nothing bone-breaking. Just enough to make his fat jiggle and his breath hitch.
One to the stomach.
Another to the ribs.
Then to the chest.
Then to the thigh.
His body flinched with each hit, but he couldn't scream—just wheeze and grunt through clenched teeth, his face red and slick with sweat.
"I can see the injustice in your eyes, little piggy," I said calmly, letting my knuckles dig slightly deeper into his side on the next punch. "You're probably thinking to yourself, why is this happening to me, right?"
I gave him no time to answer.
"Let me give you the only answer that matters then."
I delivered another punch, right below the ribcage. He jerked in pain, saliva dripping down his chin.
"You're weak. And I'm strong."
Another punch landed, slower this time, aimed directly at the soft flesh above his hip.
"That's all it takes. That's the only reason I can take what you have and make it mine."
His body sagged, but I grabbed his face and lifted it slightly so he couldn't look away.
"You've lived a comfortable life, didn't you?" I muttered. "A soft little routine that made your body and will weak."
I let go of his face and landed two quick blows to his gut, sharp and efficient.
"While I faced death so many times that I stopped running from it. I accepted it. Welcomed it. And made it a part of me."
I stepped back for a second and watched him tremble. His breathing was shallow. His lips quivered, his eyes locked on mine—pleading, confused, terrified.
But that wasn't enough.
Not yet.
"The funniest part of this interaction between us is that I know the neighbor's wife is being cheated on by her husband with her daughter… and you know that too, right, little pig?"
He shook his head lightly, tears running from his eyes.
"Originally, you were destined to bang that woman with your luck and unique ability… but life's a bitch, isn't it?"
"It's very unfortunate that you met me. And now you have to die by my hands, little piggy," I said, clenching my fist.
"But at least you get to sleep forever… right?"
With one powerful strike, my hand pierced through his windpipe and exploded out the back of his skull.
The last words the man heard before dying were:
"Bye-bye, little pig."