The air was thick with tension, an unspoken energy humming between them. Saya stood before Kazui, breathtaking in every sense—her kimono clung to her body in all the right places, accentuating the mesmerizing curves that seemed to defy mortal craftsmanship. Kazui's pulse quickened, his body reacting in ways he couldn't control. His growing arousal was impossible to ignore, yet neither of them acknowledged it—Saya, because she was too focused on her duty, and Kazui, because he was too lost in her beauty.
Her crimson eyes locked onto his, unwavering in their intensity. Then, with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, she knelt before him. Her head bowed, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders as she pressed her palms to the earth.
"Master," she murmured, her voice soft yet resolute. "I am your maiden, Saya. I will protect you with my life. Any request, any wish—no matter how difficult—you need only speak it, and I will fulfill it. Treat me as you will; I exist only to serve you."
Kazui could hardly believe it. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined possessing such power—such devotion. His throat tightened, his words stumbling out in a hesitant whisper.
"I—I'm Kazui. Kazui Kurota. It's… good to meet you, Saya. And… thank you. For saving me."
Her reaction was instantaneous, as if his gratitude were the highest honor. A faint flush dusted her cheeks, her lips curving into the ghost of a smile.
"There is no need for thanks, Master. Protecting you is my duty."
Kazui managed a small smile in return, his nerves still buzzing. "You… you can stand up."
The forest around them was dense, shadows stretching between the trees, the rustling of leaves the only sound—until it wasn't.
A sudden noise from the bushes behind Saya made her tense. In an instant, her katana was drawn, her body shifting into a defensive stance as she scanned the darkness, shielding Kazui with her own form. His gaze, however, betrayed him—lingering on the sinful curve of her backside, the way her kimono hugged her hips. His face burned, his arousal growing painfully obvious.
Then—another rustle.
This time, from behind him.
Startled, Kazui jerked backward—only for his foot to catch on an uneven stone. His balance faltered, and he lurched forward, crashing into Saya's back. The impact sent a jolt through them both, but worse—far worse—was the way his hardened length pressed firmly against her, the thin fabric of their clothing doing little to mask the contact.
A sharp inhale. A heartbeat of stunned silence.
Then—panic.
Kazui scrambled back, his face aflame with mortification. "S-Saya! I—I didn't mean to! I swear, I wasn't—"
But she didn't recoil. Didn't scold him. Instead, she turned her head slightly, her voice eerily calm.
"There is no need to apologize, Master. I am your maiden. You may do as you wish with me."
Before Kazui could process her words, a sharp pain lanced through his left leg—a wound, something jagged slicing into him. He hissed, stumbling forward again, and this time, his hands instinctively gripped her shoulders for balance.
Which only brought his hips flush against her once more.
His breath hitched.
Her warmth. Her softness. The way her body yielded just slightly against his—
This was dangerous.
The pain in Kazui's leg flared sharply, cutting through his arousal like a blade. His breath hissed between his teeth as the throbbing ache forced his mind back into focus. But before he could steady himself, Saya's body tensed beside him.
A sound—harsh, serpentine, yet unmistakably not a snake—hissed from the right.
Saya's grip on her katana tightened as she turned, her crimson eyes locking onto movement among the branches. Perched on a gnarled tree limb was a creature—small, grotesque, its skin sagging as if melting off its bones. A dwarf-like abomination, naked except for the knives wedged between its four-fingered hands. No thumbs. No toes. Just six blades glinting in the dim light.
Without hesitation, it struck.
Three knives flew toward them in a deadly arc.
Saya moved like lightning. Her katana flashed, deflecting each blade mid-air with a metallic clang! Before the creature could react, she lunged, her sword slicing clean through its skull before it even hit the ground.
Silence.
Then, as if nothing had happened, Saya sheathed her blade and returned to Kazui's side. Her fingers dipped into the hidden folds of her kimono, retrieving bandages from somewhere near her left breast. Kneeling before him, she began tending to his wound with practiced efficiency.
Kazui's breath hitched.
From this angle, the loose collar of her kimono dipped just enough to reveal the soft swell of her cleavage. His pulse roared in his ears, his earlier arousal creeping back despite his best efforts. No, no, no— His thoughts spiraled, intrusive and unbidden. What if I just—
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. Control yourself, damn it!
Then—a flicker of blue light.
The relic-watch on his wrist activated on its own, holographic text materializing before him:
[Saya has leveled up 2 times]
[Saya's Level: 3]
Kazui exhaled sharply. Of course. He'd played enough gacha games to recognize the mechanics. But this wasn't a game.
And Saya wasn't just a character.
Saya rose to her feet, her black eyes flickering downward—directly at the undeniable bulge straining against Kazui's pants.
His face burned. Shit. She noticed.
Desperate, he fumbled to cover himself with his hands, but it was too late. Saya tilted her head, her expression unreadable—until she spoke.
"Master," she murmured, her voice low and deliberate. "Do you require... assistance with this?"
Her fingers hovered near his arousal, not touching, but the implication was clear. She was offering. Fully. Willingly.
Kazui's throat went dry. The way she looked at him—no shame, no hesitation—only absolute devotion. His mind spun. She really meant it. Maidens truly would do anything for their masters.
"I—" he choked out.
But before he could answer, the world ripped away.
One moment, he stood before Saya—her lips parted, her body close—and the next, he was falling through a blinding white void. No ground. No sky. Just endless, weightless nothingness.
Then—impact.
He stumbled onto solid ground, his boots scuffing against polished marble. The lobby of the Tower's first floor sprawled before him, bustling with adventurers, merchants, and the low hum of chatter. His relic flickered to life on his wrist, displaying glowing text:
[Quest Completed: Outer World Dwarf Hunt]
[Reward: 5,000 Clouds]
Clouds. The Tower's exclusive currency. More valuable than real-world money—cheaper here, but sold outside at exorbitant prices. Weapons, armor, luxury goods, even land—all purchasable with enough Clouds.
Kazui exhaled sharply—then glanced down.
His earlier problem was gone, vanished the moment panic had gripped him in that white void. Small mercies.
Then—a voice from behind.
"Kazui? Is that you?"
Familiar. Lighthearted.
He turned—and there stood his best friend, grinning.
Kazui blinked, still disoriented from the sudden teleportation, before recognizing the familiar face. "Kenta? You're here too?"
Kenta grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, just cleared my first quest too."
Kenta Fujimoto. Kazui's childhood friend—both raised in the quiet town of Kawazu before moving to Tokyo together. They even shared the same rental apartment building, though on different floors.
Kenta's spiky brown hair stuck up in its usual unruly way. He wasn't fat, but he lacked Kazui's lean athleticism. In looks, intelligence, and raw strength, Kazui had always been the sharper of the two.
Kenta nudged him. "So? What power did you get?"
Kazui hesitated. Maiden Gacha. The ability to summon a devoted warrior like Saya—beautiful, lethal, and entirely his. It wasn't something he could just blurt out in the middle of the Tower's crowded lobby.
"Kenta…" Kazui lowered his voice. "I can't talk about it here. I'll call you when I get back."
Both of them still had their smartphones—useless for summoning relics, but at least they could stay connected in this surreal new world.
Kenta stood casually, his spiky brown hair slightly messy as always. He wore a crisp white t-shirt underneath an unbuttoned lime green shirt, the bright color contrasting against his more formal brown trousers. The outfit suited his laidback personality—just put-together enough to look presentable, but with that characteristic Kenta touch of carefree style.
The lobby of the Tower was a sprawling nexus of muted chaos—crowded yet controlled, alive with the murmurs of adventurers but steeped in an eerie, ancient calm. The air carried the faint scent of aged parchment and polished wood, mixed with something darker, something older—like the lingering memory of blood long since scrubbed from the stone.
The walls rose high, their surface a gradient of weathered browns and dull yellows, resembling the stratified layers of time itself. Flickering torches lined the pillars, their flames casting long, dancing shadows that made the carvings on the walls seem to shift—depictions of forgotten battles, monstrous entities, and cryptic runes that pulsed faintly when observed too long. The ceiling arched into darkness, so high above that it might as well have been the night sky, giving the illusion that the lobby existed in some liminal space between earth and the unknown.
At the far end, three massive doors dominated the space:
The Exit Door – A wrought-iron gate, its bars twisted into the shape of serpents swallowing their own tails. Beyond it, the haze of the real world shimmered like a mirage.
The Quest Door – A slab of dark oak, its surface etched with glowing sigils that rearranged themselves with each completed mission. Adventurers passed through it in steady streams, vanishing into the Tower's depths.
The Ascension Door – A towering archway of black marble, veined with gold. Only those who'd conquered their current floor could approach it—and few dared to.
The lobby thrummed with life. Adventurers of all kinds lounged, strategized, or nursed wounds—some clad in gleaming armor, others in tattered cloaks that whispered of hard-won survival. A group of rookies huddled near the sofas, their eyes wide as they clutched their newly acquired relics. Veterans leaned against the walls, their postures relaxed but their gazes sharp, assessing.
Near the center, a cluster of merchants had set up impromptu stalls, bartering in hushed tones:
A grizzled dwarf sold vials of iridescent potions that bubbled without sound.
A hooded figure offered "blessed" daggers, their blades humming with unstable energy.
A woman with fox ears and three tails peddled "lucky charms"—small bones strung on crimson thread.
The reception desks were manned by creatures that blurred the line between alluring and unnerving:
A Lamia Receptionist, her serpentine coils coiled neatly beneath the desk, her human half draped in a silken robe. Her forked tongue flicked as she processed a trembling adventurer's quest log.
A Harpy, her feathers preened to a metallic sheen, talons clicking against the ledger as she assigned rewards with a voice like wind through dead leaves.
A Dullahan, her head resting politely on the counter beside her inkwell, her body standing stiffly at attention. She stamped documents with eerie precision, her detached lips occasionally offering directions in a hollow whisper.
They were efficient, polite—and utterly indifferent to the horrors their clients had faced.
Plush sofas and low tables dotted the periphery, their upholstery a deep burgundy that hid stains better left unexamined. Here, the unspoken rules of the Tower held firm:
No PvP. Weapons sheathed themselves automatically upon entry; spells fizzled before they could be cast.
No PvE. The shadows stayed just shadows—no ambushes, no sudden spawns.
A few adventurers dozed fitfully, their bodies twitching with phantom pains from battles past. Others played cards, their laughter too loud, too forced. In one corner, a bard strummed a lute, his song a mournful tune about a hero who'd climbed too high and forgotten the way down.
Despite the crowd, the lobby was never loud. Conversations were hushed, footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rugs that covered the stone floor. Even the clink of glasses from the nearby bar (manned by a minotaur mixologist) seemed subdued.
The light was dim, perpetually stuck in the amber hue of twilight. It pooled in the hollows of exhausted faces, glinted off unsheathed blades being cleaned for the next run, caught the edges of the receptionists' too-perfect smiles.
This was a place of respite—but also of anticipation. Every laugh was a beat too short. Every silence stretched a second too long.
Because in the Tower, rest was just the pause between terrors.
Kazui stepped out of the Tower's massive gates, the sudden shift from that otherworldly lobby to the bustling streets of Tokyo almost jarring. Behind him, the Tower loomed impossibly tall at the city's exact center—its peak vanishing into the clouds, its scale so unnatural that staring upward for too long made his neck ache and his vision swim. No matter where you were in Tokyo, its monolithic presence was inescapable, like some ancient god's forgotten pillar.
His heart pounded as he hurried through the crowd, the weight of his new reality settling in. He needed to get back to his apartment—now. There was too much to process, too much to figure out. His power, the Maiden Gacha, Saya—just the thought of her sent a jolt of something electric down his spine. What were her limits? Her abilities? And most importantly... what else could she do for him?
The questions burned in his skull, pushing him faster through the evening foot traffic. He barely noticed the neon signs flickering to life as Tokyo's nightlife began to stir, too focused on the possibilities waiting for him behind his apartment door.