The sunlight was too bright.
Keita squinted as it streamed through the window, soft and golden, far too cheerful for how he felt. For a moment, he thought he had woken up in heaven. Or maybe hell. But the ceiling above him wasn't the cracked, stained one from his grimy apartment—it was clean, spotless, the kind of ceiling you'd find in a newly animated high school rom-com.
A breeze blew through the window and brushed his face. Cherry blossoms.
He blinked. Then blinked again.
"What the hell…"
He bolted upright in bed.
He was no longer in his ratty futon. Instead, he sat in a perfectly made bed with checkered blue sheets, a suspiciously cozy blanket around his legs, and an anime poster of a busty idol girl on the wall above his desk.
He scanned the room. A neatly stacked pile of schoolbooks. A basketball in the corner. A shelf filled with DVDs, manga, game cartridges.
A full-length mirror stood beside the closet.
He staggered toward it.
His breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't his face.
Gone was the tired, sunken face of Keita Sumeragi—the failed mangaka, the man who had lost everything. In the mirror stood a seventeen-year-old boy with tousled brown hair, bright eyes, a sharp jawline, and a lean, athletic build.
He looked like someone off a monthly shoujo cover—exactly the type of protagonist editors begged for.
"...No way," he muttered. "This… this can't be real."
But then he saw the school blazer hung neatly by the door. The name tag.
Hazama Toru.
His heart plummeted.
No. No no no no no.
This name—it was the main character of his NTR manga. The one he had written in desperation. The same story he had poured hatred into. The same character he had drawn cheating with his best friend's girlfriend, and the same face that appeared again and again, grinning with sinful delight as hearts were shattered around him.
Keita staggered back from the mirror. "This is a joke… right? A sick dream?"
But it wasn't.
A ringtone blared suddenly from the desk. His phone. The wallpaper was some idol with gravity-defying assets and a wink.
He fumbled with it.
New Message: "Toru-senpai~ Don't forget you promised to help me with PE stretches today 💦"
The sender's name: Mina-chan.
Keita stared blankly.
Another buzz.
New Message: "Toru-kun, you better not be late again or I'll kill you~ 💢 (Also, don't forget the bento I made you!) -Yuzu"
A third buzz.
New Message: "Hazama. Principal wants to see you. Something about girls fainting again. Tone it down." - Vice Principal
Keita nearly dropped the phone.
His chest tightened—not with fear, but with horrifying recognition.
He remembered writing these characters. Mina-chan, the ditzy underclassman with bouncing curves and no sense of personal space. Yuzu, the tsundere childhood friend with a temper and a hidden crush. And of course, the school itself—a shiny utopia where hormones ruled and skirts were absurdly short.
He had created this.
He had mocked this world in his story. Used it as the perfect backdrop for the corruption, the betrayal, the slow moral rot. And now…
Now he was in it.
Keita—no, Toru Hazama—stumbled to the window. Outside, students gathered. Girls giggling. Boys laughing. Everything was high-definition, polished to perfection. The trees looked hand-painted, the clouds fluffy and ideal.
A girl jogged by the front gates, her shirt clinging to her with suspiciously convenient sweat patches.
He couldn't help it—his eyes followed the bounce.
Then immediately, he cursed himself.
"You wrote this crap! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
But his body responded before his guilt did. He felt heat rush to his cheeks—and elsewhere. His seventeen-year-old form, after all, had far more energy than his original thirty-something one.
Keita took a deep breath. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. Probably a coma dream. Some post-suicide delusion. I just need to ride this out and not—"
Knock knock.
"Toru-kun~ Can I come in? It's your precious kouhai~"
The voice was sugary, high-pitched, and unmistakably designed to trigger every degenerative reflex in a lonely reader's mind. It was Mina-chan.
Before Keita could answer, the door burst open.
And there she was. Pink hair in twin tails, impossibly large chest squished into a too-small school uniform, a skirt that was practically a napkin. She bounced into the room, literally. Each step was physics-defying.
"EHHHH?! You're still in your PJs, senpai?" she gasped, dropping her bag. "You'll be late again!"
Keita backed away instinctively. "Mina-chan… uh… can you wait outside for a bit—?"
Too late. She tripped. On nothing. And landed face first into his lap.
Silence.
Then—
"KYAA~! Toru-senpai, you're… you're so lewd!" she squealed, not moving an inch.
He felt blood drain from his face—and rush somewhere else. "It's not what it looks like!!"
"Are you... excited because I came into your room while you were half-dressed~?" she giggled, her cheeks flushed.
"NO! No, it's because—because—physics!!"
"Ehh? Senpai's into physics now? Nyaa~ I love smart boys~!"
She was purring. Literally purring.
This was hell. A pervert's paradise. And Keita had built every twisted second of it.
And worst of all?
He knew exactly what was going to happen next.
"TORU! WHAT THE HELL?!"
The door slammed open again.
Yuzu.
Fiery red hair, crossed arms, flushed cheeks. Her eyes locked on the scene in horror.
"I leave you alone for FIVE MINUTES and you're already getting pervy with Mina?!" she screamed.
"It's not—she tripped—I swear!" Keita protested, holding his hands up like a criminal.
"On your DICK?!" she shouted.
"Not on purpose!!"
"BAKA!!!"
SMACK.
A textbook to the head.
Mina, of course, chose that moment to giggle and fall sideways, her skirt flipping in the most censored-but-suggestive way possible.
"Yuzu-channn, don't be mad~ Toru-senpai was being a gentleman, teehee~!"
Yuzu turned redder.
"I'M TAKING HIM TO SCHOOL MYSELF."
And just like that, Keita—still reeling—was dragged out the door by the collar, his bag slung over one shoulder, and two insanely attractive high school girls fighting over him before first period.
It wasn't even 8:00 a.m.
---
As they walked to school, Keita's mind spun.
He'd created this universe. He knew where it was going.
Toru Hazama—the character he inhabited—was the villain, the smiling seducer, the man who broke friendships and trust.
He was about to relive the story that had destroyed him.
But now that he was inside it, everything felt… different.
More real.
More dangerous.
And deep inside, a part of him—a part he hated—enjoyed it.
The glances from other girls. The soft "Toru-kun~" whispers. The tight uniforms. The absurd tension that lingered in every conversation.
Was this a punishment? A second chance? Or a trap?
Whatever it was, Keita knew one thing:
This was his story now.
And he was going to write it his way.
Even if he had to corrupt every page all over again.
---
To be continued