Mr. Carson was talking about civic duty again.
I focused on my notebook, drawing stick-figure me with a ghost version floating up, both middle fingers raised.
Carson's voice droned on. Life, morality, civic duty, all just leashes to keep people from biting back.
"Mr. Ralph."
I looked up. Great. He remembered my name this time.
"What was the last thing I said?"
"Well... something about your life history?"
The veins in his neck bulged. "That's it! You kids are all just glued to your phones! You don't take anything seriously!"
Here we go. Gen Z this, smartphones that, back in his day they walked uphill both ways. Guy can't go five minutes without coffee, but sure, his generation was tougher.
"When I was your age—"
I stopped listening.
Around me, other students were doing the same, staring at desks, phones hidden under tables. Anyone still listening needed their head checked.
Yeah, sure. Back when houses cost twenty bucks and a firm handshake. Cry me a river.
Carson was still going, something about the collapse of society, when the bell rang.
I was out of my seat before Carson could assign homework, bag over one shoulder, headphones already half-in. Behind me, he was still yelling something about "my generation."
Yeah. Sure.
***
I hit the restroom, then cut through the admin wing. Hallway was empty—no lockers slamming, no voices echoing. Everyone already gone by 3:15.
Same route every day. Fewer people, less noise. No one to pretend at.
A low, stifled moan drifted from Principal Carver's office.
I slowed down. The door was cracked open just enough. I should've kept walking.
I didn't.
Through the gap in the blinds, I saw Principal Carver bent over her desk, skirt hiked up around her waist. Derek Morrison, golden boy, quarterback, the guy who had everything handed to him, had her hair wrapped around his fist, pulling her head back as he thrust into her.
Her mouth was open—not in a scream. In pleasure.
My dick responded before my brain caught up. Fuck.
I hated Derek, the golden boy who had everything. But watching him take her like that, her pushing back against him, the wet sound of their bodies...
I couldn't stop watching. Couldn't stop imagining that kind of power, making someone lose themselves completely.
Carver's eyes were half-closed, her perfectly professional facade completely shattered.
"Harder," she gasped. "God, Derek, harder—"
My hand went to my phone. One video, that's all it would take—Derek finished, Carver losing everything.
But then what?
Derek's boys would corner me. Carver would bury me in detention. Go public? They'd call me a liar, a pervert, a snitch.
Evidence doesn't mean shit when you're nobody.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Both their heads snapped toward the door. Shit—had I moved? Made a sound?
"Who's there?!" Derek's voice cracked with panic.
Shit.
I bolted.
***
I sprinted toward the stairwell, my sneakers squeaking on the floor. Behind me, I heard Derek's voice echoing off the lockers.
"Stop! I just want to talk!"
Right. Talk. That's what they all say before they slam you against a locker.
Derek didn't know if I'd recorded anything. That made him desperate.
I hit the stairwell at full speed, taking the stairs two at a time. My bag bounced against my back.
Three flights down, then the exit. I could make it.
I reached for the next landing. My foot found nothing.
The step wasn't there.
I fell forward, hands grasping for the railing. But I didn't drop. The air turned thick, heavy—something squeezing against my skin, pulling.
The stairwell stretched.
What the fuck—
My vision blurred. The force released.
I fell through darkness that had no business existing in a high school stairwell. No bottom. No light.
Then everything stopped.
***
I woke to silence.
A wooden ceiling stared back at me—expensive-looking, definitely not the school clinic.
I sat up slowly, and immediately regretted it. My head throbbed like it'd been hit by a truck. The room swam, then settled.
Stone walls. Heavy curtains blocked tall windows. I was lying in a bed, sheets slippery under my hands—silk, maybe.
Where the hell—
A text box appeared in front of my face. Floating. Glowing.
[INTEGRATION COMPLETE.]
I stared at it. "...The fuck?"
Another message appeared.
[CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED.]
[VESSEL TYPE: LUST]
"What?" I squinted at the words. "Lust vessel—what the hell does that mean?"
The text box didn't answer. A new one replaced it.
[WELCOME TO ALTHEMIUM REALM.]
I laughed. It wasn't funny, but I laughed anyway. The sound came out strangled.
"Okay. Okay. Hit my head, now I'm... hallucinating. Coma, maybe? Fuck, would I even know?"
The text box didn't move. Just hung there.
I looked around the room for anything familiar. A clock. A phone. A fucking exit sign. Nothing. Just medieval fantasy bullshit straight out of a—
Wait. No.
I threw off the covers and stumbled to the nearest mirror. The face staring back at me wasn't mine.
Black hair instead of brown. Red eyes. Red fucking eyes.
I knew this face. I'd seen it hundreds of times—on my phone, in character sprites, in that stupid harem game I'd been playing for months.
"No—"
This was Cade Angelo. The villain. The guy who gets cucked and killed in the first act.
Sins of the Realm. Stupid fucking gacha game I'd dumped maybe two hundred hours into. Viktor was the protagonist—childhood friend turned hero, collects a harem of broken women he "saves."
And Cade? Cade was the first villain. The rich asshole who treats his fiancée like property, picks a fight with Viktor, gets cucked, then killed off in Chapter 3 to show how badass Viktor is.
And now I'm him.
A chill ran down my spine. How the fuck am I Cade? Of all the characters, why this one?
"This isn't real. This can't be—"
[WOULD YOU LIKE TO VIEW YOUR STATUS?]
My finger moved—on its own, or maybe I moved it. Couldn't tell.
Yes.
The screen expanded.
[STATUS SCREEN]
NAME: Cade Angelo
TITLE: Heir of House Angelo
SIN VESSEL: Lust (Dormant)
LEVEL: 1
HP: 100/100
ESSENCE: 0/100
ABILITIES:
❖ ESSENCE DRAIN
Absorb abilities or life force through intimate physical contact.
REQUIRES: Skin-to-skin contact during sexual activity or emotionally vulnerable touch (kissing, etc.)
CURRENT ESSENCE: 0
Great. So I have to fuck someone to get stronger.
❖ STIGMA [A-RANK] — LOCKED
Summon objects or temporary buffs using stored essence.
COST: 5-50 essence (depends on complexity)
[LOCKED: Requires 5+ Essence to activate]
RESTRICTION: Can only summon things that already exist in this world
EXAMPLES:
Basic sword: 10 essence
Strength buff (+5 STR, 10 min): 15 essence
Healing potion: 20 essence
CURRENT ESSENCE: 0 (Ability locked until essence is obtained)
And I can't even use this one yet. Perfect.
WARNING: Essence can only be gained through ESSENCE DRAIN.
How the hell am I supposed to survive like this?
I pressed my palms against the mirror. Don't overthink it. I got isekai'd. Now I need to survive as Cade.
What the hell do I do first?
A knock at the door made me flinch.
"Lord Cade?"
The voice was male. Like he was afraid I'd bite his head off.
Right. Cade was a piece of shit to the servants.
"Lord Velcross is here to see you, my lord. He's waiting in the study."
Velcross. Viktor's family name.
My blood went cold. If he's already here, then the story's started.
Father's debt. Seraphina. The cucking arc begins now.
I took a breath and opened the door.