Kourtney lay draped over the arm of the couch, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her cheeks were a deep, flushed red, and her skin glistened with a heavy sheen of sweat that caught the dim light of the apartment.
"That... was insane," she rasped, her voice still trembling. "I have never been fucked like that in my entire life. Not even close."
"Of course you haven't," I replied. I glanced around the room, expecting to see the voyeur, but the corner was empty.
Abby was gone. She'd probably hit her limit and bolted to find a cold shower or a vibrator. I felt an inward grin, the seed was planted.
"Erik, seriously... you were incredible. I wish you were my boyfriend," Kourtney muttered, her eyes dazed and fixed on me like I was a religious icon. "You're so fucking hot..."
"I've got a girlfriend, and you've got a man," I lied effortlessly. The girlfriend was a convenient fiction to keep things professional, a boundary she was already trying to crawl over.
"I can be your side chick," she countered immediately, flashing me a desperate, hungry smile.
I looked down at her, a cynical edge to my expression. "Did I fuck the sense out of you? An hour ago, you were singing the praises of your D-Tier Hunter boyfriend."
"He doesn't please me like you do," she said, her voice turning dismissive. "Besides, he's never around. He's always grinding in some dungeon mission."
Women. I thought, the cold pragmatism of my old life surfacing. There was no room for sentiment in Aethelgard. Some poor bastard was risking his life against mana-beasts just to maintain this girl, while his girl was selling her soul, and her body, on a live feed to a stranger for credits.
She was ready to jump ship the moment a bigger "sword" came along.
I pulled up my phone, my fingers flying across the screen. "I just transferred your share of the credits. We're square, Kourtney. I don't see any reason for me to hang around."
She stood up, naked and unashamed, and pressed her hands against my chest, her fingers tracing the new, hard lines of my physique. "How about one more round? Off-camera this time. Show me the skills you were holding back for the fans."
I caught her wrists and firmly pushed her back, reaching for my shirt. "Maybe another day, baby girl. I've got somewhere to be."
She rolled her eyes, her confidence spiking now that the camera was off. "Somewhere more important than sex?"
I finished buttoning my shirt. I looked at her, my eyes cold and focused.
"Yeah," I said, turning toward the door. "Saving the world."
Kourtney let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Saving the world? That's a pretty lame excuse, even for a guy like you."
I didn't join her. I finished pulling on my jacket. The room felt smaller now, as if my very presence was beginning to crowd the space.
"So," she said, her voice dropping the playfulness as she realized I was already halfway out the door. "Will I see you again?"
"Probably," I replied, checking the weight of my wallet in my pocket. "Assuming your simp boyfriend doesn't try to murder me for the VOD."
Kourtney leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're the one who said you could handle yourself. I'd hate to have your blood on my hands, Erik."
I paused at the threshold, looking back at her. I offered her a thin, humorless smile.
"Trust me," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "If he tries, it'll be his blood on your hands. He won't be able to touch me, Kourtney. Not anymore."
Amusement flickered in her eyes, mixed with a hint of genuine unease as if she could feel the shift in the room.
"I'll call you for another stream if the metrics hold up," I said, my hand on the doorknob.
"Promise?" she asked. There was a desperate edge to it now. It wasn't just about the credits anymore; she was addicted to the power I'd displayed. She wanted to be near that fire again, even if it burned her.
"I don't make promises. I make content," I countered. "Give Abby my greetings. I'm sure she's still processing the 'VIP' experience."
I walked out without looking back, the heavy door clicking shut behind me.
The performance was over. It was time to see what this new body could actually do.
I needed an evaluation.
The [Adult Streaming System] was my engine, but the dungeons were the destination. I wasn't just here to fuck but also to save this world from the mana-beasts that had fractured it. But without a Hunter's License, I was a ghost. I couldn't get into the high-stakes zones legally, and I was still far too weak to force my way past the Association's guards.
I had to play it by the book for now.
I took the same alleyway I'd used to slip into the slums, but the atmosphere had changed.
I had just entered the narrowest stretch when I saw four men stepping out from the shadows to block the exit. I spun around, only to see another four sealing off the entrance.
Eight men. A classic pincer move.
In the center of the forward group, I recognized a familiar face. It was the guy whose arm I'd snapped earlier. He looked pale, his arm held in a makeshift sling, his face twisting in a mix of pain and pure spite.
"Is this the guy that beat you up?" a big, bulky man with a nasty scar across his face asked, stepping forward. His voice was like grinding gravel.
The man with the broken arm nodded frantically, his face flushing. "That's him. That's the bastard."
One of the others whistled, looking me up and down. "Wait... isn't this the guy who was just fucking Boss Balanor's girl on that livestream a few minutes ago?"
"It's definitely him," another one spat, his eyes dark. "His name's Erik."
I recognized the insignias on their jackets immediately. These weren't any random thugs.
They were the Peacekeepers, the local "law" of the slums that served as little more than a glorified protection racket for the bosses.