Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 4: The Infirmary’s Unexpected Surprise

Alright. So, there’s exactly one place at Lincoln High that could ever possibly compete with the sacred sanctuary that is the computer lab. And I swear on my cracked phone screen, every guy at this school would back up like its gospel.

The infirmary.

Not just a dical room. Not just a place where you go when you fake a sprained wrist during PE. No. This place? This is a fucking shrine. A temple. A high school boy’s holy ground.

Because soone on the school board — I don’t know who, but I hope they get promoted and sainted — made a strategic decision. They saw the candidate list and were like, "Y’know what? Let’s go with the one that’ll cause a sudden, completely unexplainable spike in concussions, groin pulls, and ’persistent chest tightness’ among the male population."

And so, they hired Nurse Valentina Luna.

Let break it down for you. This woman is the sole reason "nurse and student" is the most searched porn category on Lincoln High’s Wi-Fi. She’s like if you asked an AI to generate the most painfully hot Latina nurse imaginable, then told it to crank the settings to "destroy male attention spans."

And calling her a Latina goddess honestly felt like selling it short. She had curves that made geotry illegal.

Legs that looked Photoshopped in real life. And her smile? Bro. Her smile could make you forget your na, your locker combo, your entire sense of self-worth. And the scrubs? Yeah, scrubs are supposed to be loose and all "respectable dical professional."

But sohow, on her, they looked like they’d been stitched by sexy demons who hate teen boys and wanted us to suffer.

Torture couture.

So yeah—waking up here, after getting my brain yeeted into another dinsion by Jack Morrison’s roid-rage punch and getting folded like a lawn chair, should’ve felt like winning the consolation lottery. Like, okay, my skull got rearranged, but at least now I had a solid excuse to lie here while she checked my "vitals" and said words like "disorientation" with those soft lips and that voice.

Free front-row seat to Nurse Luna: The Live Experience.

But there’s sothing seriously screwing with my vision right now, and it’s completely ruining my opportunity to ogle the hottest woman in a fifty-mile radius.

Like, imagine you wake up expecting soft lighting, perfect cleavage, and the faint scent of vanilla lotion... and instead, you get weird-ass floating text hovering in your face like you accidentally activated Iron Man’s HUD in demo mode.

It was there. Just there. Dark letters hanging in the air like a glitchy AR overlay, right in the middle of reality.

I blinked.

It didn’t go away.

I slowly reached up, half-hoping I was hallucinating and this would confirm it.

My hand passed through it.

Clean. No resistance. No sensation. Just... air.

Which is exactly the kind of thing you want to experience after being turned into a human speed bag by a pissed-off quarterback. Aweso. Totally not alarming at all.

I tried again, waving my fingers like I was swatting a hologram mosquito. Sa result.

So yeah. Either I was concussed enough to be tripping major balls, or I’d sohow landed myself in the world’s worst ani adaptation.

And honestly? Considering the amount of system-fantasy, isekai, reincarnation novels, magas I’ve read in the dark until at 3AM while eating cold Pop-Tarts... this all felt a little too on-brand.

Classic . Knocked out by Jack Morrison’s protein-fueled fist and now hallucinating my own personal ani plotline.

sick.

Yeah, that tracks. Brain trauma courtesy of Lincoln High’s golden boy. Fantastic.

But hey, if my neurons are misfiring enough to create this elaborate hallucination, might as well lean into the crazy, right?

"System..." Yes. Out loud. I said it. Kill .

"Did you say sothing, sweetie?" I flinched like I’d been caught watching porn in church.

There she was.

Nurse Luna. Heels clicking like a countdown to my social death. And yeah, if she looked illegal before, now she was just committing full-on war cris against fabric restraint.

Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail so hot it made consider confessing to cris I hadn’t even committed just to stay in the room longer. Her scrubs hugged her like she owed them money. She was sunlight and sin and the only reason I didn’t imdiately try to fake another injury.

"Uh—nope. Just, y’know... talking to myself." Real smooth, Peter. Real fucking smooth.

She gave this worried little tilt of her head — that perfect nurse face, all concerned and nurturing — and I swear my heart hiccuped like a cartoon.

"Head injuries can cause disorientation," she said gently. "Just rest, okay?"

Right. Sure. No problem. I’ll just sit here, surrounded by glitchy floating words and inner thoughts about a woman who is probably legally required to report to HR if I look at her the wrong way.

Totally normal Tuesday.

Brain damage, thirst, and mysterious sci-fi hallucinations.

Welco to my life.

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