Kashiwagi Yuuto’s POV
After what felt like an endless stretch of training—day after day of swinging weapons, controlling mana, bruising our bodies, and sharpening instincts we never thought we’d need—we were finally told that our first expedition was approaching.
The announcent didn’t co with fanfare. No dramatic speech, no heroic music playing in the background. Just a calm statent, delivered as if it were routine. And maybe for the people of this world, it was routine. For us, though, it felt different. Heavy. Numbing. The kind of feeling that crawled up your spine and settled in your chest, making it hard to breathe properly.
Terrifying was probably the right word.
Still, there was no avoiding it. If we wanted to go back ho—to our families, our old lives, our familiar world—then this was the path laid out for us. We had to earn it. Fight monsters. Kill things that wanted us dead. Prove that we were worth sending back.
At least, that was how it was supposed to be.
Because lately, I couldn’t shake the feeling that most of my classmates didn’t actually want to return anymore.
It wasn’t subtle. It was written all over their faces, in the way they laughed more easily, stood taller, and moved with a confidence that didn’t exist before. During the nights, the boys were given sexual services by the maids. And it was clearly arranged and clearly intentional. The purpose wasn’t even hidden. It was ant to erode our desire to leave and to tether us emotionally and physically to this world.
And honestly? It worked.
It was only natural. If soone offered you pleasure like that—unfiltered, indulgent, and intoxicating pleasure—how could you not hesitate at the thought of leaving it behind? How could you still cling to the idea of going ho when this world kept rewarding you for staying?
I wasn’t exempt from that.
If anything, my own desire to return had been steadily dimming, flickering like a candle starved of oxygen. I was still aware of it, still clung to it out of habit more than conviction, but it wasn’t as bright as it used to be. Just like any other man, there was no way I could completely resist what was being offered. The pleasure was overwhelming. It was actually borderline addictive. It lingered in my body long after it ended. The mory of warmth on my palms, the unmistakable sensation of skin rubbing against skin, the closeness, the intimacy. It clung to when I trained, when I rested, when I tried not to think about it.
I knew the maids were probably ordered to do those things. I wasn’t naïve. But knowing that didn’t change how it felt. And worse, it didn’t even make care.
That realization disgusted .
In a sense, I was sick. Or maybe I’d always been like this, and this world was just stripping away the parts of that pretended otherwise.
The girls in our class weren’t blind to the change. They could feel it in the air, sense it in the way the boys interacted with them as well as with each other. There was a subtle tension now, an unspoken divide.
One person, in particular, noticed imdiately.
The vice president of the student council—soone infamous for being strict, observant, and uncompromising—had been watching closely. Her gaze lingered just a bit too long whenever our eyes t, and it was as sharp and calculating as ever.
We’d known each other since we were kids. That alone made it impossible for her not to notice when sothing was off.
Her na was Sakai Ayaka.
She was a bespectacled woman with a disciplined posture and a presence that commanded respect without needing to raise her voice. In combat, she favored a thin, standard blade reminiscent of a katana. It suited her perfectly. Instead of bulky armor, she wore light attire that allowed free movent with her every step precise and deliberate. At first glance, it looked almost casual—but a closer look revealed intricate magic embroidery woven into the fabric, designed to prevent monsters from fully piercing her flesh.
The craftsmanship was impressive. Practical, elegant, efficient. It reminded of samurai armor from long ago. It was minimalistic, yet deadly.
It made sense. She wasn’t just the vice president of the student council. She was also the president of the kendo club back ho, a seasoned competitor who had won multiple tournants. That experience shaped her choices here. The thin blade matched what she was used to, and her fighting style was almost unchanged. It was clean, controlled, and disciplined. Watching her fight felt less like watching soone adapt to a new world and more like watching soone reclaim sothing that was already theirs.
"Kashiwagi-kun," she said as she approached , her footsteps light but deliberate. "There’s sothing I want to talk to you about, but... I couldn’t find the right timing."
She paused briefly, adjusting her glasses.
"But this might turn into sothing dangerous, so I’ll just ask. Did sothing happen to you and the other boys?"
Of course she noticed.
Sakai had always had strong intuition. The kind that picked up on subtle shifts, the kind that sensed danger before it fully revealed itself. She was the sa person who noticed the anomaly before we were teleported here in the first place. If anyone could tell sothing was wrong, it was her.
"Nothing happened," I replied smoothly.
"Liar," she said imdiately, without hesitation.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Sothing is happening. All of you feel different. More composed. No... more confident, maybe. I can’t explain it well, but it’s like you’re all acting as if you want to stay in this world forever."
Her gaze locked onto mine.
"Seriously. It’s not sothing like that, right?"
Her suspicion was reasonable. If the boys lost the desire to go ho, then the balance would collapse. It would an she could only trust herself—and maybe a handful of the girls. Judging by their expressions lately, the girls had already started connecting the dots.
"There’s really nothing going on," I said, keeping my tone even. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I honestly feel like I haven’t changed at all."
She frowned.
"You’re telling that," she said quietly, "even though we’ve known each other for years? And don’t act like you haven’t noticed. Even Kubota-kun isn’t acting like himself."
She wasn’t wrong.
Kubota-kun had always been timid, soone who shrank into himself when pressured. Now, he walked around with a relaxed posture, smiling openly, like the world no longer scared him. There was a strange glow about him—not literal, but undeniable. Confidence that didn’t co from training alone.
"I’m telling you," I said, forcing the words out one last ti, "there’s nothing wrong."
She stopped walking.
"I see..." she murmured.
Then she turned away, her back straight, and walked toward the other girls without another word.
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