fter the meal, Kagura had hoped to linger with Miura or escort Yukino home, but a peculiar text disrupted his plans. Sent from his own number, addressed to himself, it read: [Kagura, you're dining out with Yukino and Yumiko, right? Don't dawdle—come back quick. I've got urgent business.]
"How odd…" Kagura muttered, staring at the message, lips pursed, as he settled into Nao's car.
"Is something troubling you?" Nao inquired politely.
"Nothing… Just drive safely and get me home fast."
"Understood."
Nao accelerated, whisking Kagura home. The real strangeness, however, was just beginning.
Checking the time—6:27 PM—before entering, Kagura opened his bedroom door and froze. Not because Sayuri or Nao were engaged in anything scandalous, but because an impossible figure stood there: Sawamura Spencer Kagura—himself.
The other Kagura wore a tattered suit, face smudged with grime, hair half-singed. Whatever "he" had endured was a mystery, but seeing an identical doppelgänger in his room jolted Kagura. He summoned the system, but it was unresponsive, as if "out of service."
"Be not afraid," the suited Kagura said, echoing biblical angels, yet this did little to ease Kagura's wariness. He scanned for a stick or weapon, ready to force answers from this "impostor."
"Sigh…" The suited Kagura rubbed his singed hair, chuckling bitterly. "Come in. I'm you, from forty years hence. You don't want us both spotted, do you? Shut and lock the door."
"What…?"
Kagura's eyes widened. Forty years? He'd be fifty-seven, yet this figure looked eternally eighteen, frozen in youth.
Facing a mirror image claiming his name, Kagura's first thought was replacement—a threat. He stayed on guard.
"Tch… You don't trust me. Fine," the suited Kagura mused, stroking his chin. "Recently, you gained the [Inflated Semen] ability, expanding semen up to two thousand times. You used it to fill Kawasaki Saki's rear. Only you, the system, and the heavens know, right?"
"That's…"
Kagura's heart raced—it was true. Still cautious, he stepped inside, locking the door with a click behind him.
"What's going on?"
Scrutinizing the disheveled "himself," Kagura frowned. A future self from forty years ahead? The notion of time travel chilled him.
"No rush. Let's clarify: it's April 20, 20XX, correct?" The suited Kagura flashed his left wristwatch, identical to Kagura's but worn, cracked, with a newer strap, boosting Kagura's trust slightly.
"So… what's the deal?"
"Impatient youth," the suited Kagura sighed, snapping his fingers. "I'm you, so I can't judge. A glass of champagne, please."
"…Now you're drinking?"
Kagura was floored. Was his future self this cryptic and leisurely?
"Hahaha! My mouth's still smoldering—can't I have a drink?" The suited Kagura slapped the bed, laughing, then sobered. "I'm here to save you—us. Noticed the system's offline?"
"Yep."
"That's because I hold its control. My system, forty years advanced, is stronger. One timeline can't handle two systems, though it tolerates two 'us.'"
"Fair…" Kagura kept his distance, arms crossed. "You're here to save me—how?"
"Look at my state," the suited Kagura coughed, thumbing himself. "Forty years from now, April 20, a catastrophe struck. Our wife died of illness, prompting my decision."
"What…?"
The revelation hit Kagura like a tsunami.
"You're wondering why I haven't aged, right?" The suited Kagura reclined wearily, casting a Cleanse to tidy himself, explaining softly, "A unique system item: the Golden Apple."
"Never heard of it."
"As expected. You wouldn't encounter it until next year."
"What's it do?"
"Like C.C.'s Code in Code Geass," he rasped, pointing to his throat. "Get me a drink, quick."
"Fine…"
Kagura tossed him a lemon tea from the fridge.
The suited Kagura gulped it, exhaling, "Saved! Fuck!"
"So, the Golden Apple grants immortality?"
"Correct, plus rapid regeneration. Even reduced to ash, I'd revert to the moment I consumed it."
"Damn…" Kagura eyed him. "Only one Golden Apple, and you ate it?"
"Exactly, just one in my time," he sighed, leg crossed. "The system fed it to me automatically. Lovers aged, while I stayed young. Cruel, isn't it?"
"Very."
"Especially watching Mother grow frail while I remain youthful—it's agonizing."
"…Unimaginable."
Kagura's gaze sharpened, fist clenching.
"That's why I'm here—to alter the future."
The suited Kagura approached, as if to pat his shoulder.
"Don't move," Kagura snapped, brandishing a letter opener from his desk, aiming it at him. "If they all died, how are you so callous? I see no grief."
"Simple: I grieved for months. Only on April 19 did I find a way back forty years," he replied calmly, guiding Kagura's blade to his throat. "Distrust me if you must, but don't regret it in forty years."
"…What's this mess?"
Kagura withdrew the blade, rubbing his head in frustration.
"Truth is, I've lived this tragedy over ten thousand times, yet you let it repeat," the suited Kagura said, perching on the mahogany desk.
"I've got no memory of that."
"Nor should you," he said, glancing at his watch. "Protect this watch. After ten thousand cycles, I'm choosing differently this time, betting the future on you."
"That's… heavy."
Kagura fetched a fine champagne, pouring for both. They clinked glasses, the suited Kagura grinning, "Questions?"
"Tons!" Kagura burned with curiosity—future spouse, Nao's fate, Eriri, Sayuri.
"To avoid paradoxes, one question only."
"…" After a pause, Kagura asked gravely, "How do I save them?"
"Knew you'd ask," he said, patting Kagura's shoulder approvingly. "Ten thousand yous asked the same."
"Then why ask me?"
"Hahaha! Last time, forgive me," he said, downing his champagne. Setting his watch on the desk, he pointed, "Before, I'd detail plans, but unforeseen events always thwarted them. This time, I'll sacrifice myself."
He lied—his true issue was never securing enough Golden Apples for his harem, forcing some to face illness and death, unbearable for him.
"Your sacrifice erases me, doesn't it?"
"No. If you live safely to forty years hence, you become me. We're one, just from different timelines."
He raised his empty glass; Kagura refilled it.
"What's your plan?"
Kagura now trusted him eighty percent.
"Time travel's no picnic. I barely gathered the props to return and warn you. To prevent another cycle, I'll sacrifice myself to upgrade your system."
"The system upgrades?"
"Slightly."
He flashed a gesture banned in Korea.
"…" Kagura drained his champagne, tossed the letter opener, and asked, "How?"
"Take my hand."
The suited Kagura extended his right, palm up.
"Wait, one more question!" Kagura pleaded, desperate to know his future spouse.
"You'll marry Shiina Mashiro," he said, winking. "You've asked ten thousand times."
"…?!"
Kagura's mind blanked.
The suited Kagura knew Mashiro was just the start; eventually, Kagura would wed his entire harem. No lie there.
"Come on, time's short."
He glanced at the clock, urging.
"Alright…"
Kagura exhaled, clasping his hand tightly.
"How's the new system work?"
"You'll see."
"How do I get Golden Apples?"
"Certain women carry random 'points' on five body parts: throat, chest, vagina, intestines, feet. Ten milliliters of your semen on these grants 20 points each, totaling 100 or 200 per woman."
"You didn't find enough?"
The suited Kagura smiled, silent.
Suddenly, the world spun, time accelerating ten thousandfold. Shadows darted through the room—on the bed, by the window—day and night flickered, lights and candles danced, women's nude forms flashed, piano notes and moans intertwined.
The suited Kagura spoke, but Kagura couldn't hear, his form fading into the blurred backdrop.
"Am I being sent forty years forward?"
Everything froze, then rewound rapidly. The suited Kagura, eyes closed, smiled serenely, nearly transparent. He mouthed, "I entrust it to you, past me."
His form dissolved into golden sparks, scattering across the room.
Stunned, Kagura touched his face, checking his phone: April 20, 20XX, 6:27 PM. The champagne glasses and half-drunk bottle remained, yet no time had passed.
The future Kagura's watch showed the same time, but forty years hence, its glass cracked, body scratched, though the strap and face were intact. Kagura resolved to wear it always.
"Chilling…" He downed a champagne to calm himself, then summoned, "Auxiliary system!"
"Greetings, Lord Kagura. At your service."
In the familiar white system space, nothing seemed changed. "What's a Golden Apple? How do I get it?"
"Per system records, you've used a Golden Apple. Need a re-explanation?"
"I… used it?!"
Kagura clutched his chest, incredulous.
"Correct."
"Hold on, end service."
Back in reality, he nicked his left arm with the letter opener. Blood seeped, then stopped, flowing backward as the wound sealed instantly.
"No way…"
The future Kagura had sacrificed himself, transferring the Golden Apple's power, upgrading the system, and entrusting the future to him.
This immortality was a burden. While he'd remain ageless, his loved ones faced time's ravages. Without more Golden Apples, he'd watch them age, wither, and die in his arms—a terrifying prospect.
No wonder the future Kagura came after forty years. Sayuri would be over seventy, Nao and Eriri nearing sixty, all struggling to face his youthful self.
He re-entered the system space. "How do I get Golden Apples?"
"Certain women bear hidden points on five areas: throat, chest, vagina, intestines, feet. Ten milliliters of semen grants 20 points per area, yielding 100 or 200 points per woman."
"Points… Got it."
Women with points could yield at least 100; those without, nothing, no matter the effort.
"Each 100 points redeems one Golden Apple. Women you've been intimate with pre-upgrade can't trigger points."
Kagura caught the crux: the system was upgraded, and Nao and Kawasaki couldn't yield points. Earning Golden Apples via others meant choosing who received them—unless a woman offered 200 points for two.
"So, the key's women with 200 points, right?"
"You decide who receives Golden Apples; the system doesn't interfere."
"Devious!"
The system didn't reveal who held double points, forcing Kagura to search blindly. The future Kagura's silence suggested randomness across ten thousand cycles; fixed targets would've been identified.
The brute-force approach—bedding every schoolgirl—was untenable. Without emotional bonds, Kagura wouldn't act. Even Kawasaki barely qualified.
"One last reminder," the system added.
"Speak."
"Mutual affection is required to trigger points. Without it, even eligible women won't yield points."
"That kills the brute-force plan."
Irritated, Kagura dismissed the system. The upgrade merely unlocked Golden Apples and points early—normally a year away.
"If affection grows later, can initially untriggered points activate?"
"With sufficient affection, all triggerable points will, rendering force or manipulation useless."
"Got it."
Like Geass, his two remaining uses could command "love me," but success was unlikely.
The best plan: find a new "girlfriend" and immerse her in a semen-filled tub, instantly hitting all points. But he'd need a willing partner. Miura Yumiko was the likeliest candidate.
"How many women can trigger points?"
"Sorry, it's random, tied to your future choices and bounties."
"Like an eternal eroge."
"How do I identify point-bearers?"
"Non-triggering and double-point women show no signs, but 100-point women may awaken unique abilities. If awakened, three consecutive ejaculations inside her let you copy her ability, overwritten by the next such woman."
"Sounds like an R18 Yamada-kun and the Seven Witches."
Chuckling, Kagura exited the system space, poured another champagne, and pondered. The crux was 200-point women. Earning one Golden Apple via a 100-point woman was a zero-sum game. If he used Yui or Yukino to gain Apples for Nao and Kawasaki, he couldn't neglect them. Hiding their point potential was unfair—once intimate, he'd take responsibility equally.
No wonder the future Kagura looped so often for a perfect outcome.
The shock of immortality left Kagura dazed for three days, grappling with his new reality. Tests showed pulled hair regrew in a day, teeth regenerated instantly, and bleeding wounds healed rapidly, though nails and hair were slower.
By Tuesday afternoon, April 23, he'd mostly adjusted.
At 6:30 PM, rain fell. Spring-summer showers wove fine threads, dampening the earth. Dark clouds churned over the sea, staining its blue to inky black, swallowing colorless raindrops. The estate's pines and evergreens gleamed, but distant hills and homes blurred under a frosted filter. In the garden, roses bloomed quietly, petals adorned with crystalline dew.
"Phew… Rainy days are perfect for piano."
After dinner and a few pieces, Kagura's mood lifted, thanks to the rain, music, and the drowsy beauty beside him.
Qiong straddled a low-backed chair—borrowed from Eriri's studio—unladylike, arms draped over the back, chin resting, eyes closed, dozing to his music. Her spread legs, shielded by a long skirt and solid chairback, avoided impropriety, though the pose was bold.
Today was April 23; in hours, Qiong's birthday would arrive. Months younger than Kagura, she'd turn seventeen.
Hearing his comment, Qiong shifted her head, murmuring, "Done already?"
"Played two pieces. What's… uh, Qiong want next?"
Nearly slipping with "Little Qiong," Kagura corrected himself.
"Whatever… I don't know music."
Qiong, eyes closed, chin on the chairback, replied casually.
You play, I love.
"Then how about Love—"
"Not The Irish Lover."
Qiong's hands flattened on the chairback, head lifting, chin grazing her hands, her pose reminiscent of a Uyghur neck-twist dance. Her stern, slightly miffed expression nearly made Kagura laugh.
"Man, I love that piece."
"I don't."
"Didn't you say 'whatever'?"
"I meant loosely, not that loose."
"…Your definition of 'whatever' is a mystery." On the piano bench, Kagura cracked his knuckles, then stretched, spine popping. Qiong's white brow arched. "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Used to it."
"Weird habit."
"To you, maybe."
Shrugging, Kagura placed his hands on the keys.
"What're you playing?"
"What does Qiong want?"
"Doesn't have to be my pick… Play what you want." Qiong shifted, side-sitting, chin on her arm, lazily asking, "By the way… You planned to gift me a piece for my birthday, right?"
"Yep."
"Composed it yet?"
Her squinted eyes teased, provocative.
"Uh…" Kagura hissed, scratching his forehead. "Didn't you say… no need for a piece?"
"So you forgot entirely?"
"No way! I've got a third done."
He thumped his chest, prepared.
"Oh…" Qiong deflated, as if robbed of a complaint, then lounged on her arm, eyes closed. "Got a title, or waiting till it's done?"
"I've got one."
"Spill it."
Qiong peeked with her left eye, then closed it.
"Well…" Glancing at Qiong—resting yet radiating allure—Kagura said shyly, "Naming an unfinished piece feels embarrassing."
"Hmph. No title, say so. No composition, admit it. Don't dodge with lies."
"I did compose a third, and I named it."
"Then say," Qiong said, chin on hand, eyes slits. "Think I'll mock you?"
"Not exactly…"
"Of course not. What right have I to judge your music?"
Qiong flicked her foot, her white lace ankle socks and Mary Janes encasing a delicate ankle, tantalizing Kagura. Her exposed calf, peeking from her skirt, was exquisite, making him ponder: Why did kin like Eriri and Qiong feel so alluring? Especially Qiong—ignorance of their relation was fine, but knowing intensified his awareness.
"Hahaha…" Kagura coughed, standing. "I named your piece As If a Clear Sky."
Qiong's expression froze, then she chuckled softly, cheeks pink, lips twisting left—bashful or annoyed, she turned away. "What a shamelessly sappy name."
"You said no mocking!"
"I'm not. Just stating facts." After a pause, she rubbed her arm, smiling, "Still, it sounds nicer than The Irish Lover."
"Still hung up on that?"
"You picked such a cringey name. Even the doll maid freaked out, right?"
"…Hahaha!"
Recalling Nao's mortified protests, Kagura laughed aloud.
Their eyes met; Qiong covered her mouth, giggling.
"Fine… I don't want an unfinished piece," Qiong said, toying with her right ponytail, eyes distant. "Blameyou. Play that."
Her favorite, it was middling to Kagura but acceptable. Music, like taste, varied.
Professionally, he found it overly deliberate, nostalgic, romanticized, and exaggerated.
"Better on bass or guitar. Piano feels off."
"No, I want piano."
Qiong's tone turned coy, reclining, her mousse-like twin tails dangling near the floor.
"Alright…" Kagura bowed to her. "Please enjoy Blameyou."
"Play already…"
Eyes closed, Qiong pouted where he couldn't see.
As he played, Qiong's faint humming reached him. Pretending not to notice, he focused.
After, Qiong savored the moment, licking her fingers. "You transposed it?"
"Sharp ears."
"Don't treat me like an idiot…" She huffed, resuming her spread-legged pose, wiggling her feet. "The shoes?"
"Shoes… Oh, delivered tomorrow morning."
"Thought you'd give them today. Waited all this time."
Qiong slumped, forehead on the chairback, sighing.
"Birthday's tomorrow…"
Kagura chuckled.
"Don't care. I want them now. Can't I?"
"Such a kid, Qiong. Same as ever."
"Hmph. I'm impatient and hold grudges."
Kagura thought she knew herself well.
"Oh, about the shoes—I took some liberties."
"What? Wrong color?"
Qiong sprang up like a coiled spring.
"Nope, got both black and white."
"…Fine, black's good." Flicking her ponytail, she sat, legs crossed, chair facing him. "So presumptuous."
"Sorry, thought you'd look great in white too."
"Really…?"
Qiong touched her chest, musing, If you say so…
"Also," Kagura scratched his cheek, sheepish, "I got you some stockings."
"…"
Qiong stared, her gaze half-scornful, half-prodding, unreadable.
"Uh… Hate them? I know you like tights."
"Not really… Can't say without seeing them." Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "You really love stockings…"
"Don't misunderstand! The shoe link recommended them, so I bought some…"
"Gifting a girl stockings is a bit much…" She squinted, piercing his soul, then smirked, "Pervert."
"Ugh…"
Kagura's head drooped, hands falling from the keys.
"Caught you staring at my legs and feet. Got you worked up?"
Her teasing grin sparkled, lips curled.
"No way, don't be ridiculous."
He retorted, guilty.
"Sure, sure."
She dragged the words mockingly.
"Guess I'll return the stockings then."
"You presumed too much."
"Fine, I'll cancel now."
"No—!" Qiong stretched, standing, adjusting her dress straps, yawning. "Let me see them. If they're not too wild, I'll try them. Been wanting cute stockings anyway—two pairs got runs."
Lifting her skirt past her knee, she raised her leg, pointing. "Here, inner thigh, snagged."