The air in the training yard tasted of dust and crushed anxiety. Tadao's lungs burned with it. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring the sneering face of Drake, his bully, his curse, the man who held a practice sword pointed at his throat.
"Come on, hero," Drake drawled, the wooden blade tapping Tadao's collarbone. "Channel that mighty mana. Or is today another day of playing the training dummy?"
Around them, the stone walls of the outpost seemed to lean in, spectators to his humiliation. A few off-duty guards lingered in the shade of the barracks, their low chatter a constant buzz at the edge of his hearing. They weren't even watching anymore. His disgrace was too routine to be entertainment.
Tadao gritted his teeth, his fingers white-knuckled around his own practice sword. He willed the energy to come. He pictured the mana core within him, the wellspring of power every being in this damned world possessed. He imagined it glowing, bursting, flooding his limbs with strength. He saw himself, just once, knocking that smug look off Drake's face.
Nothing.
A cold, familiar numbness radiated from the center of his chest, just below his sternum. It was always there, a dead zone. Beneath his tunic, on the skin over that spot, he knew the intricate, spidery lines of a purple tattoo lay inert. The Corrosion Curse. His eighteenth birthday gift from this new world. It didn't just sit there; it fed.
"Pathetic," Drake sighed, a sound of profound boredom. He didn't even bother with a proper stance. He lowered his sword and turned his back, walking toward a barrel of water. "Waste of my morning. I should be training with someone who can actually improve. Like Penny. Now she has instinct."
The name was a needle to a specific nerve. Tadao's grip tightened until the wood groaned. Penny. His girlfriend. Or she had been, back on Earth. Here, she was something else—a creator, a nascent goddess who could shape reality with a thought, who had chosen to chain that divinity to the brute standing before him.
"Don't talk about her," Tadao said, the words scraping out of a dry throat.
Drake turned, a slow, predator's pivot. A genuine smile, wide and ugly, split his face. "Why not? She's my dedicated training partner now. Says she needs to understand 'practical application' of her constructs. Smart girl. Knows real power when she sees it." He took a long drink from a dipper, water sloshing down his chin. "Not like some people, stuck with a dud."
The public complaint. The daily ritual. Drake was a master at it.
"This damn 'Keen Eye' skill," Drake went on, raising his voice for the guards. "Useless! Lets me see weak points. Big deal. What good is seeing a weak point if you're not strong enough to exploit it? I got cheated." He shook his head, the picture of a man burdened by cosmic injustice. "Meanwhile, your moms get 'Skill XXX,' whatever the hells that is, your sisters get it too, your childhood friend Akari is the literal 'Hero'… and you? You get a fancy tattoo and a mana block. Talk about bad luck."
The guards chuckled. One muttered, "Better to have a weak skill than no skill at all, eh, Tadao?"
The numbness in Tadao's chest didn't change, but a different heat ignited behind his eyes—a humiliated, helpless fury. Drake was lying. Tadao didn't know how, but he knew it with a certainty that was its own kind of curse. The way the women in his life looked at Drake now… the subtle changes in his mothers, the new boldness in his sisters' teasing, the distant focus in Penny's eyes… it wasn't because of a simple 'Keen Eye.' Something was happening. And they were all keeping it from him.
"My skill's not the topic," Tadao forced out, lowering his practice sword. "You're just trying to provoke me."
"Provoke you?" Drake laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "Into what? A fainting spell? The only thing you're good at provoking is pity." He dropped the dipper back into the barrel with a clatter. "But fine. Let's change the topic. Your little 'protector' made a deal with me last night."
The training yard seemed to grow very quiet. The buzzing gossip from the guards ceased.
"What deal?" Tadao's voice was flat.
"Penny. Sweet, sacrificial Penny." Drake leaned against the barrel, crossing his arms. His physique, always imposing, seemed to fill the space. "She came to me. Said she was worried about you. Said you were depressed, losing hope. She said…" He paused, savoring the words. "She said if I went easier on you during spars, stopped mocking you in public, she'd become my… dedicated support. Personal crafter. Help me 'reach my full potential.' She thinks she can tame me. How adorable is that?"
The heat behind Tadao's eyes spread, becoming a flush that crawled up his neck. Betrayal, sharp and clean, lanced through him. She went to him. She bargained with him. For his sake. The thought was a vortex of shame and anger. She saw him as so weak he needed her to sell herself to his tormentor for crumbs of mercy.
And beneath the shame, deep in the prison of his own body, the tattoo stirred.
It was a faint pulse at first, a single, dormant vein of the mark twitching to life. A trickle of something warm and vile seeped from it, not through his blood, but through the pathways where his mana should flow. The numbness receded for a heartbeat, replaced by a low, throbbing awareness in his groin.
No. He screamed it in his mind. Not now. Not because of this.
The curse fed on betrayal. On his emotional agony. It converted that pain into a corrupted energy, and its first physical symptom was always this—an involuntary, humiliating arousal. His body, traitor to his heart, began to react to the news of Penny's deal.
"She's trying to protect me," Tadao said, the defense sounding feeble even to him.
"She's making herself useful," Drake corrected, his eyes glinting. "Something you've never managed. She understands how this world works now. Power attracts power. Weakness…" He pushed off the barrel and took a step forward. "…gets used."
The throbbing intensified. Tadao could feel the fabric of his trousers growing taut, a blatant signal he was powerless to stop. Desperation clawed at him. He needed to get out. He needed to be alone before the mark on his chest began to glow, before the visible waves of purple energy gave him away.
"I'm done," Tadao muttered, turning to flee the yard.
"We're not done!" Drake's voice cracked like a whip.
In two strides, he was behind Tadao. His hand, big and calloused, clamped down on Tadao's shoulder, spinning him around. The move was too fast, too strong. The corrupted energy flooding Tadao's system wasn't his; it was the curse's refuse, and it had nowhere to go but into his muscles. It didn't make him a mage. It made him a cornered animal.
As Drake pulled him, Tadao reacted not with skill, but with a panicked, enhanced jerk of his arm. He wrenched himself free, the motion fueled by cursed adrenaline and sheer terror of exposure. The force was unexpected. Drake's grip slipped.
Tadao stumbled back, his practice sword coming up in a wild, defensive arc. It wasn't an attack. It was a flinch given momentum.
The wooden blade connected with the side of Drake's head with a hollow thwock.
The sound echoed in the sudden silence.
Drake stood perfectly still. A red mark bloomed on his temple. His expression, for the first time Tadao could ever remember, was one of pure, unadulterated shock. Then, like a storm cloud blotting out the sun, it darkened into something terrifyingly calm.
The guards were on their feet now, all pretense of disinterest gone.
Tadao's heart hammered against his ribs. The arousal was gone, burned away by a flood of ice-cold fear. The cursed energy receded, leaving him hollow and shaking. "I… I didn't mean…"
"You struck me." Drake's voice was quiet, almost conversational.
"You grabbed me! I was just—"
"You. Struck. Me." Drake enunciated each word. He reached up and touched the red mark, his fingers coming away clean. No blood. Just the promise of a bruise. "In front of witnesses. An unprovoked attack on a superior combatant."
"That's not what happened!" Tadao looked to the guards. Their faces were closed, unreadable. Drake had trained with them, drank with them. He was one of them. Tadao was the strange, powerless boy cluttering up their outpost.
"It's exactly what happened," Drake said. He bent down slowly and picked up his own practice sword. He hefted it, his gaze never leaving Tadao's. "And in this world, there's a price for that. A formal duel. No practice blades. Live steel. Tonight, at dusk, in the main yard." A cruel smile finally returned to his lips. "Unless you want to forfeit now. Publicly. Admit you're too weak and cowardly to face the consequences of your actions. Then pack your things and get out of this outpost."
The ultimatum hung in the dusty air. Run, and be branded a coward forever, leaving Penny and his family under Drake's shadow. Or fight, and be slaughtered. The curse had given him a fleeting spark of physical reaction, not skill. He was still magically null. Drake was a seasoned fighter, empowered by… whatever his real skill was.
Tadao's mouth was desert-dry. He couldn't speak.
Drake nodded as if he'd answered. "Dusk it is. Don't be late." He tossed his practice sword to one of the guards and strode from the yard without a backward glance.
The guards filtered away, leaving Tadao alone in the blinding sun. The trembling started in his hands and worked its way inward until his very bones felt loose. A duel. Live steel. He was going to die tonight, and his last memory would be the look on Penny's face.
He didn't remember walking back to the small, shared chamber he'd been allotted. He just found himself there, sitting on the edge of his thin cot, staring at the rough-hewn planks of the floor. The panic had subsided into a thick, syrupy dread. Time lost meaning.
The door creaked open.
Penny slipped inside, closing it softly behind her. She'd changed out of her crafting leathers into a simple, light dress. Her hair, the color of wheat, was tied back, but strands had escaped to frame her face. She was beautiful. She looked tired.
"Tadao," she breathed, rushing to kneel in front of him. Her hands found his, which were still trembling. "I heard. Drake's people are already talking about it all over the outpost. They're calling it a 'discipline challenge.'"
He couldn't meet her eyes. "You made a deal with him."
She flinched. Her hands tightened on his. "I… I was trying to help. I thought if I could redirect his focus, get him to see value in something other than tormenting you…"
"You offered yourself as a bargaining chip!" The words burst out of him, louder than he intended. He finally looked at her. "For my sake. That doesn't help me, Penny! It just shows him—shows everyone—that I'm so pathetic the woman I love has to prostitute her talent to buy me peace!"
"It's not like that!" Her eyes glistened. "I'm not… I'm using my skills. I'm in control. I can handle Drake. I can changehim. Make him less of a threat to you."
"You can't change a wolf into a sheep," Tadao said, the old world adage feeling foreign on his tongue. "You can only feed it until it's strong enough to eat you." He pulled his hands away. "He told me about the deal to provoke me. That's why I hit him. Your 'help' just signed my death warrant."
Penny's face crumpled. The confident creator, the woman who could conjure bridges from sunlight and swords from thought, looked like a lost girl. "No. No, I'll fix this. I'll talk to him. I'll call off the duel."
"You can't," a new voice said from the doorway.
Akari stood there, leaning against the frame. Tadao's childhood friend, now the isekai'd 'Hero.' She wore practical traveler's gear, a slender sword at her hip. Her expression was grim, all trace of their shared childhood mischief gone, sanded away by the weight of her title. "A publicly issued challenge, accepted by silence, is binding under outpost law. Especially one for 'discipline.' Backing out now would make Tadao an outlaw. They could execute him for cowardice."
"There has to be another way!" Penny stood, facing Akari. "You're the Hero! Command them to stop it!"
Akari's jaw tightened. "My 'command' here is limited, Penny. This isn't a kingdom yet; it's a frontier outpost. Their laws are harsh for a reason. And Drake… he has influence. The guards respect him. I can't just overturn their traditions without cause." Her dark eyes shifted to Tadao. There was pity there, but also a frustrating, pragmatic distance. "Your only chance is to fight."
"Fight with what?" Tadao laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "My stunning personality? My curse activates when I get betrayed or humiliated, not when I need to swing a sword!"
"Then we find another way within the rules," Akari said, stepping fully into the room. "A champion. You can nominate a champion to fight in your stead."
Hope, thin and desperate, flickered in Tadao's chest. "You?"
Akari shook her head. "I cannot. The 'Hero' intervening in a personal discipline matter would be seen as an abuse of station. It would undermine my authority for the real threats we face." She looked at Penny. "But a dedicated support and crafter, acting in defense of her… charge… that could be argued."
Penny's spine straightened. "I'll do it. I'll be his champion."
"No!" Tadao was on his feet. "Absolutely not! I'm not hiding behind you, Penny! This is my fight!"
"It's a fight you'll lose!" Penny shot back, her voice rising. "And then you'll be dead! Don't you get it, Tadao? This isn't about pride anymore! This is about survival! Your stupid male pride is going to get you killed, and then what was any of this for?!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. "I didn't come to this world to watch you die!"
The door opened again, and his mother, Chiasa, entered. His taller, more stern mother, followed by his younger sister, Hana. Their faces were pale, drawn with worry. The small room was now crowded, thick with the scent of fear and desperation.
"We heard," Chiasa said, her voice its usual calm, but her knuckles were white where she gripped her shawl. "Akari is right. The champion loophole is the only path."
"But Penny…" Tadao began.
"Penny is powerful in ways we are still understanding," his other mother, Suki, said softly. She was the quieter of the two, but her eyes held a deep, unsettling intensity lately. "Her constructs are formidable. She has a chance."
Hana, just sixteen but with eyes that seemed older since their arrival, chewed her lip. "Drake won't like it. He'll see it as a trick."
"He'll have to accept it if it's within the code," Akari insisted. "We'll go to the outpost captain now. Penny will formally declare as Tadao's champion. We'll make the case."
It was happening too fast. They were organizing his rescue, his continued helplessness, with swift, pragmatic efficiency. They were a unit, and he was the broken component they were desperately trying to patch. The curse lay dormant on his chest, but he could feel its satisfaction, a psychic purr at the feast of his impotence.
He looked at Penny. Her tears had stopped. In their place was a frightening resolve. Her jaw was set, her shoulders back. In bargaining herself to Drake, something in her had hardened. The innocent girl from Portland was being buried under layers of calculation and grim purpose.
"Penny, please," he whispered, a final, weak protest.
She walked over to him and placed a hand on his cheek. Her touch was warm, but it felt final. "Let me do this for you," she said, her voice low and firm. "It's the only way. Trust me."
He wanted to argue, to rage, to find some scrap of strength within himself. But the well was dry. All he had was the cold, parasitic tattoo and the echoing fear. He nodded, a tiny, defeated motion.
The group moved like a funeral procession to the outpost captain's quarters. The captain, a grizzled man named Gorven, listened to Akari's formal petition with a bored expression. He eyed Penny skeptically.
"A crafter as a champion? In a live steel duel? It's unusual."
"The code allows for any willing defender to stand," Akari stated, her 'Hero' voice firm.
"Aye, it does," Gorven rumbled. He scratched his grizzled chin. "Drake won't be pleased. But the law's the law." He called for a runner. "Fetch Drake. Tell him the terms have a… complication."
They waited in the cramped office. The air was stale with old tobacco and sweat. Tadao stood apart, leaning against a wall, watching his family and friend cluster around Penny, speaking in low, urgent tones. He was a ghost in his own crisis.
Drake arrived quickly. His expression when he saw the gathering was not one of anger, but of cold, analytical interest. He listened as Gorven explained the champion clause.
His eyes found Penny. A slow smile spread across his face. It wasn't a smile of annoyance, but of anticipation. "A champion. How noble." His gaze swept over Tadao, dripping with contempt. "Of course. Why face your own consequences when you can send a woman to do it?"
"Do you accept the champion, or do you forfeit the challenge?" Akari asked, cutting off Tadao's retort.
Drake's eyes lingered on Penny. "Oh, I accept. Gladly. It'll be more interesting than swatting a gnat." He took a step toward Penny, his voice dropping to an intimate pitch that still carried in the small room. "You sure you want to do this, sweetheart? Live steel is messy. You might ruin those pretty hands of yours."
Penny didn't flinch. "I am sure. The duel is at dusk. I'll be there."
Drake's smile widened. He gave a mocking half-bow. "I look forward to it." He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "Oh, and Tadao? Watch closely. This is what real power looks like." Then he was gone.
The rest of the day was a blur of strained preparation. Penny retreated to the workshop, surrounded by his mothers and sisters. Akari was giving tactical advice. Tadao was told, in no uncertain terms, to stay out of the way. He was a liability.
He wandered the outpost like a lost soul. The sun began its slow descent, painting the wooden stockades in long, accusing shadows. Dread solidified in his gut, a cold, heavy stone. This was wrong. All of it was wrong.
As dusk approached, the entire outpost gathered in the main yard. Torches were lit, casting a flickering, hellish glow on the packed dirt. A rough circle was cleared. Gorven stood at one edge, his arms crossed. Drake stood opposite, shirtless, holding a sharp, military-issue longsword with casual ease. He was stretching, his muscles coiling and relaxing under the torchlight. The guards and settlers formed a murmuring ring, their faces eager for the spectacle.
Tadao stood at the front, forced there by his sister Hana. His mothers, Chiasa and Suki, flanked him. Their presence felt less like support and more like a cage.
Then Penny emerged from the crowd.
She wore fitted, reinforced leathers she must have crafted in the hours since. They were sleek, dark, and offered protection without sacrificing mobility. In her hands, she carried not a sword, but a long, elegant staff of a wood that seemed to drink in the torchlight. Its head was a complex, geometric cage of silver, empty for now.
A hush fell over the crowd. She looked ethereal, dangerous. A far cry from the girl who used to worry about her chemistry grade.
She walked to the center of the circle and faced Drake.
Gorven stepped forward. "Terms are clear! A duel to first blood or yield. Champion stands for the challenged, Tadao. Drake is the challenger. Fight clean. Begin on my mark." He looked at both of them, then raised his arm. "Begin!"
Drake didn't charge. He sauntered forward, sword held low. "Nice stick," he said. "What's it do?"
Penny didn't answer. She planted her feet and spun the staff. The motion was fluid, practiced. From the geometric cage at its head, light erupted. Not a blunt force, but a net—a shimmering, golden web of energy that shot toward Drake.
He was fast. He dove to the side, the net missing him by inches and dissipating against the dirt with a sizzle. He came up grinning. "Cute!"
He lunged. His sword was a blur of steel. Penny brought her staff up in a parry. The clash of metal on the strange wood echoed—CLANG-THUMM. The force of the blow drove her back a step, but she held. She twisted the staff, and the cage-head flared again. This time, a dozen small, darting orbs of light shot out, buzzing around Drake's head like angry wasps.
He swore, swatting at them with his free hand. One connected with his shoulder and burst in a small shower of sparks, making him grunt. He stopped playing. His expression hardened, and he moved in with brutal, efficient strikes. High, low, a thrust at her midsection.
Penny danced back, her staff a whirling shield. She was holding her own, but it was defensive. She was reacting, not acting. Tadao watched, his heart in his throat. Every clash of steel made him flinch. This was his fault.
Drake feinted high and swept low. The tip of his sword grazed Penny's thigh, slicing through the leather. A line of red appeared. The crowd gasped.
First blood.
But Gorven didn't call it. A champion duel, it seemed, had different rules.
Penny cried out, more in surprise than pain, and staggered. Drake pressed his advantage, his attacks becoming a relentless barrage. Penny's blocks grew more desperate. She was tiring. She tried to summon another construct, a shield of light, but it flickered and died under the onslaught of Drake's assault.
"Yield!" Drake roared, hammering a blow down on her raised staff. It buckled in her hands.
"Never!" she screamed back, her voice strained.
In that moment, Tadao saw it. The look in Drake's eyes. It wasn't just about winning. It was about breaking. About proving a point to everyone watching, especially to him.
With a final, powerful twist, Drake knocked the staff from Penny's grip. It clattered to the dirt, its light extinguished. She was defenseless, panting, one hand pressed to her bleeding leg.
Drake stepped in, point of his sword rising to her throat. "Yield. Or I make the next cut permanent."
The yard was silent. All eyes were on Penny. On the sword at her neck. On Tadao, standing helpless.
Penny's eyes, wide with fear and pain, found Tadao's across the circle. He saw the apology in them. The failure. Then her gaze shifted back to Drake. Her shoulders slumped. The fight left her.
"I yield," she whispered.
A roar went up from the guards. Drake lowered his sword, a conqueror's smile on his face. He didn't look at Gorven. He looked at Tadao.
"The champion has yielded!" Gorven announced. "The challenge is satisfied. Drake is victor."
But Drake wasn't finished. He reached out, not with violence, but with a possessive certainty. He cupped the back of Penny's neck, pulling her close. He leaned down, his mouth next to her ear, but his voice carried in the sudden quiet.
"You fought well," he said, loud enough for all to hear. "For a beginner. You have spirit. I like that." His other hand came up, thumb brushing the cut on her thigh, smearing the blood. Penny stiffened but didn't pull away. She just stared at the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion and shame.
Tadao's world tunneled. The crowd's noise faded to a dull roar. All he could see was Drake's hand on Penny's neck, his thumb in her blood. The betrayal was complete. Public. Utter.
And deep in his chest, the Corrosion Curse awoke with a vengeance.
It was not a twitch. It was an eruption. The tattoo burned, a brand of ice and fire. A wave of corrupted purple energy, visible as a heat-shimmer, pulsed from his body. The torches around the yard guttered. A few nearby spectators shivered, rubbing their arms, unaware of the source.
The parasitic mana cycle ignited. The agony of watching Penny yield, the humiliation of her being touched so publicly by his enemy—the curse converted it, distilled it into a vile, electric current that shot through his stagnant pathways. It bypassed his mind, went straight to his flesh.
Arousal, intense and utterly unwanted, slammed into him. It was a physical convulsion. His breath caught. His knees nearly buckled. He felt himself harden painfully against his trousers, a blatant, sickening betrayal of his own heart. Heat flooded his face, a mix of shame and the curse's corrupted power.
No no no no…
But the curse wasn't done feeding.
The world lurched.
It was a sensation like being yanked backward by a hook behind his navel. The torchlight, the crowd, the dirt—they all blurred into streaking colors. A dizzying, nauseating sense of movement without moving.
Then it stopped.
He was still in the yard, but he was floating, weightless, three feet above the ground and ten feet from where his body still stood, rigid and trembling. He looked down. He saw himself—the real Tadao, his face pale and twisted in a silent rictus of shame and arousal. He saw his mothers grabbing his arms, their mouths moving, asking what was wrong. He saw Hana staring at his crotch, her eyes wide with horrified confusion.
He was outside himself. An invisible ghost.
Astral projection. The curse's cruelest gift.
He tried to scream, to tell them he was here, but he had no mouth. He tried to move toward his body, but he was anchored in place, a spectator on an invisible leash.
His ghostly perspective was pulled, not by his will, but by the curse's hungry intent. It swung him around, forcing his view across the circle, to where the focus of his betrayal stood.
Drake was leading Penny away from the dispersing crowd, his arm now around her shoulders, a gesture of support that looked like ownership. They were headed toward the quieter, shadowed area near the stables. Penny was limping, leaning into him. She wasn't fighting it.
The curse compelled Tadao to follow. He drifted after them, a silent, helpless phantom.
Drake guided Penny into a secluded alcove formed by the stable wall and a stack of hay bales. The torchlight from the main yard didn't reach here; it was a pool of deep shadow. Drake propped her against the wall.
"You're shaking," he said, his voice different now. Softer. Intimate.
"I'm c-cold," Penny stammered. "And my leg…"
"Let me see." Drake knelt, his hands going to the cut on her thigh. Tadao's ghostly form hovered right beside them, unable to look away. Drake's fingers were gentle as he examined the wound. "Superficial. You'll live." He looked up at her, his face half in shadow. "You were amazing out there. You really thought you could beat me."
"I had to try," she whispered.
"For him." Drake didn't make it a question. He stood up, looming over her. "It's pathetic. You have power he can't even dream of, and you waste it on a lost cause."
"He's not lost," Penny said, but the defiance was gone from her voice. It was a habit, not a belief.
"Look at what he is, Penny," Drake murmured, moving closer. He placed a hand on the wall beside her head, caging her in. "Look at what he makes you do. He makes you beg. He makes you bleed. For nothing." His other hand came up and brushed a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. "What do you want?"
Penny's breath hitched. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his in the dark. "I… I want to be strong. I want to not be afraid."
"Then stop clinging to the anchor that's drowning you." Drake's voice was a low, compelling thrum. "Strength attracts strength. I see what you are. What you could be. With me, you wouldn't have to be a shield for a coward. You could be a sword. A queen."
He leaned in closer. His face was inches from hers. Tadao's ghostly consciousness screamed, a silent, frantic protest.
Penny didn't pull away. She was crying, silent tears cutting tracks through the dust on her cheeks. But she was looking at his mouth. "Drake…"
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his breath mingling with hers. "And I will. But be honest. Is that really what you want?"
Penny closed her eyes. A full-body shudder went through her. When she opened them, the last of her resistance was gone. It was replaced by a hollow, exhausted surrender. She didn't speak. She simply tilted her face up, a fraction of an inch.
It was permission enough.
Drake closed the distance.
Tadao watched, a prisoner in the air, as his bully, his enemy, kissed his girlfriend. It was not a violent kiss. It was slow. Deep. Possessive. Penny's hands, which had been clenched at her sides, came up and gripped the leather straps on Drake's chest. Not to push him away. To hold on.
The kiss lasted an eternity. A universe of betrayal contained in the meeting of their lips.
As they broke apart, Drake smiled against her mouth. "Good girl," he murmured, the words a puff of air in the dark.
And in that moment, back in the crowded yard, the real Tadao's body—fueled by the ultimate defilement, the kiss fresh with the evidence of her surrender—experienced a second, cataclysmic surge from the curse. The corrupted mana, supercharged by the scene he was forced to witness, flooded his system. It was too much. His eyes, staring blankly ahead at the spot where his ghostly self watched, rolled back into his head.
His body went rigid, then limp, collapsing into the arms of his horrified mothers as darkness claimed him.