"I hate NTR..."
Kenzo muttered bitterly, standing stiffly in front of a dust-streaked mirror.
His eyes locked onto the reflection staring back at him—
A towering figure, 6'4; and over 450 pounds of pure, grotesque flesh.
The sight made Kenzo's stomach churn.
Greasy strands of blonde hair clung to his scalp in limp clumps, while his narrowed, beady blue eyes sat buried under folds of puffed-up flesh and perpetual sweat.
He looked like a monster.
Worse, he knew exactly what he was.
The "ugly bastard."
The archetypal antagonist of every NTR manga he loathed.
"No… this can't be real," Kenzo whispered, voice trembling as he slowly took a step back.
His entire body jiggled with the motion, a sickening ripple of flesh that made him want to gag.
Every breath was a struggle.
His lungs burned like they were filled with smoke, and he could already feel his pulse pounding in his ears.
"God, I can't even move without feeling like I'm dying…"
Kenzo's knees buckled, and he flopped down heavily onto the edge of a stained mattress.
The old springs groaned under his weight, nearly collapsing inward as if surrendering.
Sweat coated his forehead like a second skin, and he wiped it away with the back of his thick forearm.
He tried to breathe.
Tried to think.
Was this a dream?
A curse?
Some kind of cosmic punishment?
Kenzo searched for logic, for memory—anything that could explain why he'd woken up in this grotesque parody of a human body.
Then he noticed the room.
It reeked of mildew and old food, the kind of stale, choking scent that stuck to your tongue.
Trash overflowed from a cracked plastic bin.
A monitor blinked faintly in the corner, surrounded by empty cans and half-eaten instant noodles.
And in the far corner, like a punchline to the nightmare, was a small mountain of crusty, stiff socks.
Kenzo blinked.
"What the fuck..."
He breathed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose in disbelief, trying to block out the stinging light and the unbearable smell.
He wanted to scream.
Or puke.
Or maybe both.
Kenzo refused to believe it.
'This can't be real.'
Still desperate for an escape, he pinched his forearm—hard.
The sting bit through his skin, making him wince, but the world didn't dissolve.
No warm bed, no normal body waiting for him on the other side of sleep.
Just the same oppressive room.
The same foul air.
The same grotesque body.
"Fuck…" Kenzo whispered.
With a grunt, he forced himself up, using every ounce of strength he could muster.
His arms trembled, legs shaking beneath the sheer weight he carried.
Beads of sweat rolled down his face and neck as he heaved himself upright, gasping from the effort.
Each step toward the bathroom felt like wading through cement.
The small bathroom barely contained him—cramped, humid, and uncomfortably tight.
Kenzo turned the faucet, and rusty water sputtered out before flowing steady.
He cupped it in his large, calloused hands and splashed his face over and over, as if the shock of cold water might somehow rip him out of this nightmare.
It didn't.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror once again.
Nothing had changed.
"Am I really the antagonist… of that NTR manga?" Kenzo muttered.
Suddenly—
A shrill, mechanical ringing echoed faintly through the apartment.
Kenzo turned off the water and listened.
The sound was coming from the main room, muffled beneath a pile of dirty laundry.
He followed it; the floorboards creaking under each step.
Digging through oversized, sweat-stained shirts, he uncovered the source—a phone.
An old, grimy model with cracks webbed across the screen, but still functional.
As he picked it up…
Kenzo unlocked it without thinking.
The passcode flowed from muscle memory, not conscious thought.
The home screen greeted him: 7:00 a.m., Monday.
The wallpaper: A naked anime milf.
His schedule also showed that he had classes today.
"Wait… in the NTR manga, the story starts at the academy. So… has it already begun?"
Panic crept into Kenzo's voice as he fumbled through the cracked phone.
His fingers moved quickly, greasy thumbs tapping the screen as he navigated to the camera roll.
Images loaded slowly, but he breathed a massive sigh of relief when he saw it—nothing.
No nudes. No blackmail folders. No hidden albums.
Just… Porn.
A lot of porn…
"Thank God…" Kenzo muttered, placing a hand on his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat slowly ease.
He remembered all too well how the original version of this character—this disgusting freak—had manipulated and ruined lives.
Blackmail. Coercion. Exploiting people's weaknesses.
The photos had been the first step.
The start of the slippery, vile descent that turned this man into a full-blown NTR villain.
But the absence of those photos meant one thing: the story hadn't begun yet.
Meaning… He hadn't crossed that line.
"I'm not going to follow the script."
Kenzo wouldn't become that person.
He wouldn't play the part of the monster.
If fate had dropped him into this story, then he'd damn well change the plot.
"I refuse to cuck the protagonist. Let him have his happy life. I'll have mine."
With a deep breath and a determined grunt, Kenzo began rummaging through the clutter in search of the academy uniform.
It took effort—his oversized body wasn't exactly agile, and the room looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years—but eventually, he found the wrinkled garments stuffed at the back of a drawer.
A white shirt, a blazer just barely able to stretch over his torso, slacks that clung tightly to his thick legs.
"It's a tight fit… but it'll do."
Kenzo stared at himself one last time in the mirror.
He still hated the reflection.
But now, there was something different in his eyes—something new.
Determination.
"If I'm stuck as the ugly bastard… then I'll fix myself."
With that, Kenzo lumbered toward the front door, ready to face his first day at the academy—
Not as a Ugly Bastard, but as a man trying to rewrite the NTR Manga.