The bullet didn't even make a sound.
One moment I was crouched behind a scorched Humvee, gunpowder in my throat, sand clinging to sweat like it belonged there—and the next, I felt heat. Then nothing.
A flash.
A memory.
Blood. Screams.
Silence.
My last thought?
"I hope it was worth it."
I woke up gasping. Not like in the movies—no dramatic inhale, no tears. Just confusion. Blank ceiling. Cold air. The faint smell of detergent and... fabric softener?
What the hell?
I sat up fast—body light, lean, unfamiliar. Arms that weren't scarred. A chest that wasn't aching. I wasn't in my bunk. Wasn't even in a barracks.
It was a small bedroom. Desk. Bookshelf. Posters on the wall of idols I didn't recognize. The kind of setup a teenage boy would have.
Then a voice echoed in my head.
Initializing: MILF System v1.0
Syncing with host... complete.
Good morning, Renji Sakamoto. You have been successfully reincarnated. Your mission: Restore the hearts of lost women and live your second life to the fullest.
Current Target: Rika Fujimoto, Age 36. Status: Burned out. Divorced. Emotionally flatlined. Objective: Help her feel again.
...What?
"Oh," the voice added cheerfully, "and try not to die this time."
The mirror didn't lie. I was young. Sixteen, tops. Short black hair, clean skin, dark eyes that looked more tired than they should. The name the system used stuck in my brain: Renji Sakamoto.
Same last name, but the first? Different. New life. New ID. But something about the way the world felt told me this wasn't some parallel fantasy realm. No swords. No magic.
Just Tokyo.
A normal-looking neighborhood with garbage trucks, vending machines, cicadas, and the faint roar of life humming in every building.
Six hours later, I was wearing a stiff-ass high school uniform, standing at the gates of Shirogane High. I kept my hands in my pockets. The breeze tugged at my blazer. This was going to be hell.
And not because I was old mentally—I could deal with teens. It was because I had to pretend I wasn't fifty. That I didn't spend my last life chasing insurgents and counting bodies.
I had to play dumb. Innocent.
And above all, I had to listen to the goddamn voice in my head.
Target: Rika Fujimoto. Occupation: Literature teacher. Previous relationship: Divorced five years. Child: None. Recent activity: Purchased two bottles of wine last night and cried to a playlist titled "Things I'll Never Say".
Jesus.
Homeroom was quiet until she walked in.
Ms. Fujimoto.
Blazer too tight. Blouse wrinkled. Skirt just a few inches longer than tempting. Heels clicking like they owed her money.
She didn't smile. Didn't look at us. Just walked up, wrote her name on the board, and said:
"I'm not here to entertain you. Don't ask personal questions. Don't touch my desk."
Some of the guys looked like they were about to cry. The girls glanced at each other, whispering. But me?
I was locked in.
Because under the exhaustion, behind that bored stare, was a woman who used to feel things. Who probably used to laugh, moan, scream, blush. Now she just existed. Like a house with no lights on inside.
System Quest Activated: Make her smile. No time limit. Reward: Emotional resonance unlocked.
A smile? That's the quest?
Shit, I survived IEDs and fireteams. I can make one woman smile.
Probably.
The first time she looked at me—really looked at me—was during reading period.
I'd finished the assigned text in five minutes. Sat there bored, spinning my pen. Then I got up, walked to her desk.
She didn't look up. Just said:
"Is there a problem?"
"No," I said. "I just wanted to ask... do you actually like literature, or did you just settle?"
She glanced up, brow raised. Tired. Curious. Dangerous.
"Back to your seat."
"Roger that, ma'am."
She blinked. A crack in the armor.
System: +1 Emotional Ping. Progress: 2%
Okay. That was something.
At lunch, I found a quiet spot on the rooftop. Nobody around. I liked the wind up here. The silence. Reminded me of sniper overwatch. But instead of a rifle, I had a bento box.
The system chimed again.
"You know," it said, "she fantasizes about being taken. Not gently. She wants to be wanted, not pitied. Her last orgasm was in 2014."
I choked on my rice.
"What the hell kind of system are you?" I muttered.
"The kind that gets results. Welcome to your second life, soldier. Now go make her feel alive."
I dropped my pen.
[To be continued…]