Kael Rennhart was no hero. He wasn't destined to slay dragons, be a beauty's knight in shining armor, or save dieing kingdoms.
No, Kael's destiny was simpler, yet infinitely more… cultured.
A fresh university grad, a moderately-skilled data analyst by day, and a connoisseur of adult entertainment by night, Kael lived for the finer things—like a perfectly curated playlist of spicy videos and a strong cup of coffee to fuel his late-night browsing.
At 24, he was lanky, with messy brown hair and glasses that perpetually slid down his nose, giving him a look that screamed "I'm trying, but life's winning."
This particular morning, Kael shuffled down a busy city street to work, his backpack slung over one shoulder, a steaming coffee in hand.
The sun blazed overhead, turning the pavement into a griddle, but Kael's focus wasn't on the heat. It was on Melanie, the HR assistant from his office who could make a spreadsheet sound like a love letter.
"Good morning, Kael~!"
That voice. That voice belonged to her, a full-time destroyer of male focus.
Kael barely managed a grunt in response as he tried to maintain eye contact like a normal human being, but failed he did. He failed miserably.
She was walking just ahead, her heels clicking against the sidewalk, her presence commanding the street like a queen on a catwalk.
Melanie was a sight to behold. Her tight white blouse that was clearly one size too small, hugged her curves like it was auditioning for a role in a rom-com, and her black slacks?
They were so tight they could qualify as a second skin. Every step she took sent a ripple through her figure, and those double D warheads jiggled like they were testing earthquake resistance. Kael's brain short-circuited as he tracked the hypnotic sway of her hips.
"Lord have mercy! Is that… a triple bounce?" he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "That bounce… it's gotta be illegal in at least three countries."
The coffee in his hand was long forgotten. The reports in his bag didn't matter. The world faded away. All that remained were two gravitational miracles defying physics beneath that blouse.
Melanie tossed her auburn hair over her shoulder, feigning lack of awareness to the chaos she was causing on the street. Her hips swaying like she was a goddess of fertility on a mission to wreck marriages.
She turned a corner, her silhouette framed by the morning light, and Kael's feet moved on autopilot. He didn't think. He didn't plan. He just followed, like a moth chasing a flame that was definitely going to burn him alive.
The city buzzed around him—cars honking, pedestrians weaving, street vendors advertising their products. But right now, none of that mattered. Melanie was the mission, and Kael was locked in.
And that was really a problem.
A Big mistake.
Because Kael wasn't watching where he was going.
Because the street had rules. One of those rules was: NEVER CROSS WHEN UNCLE-KUN IS OUT HUNTING.
And he definitely didn't hear the blaring horn until it was too late.
HONK!
A delivery truck roared around the corner, its side plastered with a cartoonish logo: Delicious Nipple Creamery. The driver, an old man with aviator shades and a beard that looked like it had never seen better days, leaned out the window, his face twisted in panic.
"Kid! MOVE!" he bellowed.
Kael's head snapped up. His eyes widened. "Oh, shi—"
WHAM.
The truck hit him like a divine smite. Kael's body cartwheeled through the air, his coffee cup spinning in a graceful arc before exploding on the pavement in a brown splash.
His backpack skidded across the street, papers flying like confetti at a funeral. The world slowed, sounds muffled, as Kael's vision faded to black.
With a face full of aged regret, the driver screamed from behind the wheel.
"NOOO—NOT ANOTHER ONE, DAMMIT!! I'VE LOST COUNT ALREADY!!!"