Kazuya was no stranger to weird. He'd died once—car accident, boring stuff—and woke up in the Naruto world, of all places, as a civilian orphan in Konoha during Minato's generation. Not a bad deal, really. His dad, a merchant, got killed on an escort mission botched by some Sarutobi ninja, leaving Kazuya and his sickly sister, Sora, with a pile of money. Their mom ran the family business from the Fire Country capital, so for protection, Kazuya and Sora lived in Konoha, him enrolled in the shinobi academy's Class 1-C. He wasn't a prodigy like Minato Namikaze up in Class 1-A, but his chakra control was solid—good enough to land him in the middle-tier class, surrounded by other wannabe ninjas.
The weirdest part? A chakra virus had swept through the world years ago, turning a small chunk of people into futanari. Nobody talked about it openly—Konoha was too proper for that—but Kazuya noticed the bulges in some classmates' pants, the way they shifted uncomfortably in class. He was curious, not gonna lie. Dying once kinda burned out any shame; he wanted to live this life on his terms, and if that meant exploring this futa thing, so be it.
He was half-dozing in an academy lecture, some droning sensei going on about chakra flow, when a voice pinged in his head, sharp and mechanical: **"Chakra System activated. Host: Kazuya. Mission: Relieve classmate Hana's frustration with a handjob under the desk. Reward: 5% of Hana's chakra control proficiency and basic taijutsu stance."** Kazuya's eyes snapped open, his heart racing. A system? Like some video game cheat code? He glanced at Hana, sitting next to him in the back of Class 1-C, her short black hair messy, her brown eyes tense, her hands fidgeting. Her pants had a noticeable bulge, throbbing faintly, and he realized—she was one of the futas.
Hana was a civilian like him, tough but quiet, always on edge. Kazuya's curiosity kicked in hard. Why *did* she have that bulge? And what was this system playing at? He didn't hesitate—dying once made him bold, and the idea of power-ups through sex was too wild to pass up. He leaned closer, his voice low. "Hey, Hana, you okay? Look like you need a break." She shot him a wary look, but her shoulders relaxed a bit, her bulge twitching under the desk.
The classroom was dim, the sensei scribbling on a board, oblivious to the back row. Kazuya slid his hand under the desk, his fingers brushing Hana's thigh, her breath hitching. "What're you—" she started, but he shushed her, his hand moving to the bulge in her pants. He felt it—hard, warm, pulsing through the fabric. His own cock, a solid five inches, stirred in his pants, his chakra buzzing with excitement. He unzipped her pants quietly, her seven-inch futanari cock springing free, clean and veiny, the head flushed with clear precum, glistening in the low light.
Kazuya's fingers wrapped around her shaft, the skin hot and smooth, the veins thick under his touch. He stroked slowly, feeling her pulse, the precum slicking his palm, making it glide easier. Hana bit her lip, her eyes fluttering, her hands gripping the desk. "Kazuya…" she whispered, her voice shaky, but he kept going, his strokes firm, the wet *shlick* muffled under the desk. Her cock throbbed, growing harder, the head swelling as he worked it, his thumb brushing the tip, smearing precum over the sensitive slit. Her synthetic balls, clean and heavy, shifted in her pants, brushing his wrist with each stroke, the soft skin warm and slick.
He sped up, his hand pumping faster, the slick sounds louder, barely covered by the sensei's lecture. Hana's hips twitched, her cock pulsing in his grip, her precum dripping onto his fingers, coating them in a glossy sheen. Kazuya felt her chakra flare, a mix of frustration and relief, her body trembling as he worked her. His own cock was rock-hard, leaking in his pants, his chakra amplifying the thrill. He leaned closer, whispering, "Let it go, Hana," his voice low, encouraging. Her eyes squeezed shut, her breath ragged, and her cock erupted, thick streams of clean cum shooting into his hand, spilling over his fingers, dripping onto the floor under the desk.
Kazuya kept stroking through her orgasm, milking every drop, her cock pulsing with each spurt, her balls tightening against his wrist. The system pinged: **"Mission complete. 5% of Hana's chakra control proficiency and basic taijutsu stance absorbed."** His mind buzzed, a flicker of Hana's precise chakra flow and a steady taijutsu stance clicking into place, like he'd been practicing for weeks. He pulled his hand back, wiping the cum on his pants, the clean fluid leaving no scent, just a slick warmth.
Hana slumped in her chair, her face flushed, her eyes dazed but grateful. "Thanks," she mumbled, her voice soft, not questioning the act—the system's influence, maybe, or just her relief. Kazuya grinned, his heart pounding, his curiosity about futas burning brighter. He leaned back, his five-inch cock still hard, his chakra humming with new skill. The classroom droned on, but his mind was elsewhere—Sora, his sick sister, was back home, coughing through another night. Was she tied to this chakra virus? He'd figure it out later. For now, the system had opened a wild new path, and he was ready to fuck his way to power.
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