The small rented room smelled of stale instant ramen, sweat, and cheap deodorant. A dim glow from the computer screen illuminated the mess of crumpled tissues, empty noodle cups, and sticky floor tiles.
A young man in his twenties sat hunched over in his chair. His face was unremarkable—plain enough to vanish in a crowd—but his eyes were heavy with fatigue and loneliness.
His name was Ren Kuroda.
Ren had lived like this for years.
Ever since the car accident that stole both his parents during his final year of school, his life had unraveled. The relatives who promised to care for him vanished when the insurance money arrived. He dropped out, shut himself inside, and survived only on deliveries, instant food, and the meager inheritance.
No family. No friends.
And certainly, no woman.
Instead, his entire world shrank to a glowing monitor and endless 18+ content. He studied it like scripture—positions, techniques, fantasies. He could explain every angle of pleasure, every skill a woman might desire from a man.
And yet… not a single woman wanted him.
He tried. God, he tried. From women his own age to single mothers in their forties, he sent awkward messages, desperate confessions, and bold proposals. But who would want a broke, average-faced dropout who reeked of failure?
Every rejection carved him deeper into solitude.
Now, only his right hand stayed loyal.
"Haah… haah… just one more…" Ren whispered, his body trembling as the video reached its climax.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Sweat poured down his back. A sharp pain lanced through his chest, but he ignored it, too far gone in desperate ecstasy.
But then, in that haze of heat, a chilling pain cut through him and his heartbeat started to dim.
"Is this this how I will die".
What will they think when they find me?
The landlord? The neighbors? The police?
He pictured it clearly: his pale body sprawled on the filthy floor, his pants half down, his computer still playing a woman moaning on loop. Reporters maybe snickering, officers muttering in disgust, neighbors whispering:
"Pathetic."
"He died jacking off."
"No wonder no one wanted him."
A bitter laugh rattled in his throat.
"Guess that's… all I am…"
The pain in his chest surged. His body convulsed, his vision spun, and the screen blurred into darkness.
The chair tipped, sending him crashing to the floor. His hand twitched once, then went limp.
Silence.
The hum of the computer.
A pathetic corpse in a sea of tissues.
Thus ended the life of Ren Kuroda—a man who had memorized every secret of pleasure… without ever touching love.
---
But death was not the end.
When his eyes flickered open again, the stench of his dirty room was gone. Instead, a vast, endless void stretched in all directions. Stars shimmered like distant lanterns, and his body glowed faintly as if reborn in a new shell.
He sat up with a jolt, clutching his chest. "W-Where… what the hell is this!?"
A voice, sultry and mocking, curled through the emptiness.
> "How pitiful… to die by your own hand. And yet… how amusing."
Ren spun, eyes wide. His breath caught in his throat.
A woman stood before him—or rather, floated. Her body was draped in silken shadows, a gown spun from midnight and moonlight that clung to every perfect curve. Her hair cascaded in waves of silver, her lips painted a luscious crimson. Her eyes glowed with an otherworldly violet hue, looking down on him like he was prey.
She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.
Ren's face flushed scarlet. His body reacted before his brain could process anything—his pants tightening, his groin rising in awe at her sheer presence. He quickly covered himself with his hands, heart racing in shame.
"N-No way… I can't… this is…!" he stammered, embarrassed beyond belief.
The goddess's lips curled into a knowing smirk.
> "My, my. Even in death, you can't control that filthy instinct of yours? How adorable."
"I-It's not—! I mean—! Damn it!" Ren tried to defend himself, but his voice cracked in humiliation.
The goddess glided closer, every movement radiating grace and temptation. Her perfume—or perhaps her very essence—wrapped around him, intoxicating.
She bent low, her face inches from his, her ample chest nearly brushing his nose.
> "Do not be ashamed, mortal. Desire is power. In your world, they made you believe lust was disgraceful. In my world, I will make it divine."
Ren swallowed hard, his throat dry. His eyes flickered down against his will, and he quickly jerked them back up, burning with shame.
"…Who… who are you?" he asked hoarsely.
The goddess's smile deepened.
> "I am Lustara, Goddess of Desire. The forgotten one. Banished from the heavens because humanity chained itself to sterile duty, forsaking passion. But you, Ren Kuroda…"
She extended a slender hand beneath his chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers.
> "You died consumed by lust. You are the perfect vessel for my will."
A golden window appeared before his eyes:
[Apostle of Pleasure System Activated]
[Mission: Bring desire, passion, and forbidden love to a world that has forgotten them.]
Ren blinked at the glowing words. "A-Apostle of… what!?"
Lustara chuckled softly, a sound that dripped like honey and venom.
> "Congratulations, virgin. You died choking on your own lust… now you'll live as its prophet."
Ren's ears burned, his stomach twisting with both humiliation and… excitement. A part of him wanted to crawl into a hole. Another part of him—a deeper, hungrier part—felt something awaken for the first time.
He clenched his fists. "You're serious…? You're saying I get… another chance?"
Lustara's violet eyes gleamed.
> "Not just another chance. A world begging for corruption. A land where sex is nothing but cold reproduction. You will bring them the fire they abandoned. My fire. Our fire."
Ren's heart pounded, his shame drowned out by a dangerous thrill. For the first time, the knowledge he wasted alone in his room… would have meaning.
"Then… I'll do it," he said, voice trembling but determined.
Lustara's lips brushed his ear as she whispered:
> "That's my boy."
With a snap of her fingers, the void shattered into blinding light.
Ren's second life began.