Riku's mind, a battlefield scarred by years of war and loss, snapped into an impossible focus. He was no stranger to controlling emotions, to forcing grief, fear, or rage into submission when survival demanded it. He had done it countless times. But this… this was different. This was an unprecedented invasion, a demand for utter self-betrayal.
An internal voice, raw with disbelief, screamed a brief, primal retort. Riku, eighteen, virgin—…What? You got a problem—?! Yet, even that desperate thought was quickly suppressed. Panic was a luxury he could not afford. The situation, already beyond anything he had anticipated, demanded absolute clarity. He swiftly assigned priorities: What happened? What's happening? What's about to happen? The first, immediate command to himself was to check the lock on his heart, to prepare for the inevitable.
No matter what this Flugel, this monster with human memories, did while straddling him, he knew he was already in an impossible bind. Three hours. Every second was a torment. His body screamed, his mind reeled, but the core of him, the Riku forged in the brutal fires of this world, recognized the absolute truth: survival. To survive this, he had to warp his own reality.
He assessed the situation. The violation itself was horrifying, but it was merely the backdrop for the true challenge: the "roleplay." "She must think you've fallen for her." This was the demand. Every fiber of his being, every memory, every scar screamed with the hatred he held for the races who had brought his world to ruin, who had stolen everything from him. This deep-seated hatred was precisely what the System intended to "overcome."
So, he had to make system believe. He had to construct a lie so profound, so absolute, that even he, the architect of his own deception, would believe it. Only then could he project it convincingly onto her.
He forced his mind to perceive the girl before him as beautiful. She was, in objective terms, unimaginably beautiful, with skin like moonlight, golden eyes like captured galaxies, and hair that shimmered like distant nebulae. But his own core self, hardened by survival, had always been indifferent to such aesthetics, seeing only threats, resources, or obstacles. Now, he commanded his thoughts: Beautiful. She is beautiful.
Then came the impossible leap. He had to convince himself that he was in love with her. Love. The concept felt alien, distant, shattered by a war that had claimed everything. But he hammered the belief into his consciousness: I love her. I am in love with her.
In that moment, he compelled his brain to forget the fact that one of her kind, a being of immense power, had killed Schwi, the one he had cared for most. The very thought of Schwi was a dagger in his chest, a constant reminder of the profound loss inflicted by this war and by creatures like the Flugel. But the System had explicitly targeted his hatred. So, he pushed the memory down, shoved it into a locked box deep within his mind, sealed it away. Forget. There is no hatred. Only love.
He then forced himself to perceive her body as seductive. Her weight on him, her movements, the horrifying intimacy of their situation—he had to reinterpret them not as violation, but as a source of intense pleasure. Her presence was terrifying, yes, but he twisted his mind to see it differently. Seductive. Her body is seductive, and he wants it.
This internal process was a whirlwind of self-betrayal, a brutal re-sculpting of his own consciousness, performed under duress and for the sole purpose of survival.
This entire, agonizing process, the complete reprogramming of his thoughts and emotions, was completed in less than fifteen seconds.
He then locked his heart. He had successfully made himself believe that he loved her, that she was beautiful, seductive, and desirable. Now, under the raw, terrifying certainty of the System's gaze, he had to make her believe it too. His very life, and the essence of who he was, depended entirely on this performance.
"Riku?" she murmured, her voice soft, laced with confusion. "What's wrong? Did the System…?"
He cut her off, a new boldness, a terrifying necessity, rising within him. He looked directly at her, his gaze unwavering, and pointed a trembling hand towards her chest. "Can I touch it?" he asked, his voice rough.
Serabil was visibly surprised, a flush rising on her cheeks, but her eyes held a spark of undeniable eagerness, as if this was what she had secretly wanted from the start, a daring he hadn't anticipated. She leaned forward, a delicate hand reaching for the shimmering fabric of her bikini top, unfastening it with a shy, almost playful gesture. The moonlight material fell away, revealing the soft, ethereal curve of her breasts.
Riku moved his hand forward, slowly, deliberately. His calloused fingers brushed against the impossibly soft skin. He could feel a faint, steady rhythm through his fingertips, the gentle thrum of her heart. Her form was way too soft, yielding to his touch like spun moonlight.
He pushed her downward, a firm but gentle pressure, and to his surprise, Serabil offered no resistance. She let him do it, her golden eyes wide, fixed on his, a mixture of surprise and genuine excitement playing across her features.
Now, Riku was on top. Serabil, who had been the hunter just moments ago, was acting as if she is the innocent prey, her body pliant and yielding beneath him. He gazed down at her, the reality of his situation, the depth of his self-manipulation, a terrifying current beneath the surface of his forced desire.
He moved his hand downward, exploring the curve of her waist, then lower, until his fingers brushed against the soft, warm skin between her legs. He found her entry, exquisitely soft and moist. He began to rub her, gently at first, then with increasing pressure.
A soft moan escaped Serabil's lips, a breathy sound that resonated through the quiet monument. She arched slightly beneath him, her eyes closing for a moment in raw pleasure. Her hands, delicate but strong, began to move, pulling at his torn tunic, then his pants, stripping away the remaining barriers between them.
He leaned in, his voice a low, husky whisper, forcing the words past the knot of fear in his throat. "Hey, do you like me?" he asked, trying to infuse it with a forced sincerity, a desperate longing that mirrored the System's demand.
Her eyes fluttered open, glistening. She looked at him, her gaze soft, trusting, utterly captivated. "Who in the world would not like a boy like you, Riku?" she breathed, her voice a melodic sigh.
A grim, internal smile touched Riku's lips. The roleplay. It was working. He had to keep pushing. "Don't praise me like that," he murmured, leaning closer, his voice laced with a playful possessiveness he didn't feel, "otherwise my... my desire will increase even more."
He started rubbing her faster.
Serabil's moans grew louder, more insistent, mingling with the soft sounds of their bodies pressing together. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close, her embrace fiercely tight.
"Hey, do you like me, Riku?" she asked, her voice breathless, the question mirroring his own, thick with genuine emotion.
He looked directly into her golden eyes, forcing a confident, almost arrogant smile. "Do you think I would do this with you if I didn't like you, Serabil?" he challenged, pouring every ounce of forced passion into his gaze. "You're way too... captivating for me to be able to control myself."
A soft gasp escaped her lips, a sound of shy delight. "I didn't think Riku was like this," she teased, a playful light in her eyes.
"You made me like this," Riku said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper, his forced smile unwavering. He watched her, gauging her reaction, praying his performance was enough.
Her golden eyes closed slowly, a flush rising on her cheeks. A shy, satisfied smile bloomed on her face. She pulled him closer, her breath soft against his ear.