NTR: The Trash Young Master Who Stole Every Girl!

"What in the absolute, hyper-crusted, blue-balled fuck is wrong with this soy-flavored, estrogen-leaking sissy boy?!"

Kaizen’s scream echoed through his cramped room, vibrating the empty energy drink cans littering his desk.

"The Saintess has a rack that could make Jesus himself reconsider the whole ’thou shalt not covet’ thing! She is basically begging for his pathetic, micro-shriveled twig, and he’s acting like she’s offering him a kale salad! AAAAAAAAGH!"

Kaizen was losing his goddamn mind. The protagonist of this high-octane smut-fest, Divine Defilement, was officially the dumbest sack of limp-dicked flour he had ever encountered.

"Look at her, you absolute walnut!"

"Even the Almighty would risk a one-way ticket to the basement for a sniff of that throne, and she’s practically slamming her dump-truck ass into your face while you stare at the ceiling like you’re counting cobwebs!"

"She’s ready to commit a mortal sin for you, and you’re sitting there with your dry, crusty-ass cheeks clamped shut like a vault!"

It defied all logic. How did this walking pile of incompetence named Leo become the lead of such a legendary, goated piece of digital filth?

Was the developer some basement-dwelling, crusty-sock-collecting virgin who projected his own fear of touching grass into the code?

"Argh! Fuck! At least let me complete my milking session!"

Kaizen’s rage was a physical force, but it wasn’t enough to stop the grind.

He shifted his grip, going full-throttle on his "milk bottle" like he was trying to win a drag race against his own dignity.

On the screen, the game was paused on a holy-tier shot of the Saintess’s absolute unit of a posterior.

The saintly uniform was doing its best, but trying to contain those curves was like trying to wrap a nuclear explosion in a wet paper towel. It was a theological miracle, and Kaizen was ready to worship.

But then, Leo uttered a line of dialogue about "protecting her purity," and Kaizen’s hand froze mid-stroke. The rhythm was dead. The vibe was incinerated.

"I can’t. I actually can’t. This isn’t just bad writing; this is a hate crime against the libido of mankind."

He slammed his laptop lid halfway down and lunged for the keyboard. He didn’t just want to leave a review; he wanted to leave a scar.

His fingers danced over the keys, fueled by 73 hours of sleep deprivation and unreleased tension.

[Review: 0/5 Stars – My Cat’s Litter Box has more Creative Integrity Listen up, you absolute walnut-brained, basement-dwelling ’developer.’

This game was clearly birthed by a creator who thinks a ’third base’ is a menu item at Taco Bell.

You are such a terminal virgin that your protagonist is basically a human limp noodle.

I literally had to stop my gooning session just to tell you how much of a failure this is.

I could drop a literal, three-toed sloth into this game and it would bag every girl in the Saint’s Order faster than this sissy-boy MC.

Your ’hero’ has the sexual charisma of damp drywall. Fix your life.]

He hit ’Post’ with a triumphant clack. A notification pinged instantly.

"Is that so? You think a sloth could do better?"

Kaizen snorted, typing back: "A sloth with a lobotomy could do better, buddy."

"Interesting. Since you’re such an expert, let’s see if your talk is as big as your... review."

Suddenly, the monitor pulsed. A strange, low-frequency hum vibrated through his desk.

"Wait, what the hell is—"

The screen turned a blinding, holy white, and a golden prompt appeared:

[CRITICAL ERROR: USER ’KAIZEN’ HAS CHALLENGED THE ARCHITECT. INITIATING ’SLAUGHTER THE VIRGIN MC’ PROTOCOL...]

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

He lunged to unplug the PC, but his hand passed right through the cable like smoke. The room began to spin. The last thing he heard was a faint, mocking chuckle:

"Don’t let the sloth outpace you, Kaizen."

Then, snap. Everything went back to normal. The humming stopped. The light died. Kaizen ripped the power cord out of the wall, panting.

"What the absolute, unwashed fuck was that? Seventy-three hours of non-stop gooning... my brain is officially a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. I’m seeing things. Sleep. I need sleep."

He stumbled to his bed and collapsed.

"Goodnight, little brother. We fought the good fight, but the pixels won today."

.

..

...

Morning didn’t come with an alarm.

It came with the pungent aroma of rotting banana peels and discarded tuna cans.

Kaizen’s eyes snapped open. He tried to stretch, but his hand hit a cold, slimy metal wall.

"Ow! What the—"

He pushed the lid open. Harsh sunlight poured in.

He was wearing neon-yellow boxers covered in cartoon ducks and a pair of "Deal With It" cooling glasses.

He scrambled out of the dumpster, landing on medieval cobblestones with a wet thud.

"This isn’t my neighborhood. And those aren’t Toyotas."

He looked up. A massive, shimmering academy towered over the skyline, the exact one from the game’s loading screen.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

....

"Is this that stupid horse shit academy?!"

Kaizen stood in the middle of the alleyway with his duck patterned boxers fluttering in the breeze like a flag of pure degeneracy.

This was the exact academy he had been aggressively gooning to for the last three days. Every brick in this place was familiar to him through the lens of a 4K resolution smut-fest.

"I have been transmigrated. No. I have been straight up kidnapped. That salt encrusted virgin souled developer actually yeeted me into his own trash tier game!"

He dragged a hand over his face.

He had no objective and no map. He had no clue if he would ever see his crusty apartment again.

"This is some peak WebNovel bullshit logic right here. What can I even do? Where is my status window? Where is my overpowered cheat skill? Where is my apologetic Goddess with the mountain sized assets?!"

He paused. A slow and predatory grin spread across his face. Was he sad? Was he homesick? Hell nah!

"Why the fuck would I want to go back? I refuse to work a 9 to 5 for a corporation that views me as a replaceable battery."

"I am done paying taxes."

"I am done living in a world where women actually require conversation and respect before they show you the goods. Perish the thought!"

He began to strut down the alley. His neon yellow ducks glowed with the radiance of a thousand suns, announcing his arrival to a world that was clearly not ready for him.

"This world has everything. Magic! Swords! Dragons! Ancient mysteries! And more importantly..."

He stopped. He licked his lips like a luscious and uncurbed pervert who just found the keys to the chocolate factory and realized the Oompa Loompas were all wearing thongs.

"The gals! Oh mama! Oonga Boonga Bonga bitch! Give me the loot!"

A pair of noble students walked past his trash can.

Their skirts were so short they were legally considered a suggestion, barely containing the high-poly miracles beneath. Kaizen leaned out with a wild, hungry look in his eyes.

"Haa! Look at them thighs! What a silky smooth texture! The sub-surface scattering is immaculate!"

The girls gasped and quickened their pace.

Their expressions were full of pure terror as they avoided his leering gaze.

Kaizen did not care.

He had a front row seat to the milky thighs and gravity defying curves of high art character design.

"Haa! Goated thighs!"

He quickly dropped to his knees and looked at the sky, tears of perverted joy streaming down his face.

"Thank you you stupid virgin author for this opportunity! Thank you so much for being a loser who projects his desperate, unfulfilled fantasies into code so I can live them out!"

He jumped up and spread his hands wide open. The easiest way to know what the hell was happening was to open the one thing every protagonist in this game world possessed.

"Status!"

A golden screen flickered into existence, radiating a glow that promised a total collapse of common decency and his entire jaws hit the floor!

.

..

...

[A/N]

Ladies and gentlemen, your favorite degenerate author is back again with another brain-melting disaster.

Before you start, please kindly drop your brain somewhere safe. You won’t be needing it here.

I won’t promise peak plot. I won’t promise character development. But I will promise one thing:

You’re going to be fapping to this like your life depends on it... until your little brother falls off, that is.

So sit down, turn off your morals, and enjoy the ride.

Yours truly,

ThunderLord :)