'Wait, I'm Supposed to Become a Goddess?! But I'm a Guy!'

The night passed in a quiet serenity.

Wrapped in each other’s warmth, the two slept soundly, tangled in a silence warmth far softer than any words could provide.

It was a first for both of them.

Mize had never known this kind of comfort before. Not in this world, and certainly not in the last.

Warmth... not from the blankets, but from someone else's arms.

The kind of warmth that dulled fear, that lulled even a restless heart into stillness.

He didn’t know what it was exactly.

Perhaps it was safety.

Or maybe… maybe it was something simpler.

He had been alone for too long.

Most of his life, he was unwanted.

A sense of being wanted, he craved it.

He couldn't remember much about his past. It was a trauma response, since there was nothing worth remembering.

Pain... There were just painful memories that caused his brain to forget.

This night...

His dreams that night, soft, warm, and sweet, were filled with things he could never quite remember.

Only the feeling remained.

And then came morning.

The sun crested gently over the distant ridge, casting warm gold across the valley.

The town began to stir.

Workers emerged from their homes, the clang of shop shutters lifting, the scent of baked goods and fresh dew mingling in the air.

Street vendors rolled out carts, steam rising from boiling pots.

Hawkers called out their goods, life resumed its rhythm as usual.

At the town’s front gate, visitors gathered like flocks of birds, clustered and buzzing.

Yet today, something new stood among the familiar chaos.

A group clad in pristine white robes stood before a newly risen structure, a church-like building that hadn’t existed the day before.

It towered with unnerving grandeur, its entrance marked by polished white pillars, golden motifs etched along the frames.

In front of the grand doorway, the robed figures raised their staffs, light glowing at each tip like miniature suns.

Their voices rang in unison.

“Come and join us!"

"Come and join us!"

"The mother of life has come to save this land from despair!"

"Witness the truth of the Mother of Life!"

"We are her believers, her vessels! Let hope be the law of the land!”

Passersby cast wary glances.

Some quickened their pace.

Others scoffed.

“Mother of Life?” A well-dressed woman sneered, flicking a lace sleeve as she passed with her towering heels clicking against the cobblestone.

She was flanked by a visibly strained butler, arms burdened with bags. “What kind of foolishness is this cult nonsense?”

“My lady,” the butler grunted, struggling under the weight, “I’d advise we don’t linger near such fanatics. Master requested our visit remain strictly to commerce and sightseeing.”

“Fanatics, indeed,” she muttered, her painted lips curling with disdain.

But her eyes lingered, ever so slightly.

Behind her, the butler adjusted the load with a low sigh, knees bouncing against the bottommost bag.

“People’s curiosity is a slow poison,” he murmured.

And suddenly...

“It is” said a voice.

Both froze.

Before them now stood a man, young, elegantly dressed, the type of outfit you would see nobles wore.

One hand balanced a slender cane, the other gently removed his hat in a courteous flourish.

“That is exactly right,” the man continued, voice smooth and eerily pleasant. “Curiosity, when left unchecked, often leads to one’s own ruin.”

The noblewoman’s eyes narrowed in distaste. “And who, pray tell, are you to interrupt my walk?”

“Please step aside. I loathe being stopped by strangers,” she snapped, brushing past him.

The man didn't react, his gaze lingered as the woman tried to walk past him.

His eyes squinted and the smile never seemed to left his face.

And the whole time, his eyes never left the butler's face from the beginning.

But then...

The woman didn’t even make it more than a step.

Her stride halted mid-motion, her posture stiffened as her hands dropped limply to her sides as she was about to pass his side.

“My lady?” The butler stumbled forward, nearly slamming into her.

“Is something wrong?”

Her silence screamed louder than words.

Then, slowly, she turned.

Her expression had changed, empty but smiling, her voice soft. “It was rude of me to ignore such a refined gentleman. We should give him the chance to speak.”

“Pardon?” The butler’s face paled.

“But, my lady"

She didn’t answer.

The man held out his hand, gentleman-like, and the noblewoman reached for it with unnatural stiffness, her fingers twitching against his.

The butler’s heart dropped.

‘An Awakener…?’ he thought, the cold certainty sinking into his gut.

But he had no proof.

Even if he does, what can he do as a mortal?

Alas, the fate of a servant with a slave contract in his soul.

And so, he followed behind them, silent and wary.

It was too odd, too strange and yet he couldn't question it. Alas a fool of a butler, uneducated but to obey.

The mistress seemed to be placed under a spell, but somehow not.

It didn't take long.

Moments later, a figure emerged through the gathering crowd, one far too large to miss, yet somehow invisible.

He stood well over three meters tall, his silver-white hair flowing freely down his back like rippling silk.

Despite his massive frame, no one glanced his way. Not a single head turned.

The crowd flowed around him like water around a stone.

He walked without hurry, bare feet brushing silently against the earth, and arrived at the exact spot the noblewoman and the stranger had been moments earlier.

Crimson eyes glinted under the shadow of long lashes.

He halted.

Then, he frowned.

“I picked up something odd…” he murmured, voice deep and cold.

He leaned down slightly, nostrils flaring subtly.

His expression soured.

“It smells… unsightly.”

"Foul... ."

"Unholy."

He lifted a hand and waved it slowly, his fingers drawing a delicate pattern through the air.

A soft green light pulsed from his palm, spreading in gentle waves, cleansing this area.

But the scent remained.

His brows drew tight.

“What... is this?” he whispered, voice low with quiet disgust.

The smell was faint, but it lingered unnaturally, as if it didn’t belong to the world at all.

His gaze narrowed, and the green light coiled around him again, pushing deeper into the air.

Still, it clung there, that faint, eerie stench.

Unholy.

And somewhere, deep within him… something stirred in response. Not from him exactly, but from the essence that created him, Mize's gene.

"Perhaps Mother knows already?" Harapan spoke, his eyes turned in the direction where the smells had broken off.

"And perhaps, Mother created me for a reason, here... "

"An agenda" He whispered.

Because whatever that smell was, he hated it from the very core of his essence.

It was something that differed greatly from him, something filthy that stood against hope, his very beacon.

"I will try to find where this smells come from"

The scene shifted back to the castle.

Darkness lingered throughout the room, only thinned by the faint, ambient glow of the ceiling lights.

Golden haze floated lazily in the still air, settling over fine wood and velvet like morning dust.

In the heart of that hazy quiet sat a massive bed, more a throne than a resting place.

Wide enough for more than two.

The view inched closer.

Two bodies rested in soft silence, barely stirring.

But then, one began to shift.

Liam's eyes opened slowly.

The first thing he saw was not the ceiling, nor the light, but her.

Her face was turned toward him, soft in sleep, the pale glow outlining her delicate lashes and sculpted cheekbones.

Her beauty wasn’t normal.

It was the sort of beauty that made your breath hitch in your throat.

Gentle. Innocent. Unfairly devastating to mortals.

Liam blinked.

He stared longer than he should have, then quietly slid his arm out from under her.

She had been using it as a pillow all night. Her head tilted slightly as he guided her onto the actual pillow.

A quiet breath left him.

“…Beautiful. Extremely beautiful.”

His voice was low.

Still dazed.

“And she’s mine.”

He slowly sat up, the blanket falling to his waist. The room was cool, but not cold, just enough to make the skin tingle slightly when exposed.

He rubbed at his eyes, then turned his head, only to catch sight of her full figure.

His thoughts stopped.

The silk pajamas she wore clung like a second skin.

The thin, lustrous fabric outlined her breasts perfectly, then dipped, tracing the curve of her waist and hips before vanishing into the sheets.

His jaw tightened. His eyes lowered slowly.

It was the kind of sight that burned into memory.

The kind you didn’t just see, you felt.

A natural heat began to stir.

He knew the sensation. Morning was merciless for men.

Especially now.

He shifted slightly, adjusting the blanket, but not in time.

Mize stirred beside him.

Her brows twitched faintly, lips parting as she made a soft noise, half-asleep.

Then her hand moved.

It reached toward him, searching blindly to hold.

And then.

Grasp.

Her fingers wrapped around the first thing they found beneath the blanket.

It wasn’t his chest.

It wasn’t even remotely close.

Her soft hand clenched, innocently at first.

But the size, the heat, the hardness…

Liam froze.

She murmured in her sleep, pressing her cheek deeper into the pillow, eyes still shut.

Her fingers didn’t let go.

Liam’s breath caught in his throat.

A sharp hiss escaped between his teeth. His hand flew up, covering his mouth instantly as his whole body tensed.

Shit...

The sensation of her fingers gently pressing against him, even through the thin layer of his shorts, was far, far too clear.

Soft palm.

Light squeeze.

No rhythm, no intention, just pure instinct.

'So accurate despite being asleep?'

Liam cursed, a bit dumbfounded that his little brother would be the one that Mize held onto Instead.

That made it worse.

Way worse.

His mouth twitched slightly, not knowing what to say.

Just a little more pressure.

That’s all it took to make him feel like he was seconds from breaking.

His eyes dropped again, following her slender arm to her hand, and what it held.

The blood in his body pulsed like fire.

His entire mind screamed at him to move.

Pull away. Stop this.

But another part, much louder, told him not to.

'Calm down... This isn't the time, she's asleep... I shouldn't... '

He didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Who the hell could when she looked like that? Peaceful. Perfect. And holding him like she belonged there.

He exhaled shakily. His control slipped a little further, his golden eyes flickering like a worn out lightbulb.

'but doing a little wouldn't... hurt, no?'

His hand moved.

Gently, he traced up her arm, pausing at her wrist.

He stared at her face again, then dipped closer.

Her lips were slightly parted. A soft breath passed through them, warm against his skin.

His fingers reached forward.

Slowly, reverently, he parted her lips with two fingers and slid the third inside, deep enough to feel the heat and wetness of her mouth.

A tremor went through his spine.

“Soft…”

He whispered it to himself.

He moved the finger gently inside her mouth. Her tongue twitched slightly, a lazy response in sleep, but enough to make him imagine too much.

In the meantime, Mize's hand moved away from the rod, Liam noticed it and continued with his hand.

He added another finger. Her lips clung to them unconsciously.

His body reacted on instinct.

The warmth of her mouth. The damp softness. The faint suction every time she exhaled…

His cock throbbed painfully.

Then her breath brushed across his skin again.

It smelled… sweet.

Liam blinked.

He hesitated. Then slowly pulled his fingers out of her mouth. Wet and glistening.

Without thinking, he brought them to his lips.

Tasted.

His eyes widened slightly.

“…It’s sweet.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then licked again.

She didn’t stir.

No foul taste. No morning breath. Nothing. Just a soft, subtle sweetness, like fresh fruit soaked in warm honey.

Like something unreal.

Perhaps this is the specialty of her proffesion?

His breath turned heavier.

He bent down.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, then slowly ran his fingers down her neck, stopping at the collar of her pajamas.

He pulled slightly.

The first button popped free with a soft click.

Just enough to reveal a delicate collarbone and the faintest swell of her chest.

His lips parted.

His hand hovered.

It would be easy.

So easy.

She wouldn't know.

Just a kiss. Just one taste. Her skin was right there, soft and glowing faintly in the dim light.

Her breath was steady. Her grip had loosened.

His hand moved to her waist, then slid slightly lower, gripping her hip through the silk fabric.

He leaned in, closer, breath barely brushing her skin. The tip of his nose grazed her jaw.

Then he stopped.

For a long moment, he didn’t move.

“…I’ll stop.”

He whispered it against her skin.

“I’ll stop.”

But he didn’t pull away immediately.

His lips hovered just above her neck. His fingers remained on her hip. His body ached to continue.

Yet somehow, he still stopped.

Just barely.

But he did.

"I-I need to stop"

"This is wrong"