The marble corridors stretched forever.
Torches in iron brackets cast an orange light across the polished stone that looked older than my grandparents.
The air still carried that heavy incense smell from the throne hall, mixed now with the faint metallic tang of armor oil and whatever soap the castle used on its floors. .
Sixteen students from Class 2-B walked in a loose cluster behind a pair of knights who clearly wished they were somewhere else.
Nobody looked traumatized.
That was the weirdest part.
Takumi walked at the front like he already owned the place, one hand resting on the hilt of the fancy sword the mages had handed him after the appraisal. He kept turning his head to talk over his shoulder.
“Holy Swordsman, baby. S-rank. You saw the numbers. Eighty-seven strength. Ninety-two magic. I’m basically built different.”
A girl with short brown hair—Mika, the one who always sat near the windows—giggled and bumped his shoulder.
“Show-off. I got A-rank Wind Mage. Not bad, right? I can already feel the mana moving when I breathe. It’s like… tingly.”
“Tingly?” another guy, Daichi, snorted. “I got B-rank Shield Knight. Endurance seventy-one. I’m the wall. You glass cannons can hide behind me when the demons show up.”
“I’m a C-rank Alchemist,” someone else chimed in. “Potion stuff. Support. Boring but useful.”
“Beast Tamer over here,” Aya said from beside Renji,her voice dry. Her arm was still looped through his, soft side pressed against him with every step. “B-rank. Apparently I get to make friends with big scary animals. Exciting.”
A few people glanced back at her. More than a few glances dropped lower, lingering on the way her blouse still sat open just enough and how the school skirt hugged her hips. Aya ignored them the same way she always did. Her thumb rubbed slow circles on the inside of Renji’s wrist.
Renji stayed quiet. The conversation washed over him like background noise at a convenience store. Everyone was treating the whole “ripped out of class and dumped in a fantasy kingdom” thing like they’d just been handed new club assignments. No panic. No crying. Just stats and ranks and who got the cooler skill.
Typical.
One of the knights leading them—tall, scar across the left eyebrow—stopped in front of a wide hallway lined with heavy wooden doors. Brass numbers gleamed on each one.
“These will be your private quarters,” the knight said. His voice sounded like he’d rather be polishing boots. “One room per summoned hero. Beds, washbasins, basic clothing have already been prepared. Meals will be delivered at dawn. Training begins tomorrow in the eastern courtyard. Do not wander after lights-out.”
The students scattered like kids at a hotel check-in. Takumi claimed the biggest door near the end with a loud “Obviously.” Mika and two other girls disappeared into rooms next to each other, already comparing nightgowns through the open doorways. Daichi flexed once for no reason and vanished into his own.
One by one the doors closed.
Sixteen rooms.
Sixteen students.
Renji stood in the middle of the hallway with Aya still attached to his arm and watched the last door click shut.
No one had pointed him toward a room.
Aya noticed at the same time he did. Her fingers tightened.
“Renji…”
“Go,” he said quietly. “Take yours. I’ll figure it out.”
She hesitated, thick lower lip pushing out in that little pout she only did when she was actually worried. Then she leaned up, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and murmured, “Don’t take too long.” Her nightgown—pale blue, thin, already waiting on the bed inside—hung over one arm. She slipped through her door and left it cracked open just enough.
Renji turned to the nearest remaining knight. The one with the scar.
“Hey. Where’s mine?”
The knight looked him up and down. Slow. The kind of look people gave to gum stuck on their shoe.
“The F-rank,” he said. Not a question.
“Yeah. The empty one. Void. Stats all ones. Where do I sleep?”
The knight’s mouth curled. He stepped closer. The hilt of the longsword at his hip caught the torchlight.
“You don’t.”
Renji barely had time to register the movement before the metal pommel drove straight into his stomach.
Hard.
The air left his lungs in a single wet rush. Pain exploded white-hot behind his navel and shot up into his chest. His knees buckled. He folded forward, one hand clutching his midsection, the other catching the wall so he didn’t face-plant into the marble.
Fuck.
That actually hurt.
The knight’s voice floated down from above, smug and bored.
“Stable’s out the side door and across the yard. Straw’s free. Try not to get stepped on by the horses.”
Renji stayed bent over, breathing in short, sharp pulls. The pain throbbed in time with his heartbeat. He could have straightened. He could have looked the man in the eye and erased the concept of “ribs” from existence. One thought. One target. The knight would have been a wet red mess on the floor before he finished his next breath.
Instead Renji let his legs give out the rest of the way.
He dropped to one knee, then both, then sat heavily against the wall like his spine had turned to jelly. His face twisted. Tears—real ones, forced by the sudden gut-punch and then deliberately kept flowing—spilled down his cheeks. His voice came out high and cracked and pathetic.
“W-why…? I didn’t do anything… I just asked… my stomach… it hurts so bad…”
The knight snorted.
“No shame. Coming to another world with nothing to offer and still expecting a soft bed. Pathetic.”
Renji kept the act going. Shoulders shaking. One hand pressed to his stomach like he was holding his guts in. Soft, hiccupping sobs that bounced off the stone walls. Inside his head the monologue was already running at full speed.
*Wow. Hilt to the gut. Original. You must practice that move in the mirror every morning, Sir Knight of the Slightly Dented Ego. Congrats on bullying the F-rank. Your mother must be so proud. Meanwhile I could delete the idea of your spleen and watch you try to figure out why you’re leaking, but sure. Let’s cry instead. Horny first, murder later. Priorities.*
He peeked through his lashes.
The knight looked even smugger. Perfect.
“Stable,” the man repeated. “Now. Before I decide the straw’s too good for you.”
Renji made a wet, miserable sound and started to push himself up on trembling arms. He got halfway to standing when soft footsteps hurried down the corridor.
The class healer.
Yuki.
Picture-perfect soft beauty. Long silver-blond hair that always looked like it had never met a bad hair day. Big pale blue eyes. Skin like milk. The kind of face that made people automatically lower their voices around her. She still wore her school blouse and skirt, but a simple white cloak had been draped over her shoulders—probably the “healer kit” the mages handed out. Her rank had been A. Holy Healer. High magic, high recovery.
She stopped short when she saw Renji on the floor and the knight standing over him.
“What happened?” Her voice was gentle, almost musical. “Why is he—”
“He has no shame,” the knight cut in. “Demanded a room he didn’t earn. I corrected him. He’ll sleep with the animals where he belongs.”
Yuki’s soft eyes narrowed just a fraction. She knelt beside Renji without caring about the dusty floor, hands already glowing faint gold.
“That wasn’t necessary. He’s still one of the summoned.”
“He’s dead weight.”
Yuki ignored the knight and pressed both palms to Renji’s midsection. Warmth flooded in, soft and thick like honey poured straight into the bruise. The sharp pain eased, then faded, then vanished completely. Even the leftover nausea disappeared. She was good.
“There,” she murmured. “All better. You should go to your room and rest. Tomorrow will be long.”
Renji looked up at her through still-wet lashes, playing the grateful weakling to the hilt.
“Th-thank you… I don’t… I don’t have a room…”
Yuki blinked. “What?”
But the knight was already walking away, armor clinking, done with the conversation. Yuki glanced after him, then back at Renji, clearly torn. Duty to the higher ranks versus the crying boy on the floor. In the end she squeezed his shoulder once—soft fingers, careful—and stood.
“I’ll speak to someone in the morning. For tonight… just rest wherever you can. I’m sorry.”
She left down the hallway toward her own door.
Renji waited until her footsteps faded.
Then he stood up in one smooth motion, wiped the fake tears off his face with the back of his hand, and rolled his shoulders. The bruise was gone. The act was over.
He turned his head and caught the knight still lingering at the far end of the corridor, watching.
Renji held the man’s gaze for three full seconds.
No words.
Just a flat, empty stare that said *1-0. I’ll be back.*
The knight’s lip curled in disgust at the “hopeless” figure. Renji gave him the tiniest nod, then turned and walked the opposite direction like he had all the time in the world.
Finding Aya’s room took longer than it should have.
The hallway branched twice. Most doors looked identical. He passed Takumi’s room and heard loud laughter and someone talking about “sword forms.” He passed a door where two girls were already comparing the softness of the beds. He kept walking until he caught the faint scent of that vanilla lotion she always wore.
Door 7.
He pushed it open without knocking.
Aya stood near the foot of the bed with her back to him, pulling the pale blue nightgown down over her head. The fabric was thin. Almost sheer. It clung to the heavy curve of her tits, the soft roll of her stomach, the thick flare of her hips and ass like it had been tailored to remind him exactly what he was allowed to touch. Her black hair was loose, still a little messy from the day’s chaos. The school uniform lay in a discarded pile on a chair.
She turned when the door clicked shut.
“Took you long enough.” Her eyes scanned him once, quick. “You look fine. What happened?”
Renji walked over, calm expression in place, and told her the cleaned-up version. No internal monologue. No Void. Just the facts.
“Everyone got a room. I didn’t. Asked a guard. He hit me in the stomach with his sword hilt. Hard. Told me to sleep in the stable. The healer—Yuki—saw it and fixed me up. Then told me to go rest in my room. Which I don’t have.”
Aya’s face went through three expressions in two seconds. Surprise. Anger. Then something softer and hotter at the same time.
“That bastard. He hit you?”
“Yeah.”
She stepped in close. The nightgown brushed his shirt. Her hands came up and framed his face, thumbs stroking under his eyes like she was checking for leftover tears.
“You’re staying here. Obviously. I’m not letting you sleep with horses while I’m in a real bed.”
“Good.”
She started to turn toward the mattress, already reaching for the blanket, when Renji’s hands settled on her waist.
Not gentle.
He pulled her back against him, hard enough that her ass pressed flush to the front of his pants. The thin nightgown did nothing to hide the heat of her skin. His fingers dug into the soft give of her hips, thumbs sliding under the fabric to find bare flesh.
Aya froze for half a second.
Then she melted.
“Renji…”
“I’m not sleeping yet,” he said against the side of her neck. His voice stayed even, almost casual, but his hands were already moving. One stayed on her hip. The other slid up, palm dragging over the soft curve of her stomach, then higher, until he was cupping one heavy tit through the thin cloth. Her nipple was already tight. He rolled it between two fingers and felt her breath hitch.
“They gave you everything,” he murmured. “Nice bed. Nice nightgown. Nice room. Gave me nothing. So I’m taking this.”
Aya’s head tipped back against his shoulder. A low, rough sound left her throat.
“You’re such a bastard when you’re horny.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah.” She reached back, found the front of his pants, and squeezed. “I do.”
He turned her around, backed her toward the bed, and pushed her down onto the mattress. The nightgown rode up her thighs immediately. Thick, soft thighs that spilled around his hips when he climbed between them. He shoved the fabric higher until it bunched under her tits, leaving everything else bare. No panties. Of course not. She’d never bothered once the door was closed.
Renji looked down at her for a second. At the way her chest rose and fell. At the faint red marks his fingers had already left on her hips. At the wet shine between her legs that said she’d been thinking about this since the hallway.
Then he leaned down and kissed her the same way he had in the throne room—deep, hungry, no patience left.
Aya kissed back harder. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands shoved under his shirt, nails dragging up his back. He pulled the shirt off without breaking the kiss and threw it somewhere. His pants followed. When he settled between her thighs again there was nothing left between them.
He didn’t tease.
He pushed in slow but steady, watching her face the whole time. Aya’s mouth fell open. A thick, broken moan rolled out of her. Her walls clamped down around him immediately—hot, wet, greedy. He bottomed out and stayed there for a second, just feeling the way she pulsed around him.
“Fuck,” she breathed. “You’re already so hard…”
“Been thinking about this since the crystal called me empty.” He pulled back and thrust in again, harder. The bed creaked. Aya’s tits bounced. “Figured if I’m F-rank I might as well enjoy the benefits.”
She laughed, short and breathless, then moaned when he set a rhythm. Deep. Steady. The kind that made the soft flesh of her thighs ripple every time their hips met. Her hands gripped his shoulders, then slid down to his ass, pulling him in tighter like she wanted him deeper than physics allowed.
Renji gave it to her.
He fucked her like the castle outside didn’t exist. Like the knight who’d hit him was already erased. Like the Demon Lord could wait another century. Every thrust punched a little sound out of her—half moan, half his name. Sweat started to shine on the soft roll of her stomach. Her nightgown was a useless blue ring under her armpits. He leaned down and got his mouth on one nipple, sucking hard while his hips kept working.
Aya’s fingers tangled in his hair.
“Harder—Renji, harder, I can take it—”
He gave her harder.
The headboard started knocking against the wall in a steady, filthy rhythm. Somewhere down the hall someone might have heard. Neither of them cared. Aya’s legs tightened around him. Her nails dug crescents into his back. He could feel her getting close—the way she clenched, the way her breath went ragged, the way she started meeting every thrust with a little upward roll of those thick hips.
He slipped a hand between them and found her clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles the way she liked.
Aya broke with a loud, punched-out cry. Her whole body locked up. Wet heat flooded around his cock as she came, pulsing hard enough that it almost dragged him over with her. He kept thrusting through it, dragging the orgasm out until her thighs were shaking and she was making soft, overstimulated noises against his neck.
Only then did he let go.
He buried himself deep and came with a low groan, spilling into her in thick pulses. Aya’s arms and legs stayed locked around him the whole time, holding him inside while he filled her up. When the last aftershock faded he stayed there, weight resting on her soft body, face pressed to the side of her throat.
Aya’s fingers stroked slow up and down his spine.
“You’re staying the night,” she said, voice rough. “And tomorrow night. And every night after. I don’t care what the knights say.”
Renji lifted his head just enough to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”
She smiled, lazy and satisfied, and squeezed her walls around him once more just to feel him twitch.
Outside, the castle settled into night.
Somewhere a knight was probably still congratulating himself on putting the So-called pathetic F-rank in his place.
Renji closed his eyes while still buried inside the only person in this world who mattered, and smiled against Aya’s skin.
1-0.
He’d be back.