Every step Ren took away from the Hunter Association and toward the central commercial district felt like a march to his own execution. The oppressive weight of his heavy canvas jacket did nothing to stifle the cold dread settling in his stomach, nor did it fully mask the faint, lingering scent of vanilla and strawberries that clung to his unnaturally soft skin.
He was an E-rank hunter. He had crawled through mud, scavenged mana stones in the dark, and narrowly survived the crushing axe of a Minotaur Lord just twenty-four hours ago. He understood fear. He understood the primal, adrenaline-fueled terror of facing down a monster that viewed him as nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
But this? This was a completely different breed of terror.
The internal conflict raged with every block he crossed. A rational, desperately proud part of his brain screamed at him to turn around, to march back to the slums, and to throw his guild card into the nearest gutter. I can’t do this, he thought, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, fingers curled into tight, trembling fists. I’m a guy. I’m a hunter. I can’t walk into a store and buy… that. Under my clothes? What if Bonnie bumps into me again? What if I take a hit from a goblin and my armor cracks, and everyone sees?
It was a slow, agonizing degradation of his dignity. The Succubus System wasn't just reshaping his body; it was actively dismantling his identity, holding his survival and his family's well-being hostage.
He thought of Sierra, hunched over the tiny kitchen table, chewing on a pencil as she stressed over textbooks they couldn't afford. He thought of the rhythmic, mechanical hum of the life support machines keeping his mother breathing in the hospital ward. He had just transferred five thousand credits into his account, but the system had immediately locked his future funds behind a paywall of utter humiliation.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[WARNING: HOST HAS 2 HOURS AND 14 MINUTES TO PROCURE AND EQUIP THE REQUIRED ITEMS BEFORE THE AGILE DEGRADATION PENALTY IS APPLIED AND FUNDS ARE LOCKED.]
Ren flinched at the glowing blue text hovering in his peripheral vision.
"I'm going, I'm going," he muttered under his breath, drawing a strange look from a passing businessman. Ren ducked his head lower, pulling his collar up.
The central commercial district was a stark contrast to the rusted, grim reality of the lower slums. Here, holographic billboards projected glittering advertisements for high-end potions and designer armor. At the heart of the plaza stood Lumina's, a massive, multi-level department store with pristine glass doors and an overwhelming atmosphere of wealth.
Ren slipped through the automated doors, immediately assaulted by the blast of climate-controlled air and the potent, dizzying aroma of the perfume counters. He felt like an infected rat scurrying into a sterile laboratory. He kept his eyes locked on the directory map near the entrance, scanning the brightly colored text until he found his doom: Level 3 - Women's Intimates & Sleepwear.
The escalator ride felt like it took a century. When he finally stepped off onto the third floor, Ren was met with a vast, terrifying sea of pastel colors, delicate lace, and silk displays. There were no weapons here. No armor racks. Just endless rows of garments that looked like they would tear if you breathed on them too hard.
He skirted the edges of the department, trying to make himself as small as possible. He darted behind a display of silk robes, peering through the sheer fabric like a scout surveying an enemy encampment.
Just grab something in black, he reasoned, his heart hammering against his ribs. Grab a top and a bottom, pay the cashier, and run. Don't look at anyone. Don't speak.
He cautiously emerged from his hiding spot, power-walking toward a rack of plain, dark garments. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing the first two pieces he saw.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[ERROR: ITEMS SELECTED DO NOT CONSTITUTE A MATCHING SET. AESTHETIC COHESION IS THE FOUNDATION OF SEDUCTION. THE HOST MUST SELECT A COORDINATED PAIR.]
"Are you serious?" Ren whispered furiously to the air, frantically staring at the pieces in his hands. One was a dark navy, the other was black. To his eyes, they looked exactly the same, but the blue interface pulsed with an angry red border.
"Can I help you find something, sir?"
Ren jumped nearly a foot in the air, dropping the garments onto the immaculate tile floor. He spun around to face the source of the voice.
Standing before him was a sales clerk in a sharp, tailored vest and a perfectly pressed white blouse. She had a neatly pinned nametag that read Elara, and she was looking at him with the precise, practiced smile of a professional who had dealt with hundreds of terrified, lost men.
"I—uh. No. No, thank you," Ren stammered, his face immediately burning with a flush so intense he felt like his skin was melting. "Just... browsing."
Elara’s gaze flicked down to his heavy winter jacket, the sweat beading on his forehead, and the discarded, mismatched undergarments on the floor. Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes glinted with aggressive, unyielding helpfulness.
"Shopping for a girlfriend, I assume?" she asked smoothly, stepping forward and picking up the dropped items. "It can be overwhelming for first-timers. Anniversaries? Birthdays? Or just an apology gift?"
"Yes!" Ren blurted out, latching onto the excuse like a drowning man to a life raft. "A gift. For... my girlfriend. It's her birthday. She’s... a girl."
She’s a girl? What is wrong with you? his inner voice screamed.
Elara chuckled, a polite, silvery sound. "I would hope so. Well, you're in luck, sir. I happen to be our senior fit specialist. Let's get your girlfriend something truly special. What are her measurements?"
Ren froze. He stared at the clerk, his mind completely blank. Measurements? He barely knew his own armor measurements, let alone whatever arcane numbers applied to this particular department.
"She's, um..." Ren gestured vaguely with his hands, trying to outline a shape that was completely ambiguous. "Average?"
"Average is a very broad spectrum in this department, sir," Elara noted, her tone shifting into a clinical, professional register. "Is she petite? Curvy? Does she prefer a demi-cup, a balconette, or perhaps a bralette for lounging? And for the bottoms, are we looking at boyshorts, thongs, or a classic bikini cut?"
Ren felt dizzy. The vocabulary was entirely foreign to him. He swallowed hard, glancing around to make sure no one else was watching this agonizing interrogation.
"She’s..." Ren hesitated, looking down at his own chest. His base male form was flat, but when he had transformed into Carmine, there had been... significantly more mass. The system required him to wear this under his standard clothing now, which meant it needed to fit his male body, but maybe the system was accounting for his physical changes? "She's roughly my height. Actually, she's exactly my height. And my build. We're very similar. Physically."
Elara paused. She looked at Ren’s broad shoulders, his flat chest hidden beneath the thick canvas jacket, and then back up to his flushed, panicked face. Her expression softened into something that looked suspiciously like pity mixed with profound confusion.
"I see," Elara said slowly. "Sir, if your girlfriend has a... broader, athletic upper body, we should look into our seamless, wireless support line. It offers excellent stretch and won't dig into the lats or the ribcage. It's very popular among our female vanguard hunters."
"Yes. Perfect. That sounds incredibly tactical," Ren said, his voice pitching up. "Let's go with the tactical option."
"Right this way," Elara said, turning on her heel and marching toward a sleek, modern display near the back.
Ren followed her like a prisoner being led to the gallows.
Elara pulled a hanger from the rack. It was a matching set in a deep, dark burgundy color, trimmed with a subtle, black lace border. It looked undeniably feminine, but functional.
"This is our 'Nightshade' poly-silk blend," Elara explained, holding it up. "Moisture-wicking, breathable, and the lace is reinforced so it won't tear under heavy armor. Now, for the sizing... if she is your build, I would estimate a 34A or perhaps a small bralette. Would you like to feel the fabric?"
Ren instinctively reached out, rubbing the material between his calloused thumb and forefinger. It was impossibly soft. Softer than anything he had ever worn in his life.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[ITEM DETECTED: NIGHTSHADE POLY-SILK SET (BURGUNDY).]
[AESTHETIC RATING: ACCEPTABLE.]
[UTILITY RATING: HIGH.]
[PROCEED WITH PURCHASE.]
"I'll take it," Ren rasped, pulling his hand back as if the fabric had burned him. "Just... wrap it up. Please. As fast as possible."
"Of course, sir," Elara smiled, though she was still casting curious glances at his flushed, glowing cheeks and long eyelashes. "Shall I put it in a gift box?"
"No box. Just a bag. An opaque bag. A dark, completely non-transparent bag, if you have one."
The transaction at the register was the longest three minutes of Ren's life. He swiped his guild ID, the terminal beeping cheerfully as it deducted the cost from his newly acquired wealth. The price tag made him wince—it cost more than a standard D-rank iron dagger—but as Elara handed him a discreet, matte-black shopping bag, a golden light flashed in his vision.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
[PURCHASE REQUIREMENT MET. PHASE ONE COMPLETE.]
[REMINDER: REWARD WILL BE DISPENSED ONLY UPON SUCCESSFUL EQUIP PROTOCOL BENEATH ARMOR WITHIN A DUNGEON ENVIRONMENT.]
Ren snatched the bag off the counter, mumbling a frantic, incoherent "thank you" to the bewildered clerk, and practically sprinted toward the escalators.