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[Book Cover: https://imgbox.com/ZCW0xzDZ]

[Point of View: Marcus Carvalho]

The temple shakes violently. Ancient stones groan and creak as the volcano’s fury thunders through the chamber. Lava spits and hisses through the widening fissures, casting an eerie, flickering glow against walls carved by a civilization long since erased from history.

In the heart of this unfolding calamity, I stand. My breathing is ragged, uneven, but my hand grips my sword with white-knuckled intensity.

Right in front of me stands the very reason I was summoned to this world.

Lilium, the Demon Lord, glares down at me. His eyes glow with the flickering heat of hellish flames, a cruel, jagged smile cutting across his lips.

[Demon Lord: https://imgbox.com/0OOSXb3z]

“ This world will be mine,” Lilium growls, his voice booming like a gathering storm. “ You won’t win, Rift Wanderer. ”

He sneers as he spits out that title, the name given to those pulled from another world.

“Fu… fu… FUCK YOU!” I scream, launching myself toward the creature.

The black stone floor shatters beneath my feet from the sheer force of the jump, the sound echoing like a bomb going off. My blade sings, slicing through the air like a silver missile. Lilium moves to defend himself, bringing a giant claw to collide with my weapon. The impact reverberates through my very bones, a jarring shock of agony, but I ignore the pain and spin mid-air.

“DIE, LAVA BITCH!” I roar, my blade shearing clean through the demon's hand.

“ROARGH!” The demon bellows at the loss of his limb.

THUD!

As the gigantic hand hits the floor with a heavy, wet sound, I scramble back to catch my breath. The Demon Lord stares at me, eyes wide with disbelief and mounting rage.

“ Why do you help these humans, Marcus? ” Lilium thunders, his voice thundering like a storm. “ You are not of this world. You owe nothing to the humans who inhabit it!”

I laugh. The sound bounces off the crumbling stone walls, sharp and jagged.

“Isn’t it obvious? Being isekai'd into a fantasy realm, gaining powers, and then killing the Demon Lord is a dream come true!” I end up laughing out loud, as if my body isn't burning with pain.

Lilium’s eyes narrow. His smile vanishes completely. “ You dare mock me? ”

“Mocking you? No, sir. I’m just stating the facts. This is the ultimate adventure, and I’m going for the high score on this shit.”

The Demon Lord’s fury finally boils over. His form swells, growing larger as lava and fire bleed from his body like a hellish machine.

“You will pay for your insolence!”

With a roar that shakes the temple within the volcano, Lilium charges. His remaining claw slices through the air, but I leap just in time, feeling the wind of the attack. The ground shakes as he lands, cracks snaking across the floor like spiderwebs.

“Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt, jumping off the wall to the other side as yet another blow comes. One of the temple arches collapses in response, the roof threatening to cave in.

Lilium’s eyes burn with a murderous intensity. His anger is palpable. “DIEEEE!”

Adrenaline and magic course through my veins, and I can't help it, I grin. “Nah.”

With a scream, I rush towards him. My sword shines like the sun, cutting through the darkness and the fire that the Demon Lord brought. He moves to meet me, his remaining claw aiming straight for my heart.

BOOM!

The impact is like a train collision. I feel the bones in my leg break, my ribs crack, and the muscles throughout my body ache as if I were being tortured with thousands of hot needles.

But I keep pushing. My blade digs deep into Lilium’s flesh.

“That’s it?” I growl, spitting out blood. “Mid.”

Lilium collapses, his eyes widening in shock. He looks down, seeing my sword sticking out of his chest.

“Impossible…” he mutters, his voice weak.

“I know,” I respond, taking a step back as my sword leaves his body. “I usually wait until the third date before I rearrange someone’s guts.”

Lilium falls to his knees, his body beginning to disintegrate, returning to the darkness from which he came. In silence, I watch him, my aching body only standing due to my equipment and other buffs.

“How…” he begins, looking at me with eyes full of confusion.

“Because I’m awesome,” I reply, a smile forming on my face.

Lilium lets out a final sigh, his body disappearing completely. I fall to my knees, the pain finally catching up to me. But I smile, knowing I did the right thing.

The sword light intensifies as the temple crumbles and the volcano finally explodes.

“What an epic death,” I say, closing my eyes, waiting for the end. “My only regret is not spending more time with Eira.”

But the end never comes.

The white sword glow grows, covering my body completely.

…

When I open my eyes, I’m standing on a busy street. Cars pass by, and people are talking on their smartphones.

Looking down, I see that my armor is all damaged from the battle against the Demon Lord, but my sword is nowhere to be found.

“The fuck…” I mumble in frustration. “I’m not in Onarac anymore?”

As I look around for the sword, I notice them.

The women are... different.

And it wasn’t just one or two. ALL of them are different from normal women, and ALL of them have one thing in common. They are all anthropomorphic creatures, humanoid beings that have characteristics of human women with something else. In this case, they are half-animal.

“They look like beastfolk from Onarac…” I mutter to myself.

I smile, realizing where I am. I’ve been isekai'd again, this time to a modern world that is not my original one.

“I need a beer…” I mutter dejectedly. “...Maybe fifteen.”

[Point of view: Edith Nivia]

“What a horrible day,” I murmur, trudging down the grimy street.

Each step is a chore. The injustices of the shift still weigh heavy on my conscience, and my supervisor’s voice refuses to stop echoing in the back of my mind. “You’re responsible for this, Edith. Fix it.”

“Fix it?” I repeat, mocking her tone under my breath. “Fix what? The mess Gorete made? The parts that never even arrived?” I’m talking to myself in the middle of the street like a crazy person. I let out a long, weary sigh, fighting the urge to just break down and cry right here on the sidewalk.

On the horizon, the sun is dipping low, but the streetlights haven't flickered on yet. The world is filled with long, dancing shadows.

A sudden breeze brushes over my white fur, carrying a foul stench that triggers a primal panic in my brain. My heart starts hammering against my ribs like a trapped, terrified rabbit. Because that's exactly what I am.

Please, please, please, I pray silently. Don't let them be coming this way.

Despite my frantic prayers, three large figures round the corner. Three Anthro hyenas. Their laughter rasps against the cobblestones, their eyes glinting with pure malice.

I lower my head and try to hurry past, praying they’ll just ignore me. But my luck ran out the moment I clocked in this morning.

“Well, look what we have here,” the tallest one scoffs. Her snout curls back into a smile that reveals far too many teeth. “A little white bunny, all by her lonesome?”

Her friends swarm around me, cutting off any hope of escape. I can feel their eyes crawling over me, hungry, cruel. I clutch my backpack to my chest as if it could somehow protect me.

“Please,” I whisper. “I just want to go home.”

The leader barks out a harsh, jagged laugh. “Home, is it? Fine by us.” She reaches out, her gaze locked on my bag. “Hand over the pack and your phone, and we’ll let you go.”

As they close in, my breath hitches and my throat goes bone-dry. My entire week's paycheck is in that bag. It’s everything I have, the money for my late rent. I spent the rest on parts for my personal projects, and if I lose this, I’m ruined.

“Please,” I beg, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “I need my backpack.”

The hyenas just keep laughing, a sadistic, screeching sound that bounces off the empty walls. The leader steps closer, her cruel eyes boring into mine. She raises a fist, clenching it tight.

“No!” I scream, throwing my arms up to shield my face.

It’s useless. Pain explodes across my vision, white light blinding me as I’m knocked to my knees. I taste the hot, metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Tears start to blur my sight as the hyenas keep cackling, snatching my backpack away.

The fire on my cheek spreads across my face. I feel the cold pavement beneath me and look up at the vultures circling their prey.

“Please,” I sob, my voice barely a whimper. “Please, give it back.”

The tall hyena leans down, her hot, foul breath hitting my skin. “Give it back?” she mocks, howling with laughter. “You’re comedy gold, bunny!”

I feel a wave of sheer dread. My body screams at me to run, to hide, to find safety, but there’s nowhere to go. No one is coming. I’m at the mercy of monsters.

“Help!” I try to shriek, but my voice is hoarse with terror. “Someone, please help me!”

The laughter only gets louder. They’re feeding on my fear, their eyes shining with sick satisfaction.

“No one’s coming to save you, bunny,” the leader sneers. “This is our turf. You’re all alone.”

I ignore her. I gather every scrap of strength left in my lungs and scream at the top of my lungs.

“PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

The sheer volume makes them hesitate for a split second. The smallest one actually takes a step back. But after a moment of silence, the mocking laughter starts right back up. I hang my head, watching my tears and blood splash onto the cold ground. I'm helpless.

Then, just as the despair swallows me, something warm and soft wraps around me. I look up through blurry eyes and see a figure standing over me.

He’s wearing shining armor that seems to radiate its own light. As my vision clears, I realize he’s draped a cloak over my shoulders, red and sparkling, like living fire.

He rests a hand gently on my head. A comforting warmth floods through me, chasing away the cold and the fear. I can actually feel my wounds knitting back together, the pain receding like a tide. I look up at his helmet, but I can't see a face, only a brilliant light emanating from within.

“I can’t believe a literal knight in shining armor showed up,” the small hyena mutters.

“This is the kind of shit only little boys dream about,” the leader grumbles. “You’re a disgrace to all anthros.”

The armored figure turns toward them. His presence is massive, authoritative. The hyenas, so confident a moment ago, start to waver. Their laughter dies into uncertain growls. The leader takes a step back, her eyes narrowing as she tries to size up this new threat.

“Who the hell are you?” she growls, her voice thick with a mix of fear and rage.

The knight doesn't hesitate. He steps forward, his voice echoing with a calm authority that gives me goosebumps.

“I don’t like hitting women,” he says, his tone carrying a faint, mocking edge. “But I make exceptions for bitches like you.”

The hyenas trade nervous looks. Their confidence is crumbling. The leader, desperate to keep control, bares her teeth and lets out a low, rumbling growl.

“I’ll open you up and rape you in the middle of the street!” she challenges, though her voice shakes.

The knight doesn't draw a sword. He doesn't even clench his fists. Instead, he moves with a fluid, terrifying grace. His left hand shoots out, grabbing the lead hyena by the throat and hoisting her up to eye level.

Her eyes go wide, her bravado evaporating like mist.

“I don’t like people who abuse the weak,” he says. His voice is calm, but it has a steely weight to it that makes my skin crawl.

The hyena struggles, her legs kicking wildly against his chest, but his grip is like iron. Then, he raises his right hand.

SMACK!

He slaps the hyena across the face.

“W-what?” she stammers, completely dazed.

SMACK!

Another slap rings out through the street.

SMACK!

“STOP!” the hyena shrieks. “Why are you doing this?!”

SMACK!

“Doing what your father or pimp should’ve done,” the armored figure says coolly. “Teaching you some fucking manners.”

Each blow echoes like a gunshot in the empty street. It’s brutal, but I feel a strange, sharp satisfaction seeing her humiliation.

“Stop! Please stop!” she wails, tears streaming down her snout.

But he doesn't stop. He delivers each slap with measured, deliberate force. The other hyenas watch in horror, their laughter a distant memory.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, his voice dropping to a cold, threatening low.

The hyena whimpers, her face a mess of tears and snot. She tries to speak, but it only comes out as a sob. Finally, the knight lets go of her throat. He leans in close, his voice a low growl.

“If I see you or your friends harassing innocent people again, I won’t be so merciful.”

He drops her. The once-proud leader hits the ground, sobbing and trembling. The other two back away, eyes wide with terror, before turning and bolting into the darkness.

The knight turns to me. His eyes, or the light within, seem to soften. He extends a hand and helps me to my feet. I look at him, my heart overflowing with gratitude and something else I can't quite name.

I stand there, stunned, as he lets go of my hand. My heart is racing. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jaw visible through the gaps in his helm.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?” he asks. His tone is different now, less like a legendary hero, more relaxed.

I hesitate, my mind spinning. I can't tell him about the strange flutter in my chest. “For saving me,” I say sheepishly.

He chuckles, a warm, genuine sound. “You don’t need to say thank you. Helping people is basically in the job description.”

I swallow hard. “But... you’re a m-man,” I stutter. “It’s not right for a woman to depend on a man to save her.”

“Why?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. “Are you one of those feminists with colorful hair and hairy armpits who can't stand help from a guy?”

“Feminist?” I repeat, the word foreign to me. “It’s just... it’s always been this way. Anthro women protect human men.”

Silence. Through his visor, I see his eyes go wide. He stares into space for a long moment before suddenly dropping to his knees.

“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping toward him.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters in total astonishment. “Did I really just land in furry heaven?”

He looks so suddenly depressed, so utterly defeated, that I feel like I have to do something. It would be rude not to offer help after he saved my life.

“If you need anything, I-.”

He snaps upright and grabs me by the shoulders.

“Iiipe!” I yelp, startled.

“Do you have beer?”

[Point of view: Edith Nivia]

BEEP! BEEP!

“Hum?” I murmured, waking up tired.

BEEP! BEEP!

"Damn alarm clock." I growl, slamming a hand down to silence the infernal thing.

Despite the heavy exhaustion weighing on my limbs, I force myself out of bed. There’s no time to linger.

As I brush my teeth, fragments of last night’s dream drift back into my head. A knight in shining armor, his face hidden behind a polished, gleaming helmet, sweeping in to save me from an assault. It was pulse-pounding, exhilarating, and absolutely fucking embarrassing.

"Good grief, Edith," I mutter to my reflection, spray spitting onto the mirror. "You’re a grown-up Anthro, for Goddess’s sake, not some little human boy dreaming of fairy tales."

I give my head a sharp shake, trying to rattle the ridiculous fantasy out of my brain.

"I’m a mechanical engineer. I work for the government," I say, puffing out my chest as a surge of pride overrides the lingering sleepiness. "Other Anthros would kill to be in my shoes. I don’t need some damn knight to save me."

Satisfied with the reality check, I snap my overalls into place, snag my backpack, and head out the door.

[Edith: https://imgbox.com/SRXOrxqD]

"Silly dream," I mutter, shaking my head. "Like a man could actually fight off three hyenas and then come back to some lone Anthro’s house to drink all night."

"HAAAAARRRR!"

"Iiiipe!" I shriek, my heart leaping into my throat as I dive behind the sofa. "Wh-what the hell is that?"

The sound is horrific, like a wild boar being drowned in a puddle of thick mud.

"Die… Demon…" a male voice stammers, sounding vaguely familiar.

Trembling, I peek over the back of the sofa to find the source of the racket. My jaw hits the floor.

"Impossible!" I exclaim. "It wasn't a dream."

My knight in shining armor is sprawled across my couch, snoring like a chainsaw. He’s buried under a mountain of empty beer cans and greasy fast-food bags.

"Jeez," I whisper. "I thought he’d be some elegant nobleman, but he looks like a total drunken hobo."

He’s still wearing his armor. As I creep closer, I realize it’s a wreck, covered in deep claw marks, punctures, and an alarming amount of dried blood.

What kind of life does this guy live? The poor bastard must have been starving and exhausted yesterday.

I decide to let him sleep.

"I’ll leave a note before I head out," I murmur, grabbing a pen and paper. I scribble a quick message and set it on the coffee table. Before I leave, I take one last look at the unconscious warrior. Despite the mess, there’s something undeniably attractive about him. I can still see the fierce man who saved me from those hyenas. My face heats up, and I quickly push the thought away.

Since I’m still saving up for a car, I’m stuck taking the bus again. Which is always... fun. Being an Anthro rabbit in crowded places is a nightmare, nobody respects the little ones on public transport.

After a long, cramped, and stinky commute, I finally arrive. The Anthrostate Research and Development building towers over me, an imposing fortress of steel and glass. I wave to the security guards as I pass. They’re both massive Anthros, a rhino and a bear, their uniforms straining against muscle.

'Must be nice being that big and strong,' I think with a twinge of envy.

I take the elevator down in silence to the laboratory floor. Calling it a 'lab' is a bit of a stretch, it’s more of a high-tech garage. Despite the state-of-the-art tech, the air is thick with the smell of oil and metal, a scent that instantly relaxes me.

I flick on the lights, and a groan immediately cuts through the silence.

"Fuck me," a gravelly female voice rasps, sounding like she’s smoked a thousand cigarettes. "Just five more minutes."

"Did you sleep here?" I ask, walking over to the figure lying between two armored vehicles. "What’s wrong with you?"

"A virgin dwarf rabbit screaming at me, that's what," grumbles Gorete.

I give her a disapproving look as she hauls herself up. Gorete is a raccoon Anthro, her fur a patchwork of messy gray and black with that distinctive mask around her eyes. Her grease-stained uniform is hanging open, showing off a large belly and heavy breasts held up by a bright red sports bra. She stretches, letting out a wide yawn that puts her sharp teeth on full display.

[Gorete: https://imgbox.com/bJiKrMZz]

"Gorete, you can’t keep sleeping here," I say, my voice dripping with exasperation. "This is a government research facility, not some cheap motel."

Gorete just shrugs, giving her belly a disinterested scratch.

"Eh, what’s the big deal?" she asks, turning her back to me. "I get the work done, don’t I?"

I let out a heavy sigh, knowing she’s right. Gorete is lazy, foul-mouthed, and arguably the most irritating person I’ve ever met, but she’s also the most talented mechanic I’ve ever seen. She has a natural knack for machines, an intuitive spark that you just can't teach. She can listen to the rhythm of an engine and pinpoint exactly where it's failing.

"You’re lucky you’re actually good at your job," I mutter, weaving through the equipment to my workstation. "Otherwise, you would have been fired a long time ago."

Gorete lets out a rough laugh, trailing behind me.

"Yeah, yeah," she repeats, her voice thick with exhaustion. "I know you love me, bitch."

[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

An icy wind whispers through the wooden planks, carrying the stagnant, rotten stench of the swamp. Honestly, the smell isn't much worse than whatever the hell is bubbling in the massive black cauldron at the center of this cursed hut.

"So, you are the legendary Marcus Carvalho," a voice cackles.

Sitting across the table is a hunched figure, old, skeletal thin, and wrinkled. The classic "evil witch" aesthetic.

"What brings you to my humble abode, great hero?" she murmurs, her eyes boring into my soul.

"I know your reputation, Cuca the Fate Weaver." I pause as the witch cackles at her own title. "I need your help."

"Rumors aren't always reality, young hero," she says, leaning back in her chair. "Perhaps my powers aren't up to your request."

Facing the ancient creature, I swallow hard, bracing myself for the inevitable price. "I want the power to locate anyone."

The witch’s eyes widen. She actually looks surprised. "You know you’re asking for a lot, hero? To grant you this, I’d have to give up my greatest treasure."

I lower my gaze to the table, a familiar melancholy washing over me. "I’ll keep my promise to Eira," I say, my voice hardening as I look her in the eye. "Name your price."

The old woman lets out a loud, villainous laugh, showing off a mouthful of rotten, broken teeth.

"Your emotions touched me," she says, finally calming down. "So, for payment, I want you to really touch me."

...Wait.

"Say what?" I ask, blinking.

"I want you to touch me..." she says slowly, rising from the table. "HERE!"

The witch flings open her tunic, revealing a total horror show.

"NOOOOO!" I scream, jolting awake from the nightmare.

I fly off the couch, sending empty beer cans clattering across the floor. My heart is pounding like a war drum. The remnants of the dream still haunt me, that damn old woman’s laugh is echoing in my skull.

"Get your hand off my dick, velha tarada!" I shout at the empty room.

The sharp scent of stale beer and fast food hits my nostrils, grounding me. I'm back in reality.

"Fiuuuu..." I let out a long, shaky sigh of relief. "That was the worst mission ever." I stretch my stiff limbs, grumbling to myself. "I deserved a damn harem just for putting up with that one."

Looking around, I remember where I am. I crashed at the house of that white bunny girl I saved from the Lion King’s hyenas yesterday.

"And her name is... oh shit, I forgot. Is it racist if I just call her Lola or Judy Hopps?"

While I'm busy debating matters of extreme cultural importance, I notice a note sitting on the coffee table.

"Hmm." I pick it up.

Esteemed Lord Knight,

I address Your Lordship to express my most sincere gratitude for the noble act of saving my life. I also ask that you accept my most humble apologies for the discourtesy of leaving you alone in a stranger's home. However, my presence at work is essential, which forced me to leave urgently.

I ask that you feel completely free to enjoy the comforts of my residence and help yourself to everything you find available in my refrigerator and pantry. My return is only scheduled for nightfall.

With high esteem for your person, Edith Nivea

"Aaaaaah!" I exclaim as her name finally clicks. "But why the hell did she write such an elaborate letter? All this just to say she went to work, I can eat her food, and she’ll be back tonight?"

The girl filled the entire page. I even flip it over to see if there's more, but the back is blank.

"Why write like this?" I ask the room, bewildered. "It’s like she thinks she’s talking to a king or something..."

Then I look down and realize I'm still wearing my Empyreanite armor.

The metal glows in the morning light, a radiant, soft white, like moonlight hitting water. It gives off a constant, gentle luminescence. The color itself is a pure silvery white with hints of pale gold, as if sunlight and starlight were forged into the grain.

"Heh." I let out an awkward laugh. "At least I wasn't wearing my Hellsteel set. She probably would've sacrificed a goat to me."

I set the letter down and face the disaster I’ve left in the poor bunny’s living room. Twenty-four empty beer cans and a graveyard of fast-food bags. This place is going to be crawling with cockroaches if I don't move.

"Wow, this girl is an angel," I mutter, feeling a prick of shame. "She took me in, spent a fortune on beer and DoorDash, and gave me the run of her kitchen."

I scan the trash again.

"And I reward her by trashing her place like a drunk frat boy."

The mature, responsible thing to do would be to clean this up by hand to show some respect.

...Yeah, fuck that. I’m using magic.

I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to tap into my mana. My internal reserves are a chaotic mess after the fight with Demon Lord Lilium, but a basic cleaning spell shouldn't be an issue.

"Mana that inhabits my being, hear my call, Shape the trash into a sphere, compact it small. Gather the waste, compress it tight, By magic's will, let clutter take flight."

The room hums with energy. Beer cans and wrappers lift off the floor, dancing in a chaotic swirl before slamming together and compressing into a tiny, dense sphere.

"Perfect." I toss the trash-ball, now smaller than a tennis ball, into the air. "Armazenar."

The sphere vanishes, tucked away into my spatial inventory.

"Morwen would be bitching my ear off about the 'negligent use of magic,' but it’s way faster," I murmur, thinking of my old teacher.

With the house spotless, I finally start to process my situation.

"After being reincarnated from Earth to Galbraza, I got dumped here."

A wave of melancholy hits me. I’m alone again. No new parents to guide me this time. No safety net.

"Why is everything so complicated?" I grumble, dropping onto the clean couch.

The house is silent, save for the ticking of a wall clock. Each tick feels like it’s amplifying my loneliness. I lived in Galbraza for so long that I can barely remember my college friends from my first life. Thank God I still remember my parents and brother.

"At least I have a roof for now," I think, trying to stay positive.

But the truth is, I’m lost. In Galbraza, I had a mission. Here, I’m just a stranger in a world that doesn't belong to me.

"So, what's the move?" I stare into space. "If this world is like my original Earth, I’m gonna need IDs, a phone, and obviously, cash."

I stand up and walk to the window. Outside, cars zoom by and people walk the sidewalks, human men and furry women.

"Do they call themselves Furries?" I wonder. "The bunny used a different term."

I try to remember her "species" name, but I was too exhausted and beat up yesterday to pay attention. I don't even remember what I did to those thugs.

"I hope I didn’t kill them," I say darkly. "This isn't a fantasy world. I can’t exactly beat a murder rap by claiming it was a duel or that they 'drew first.'"

I watch the street until a spark of inspiration hits.

"First, I get money. Then, I figure out what the hell I’m doing here," I say, puffing out my chest. Action beats depression every time. "I’ve done this before. Just grind for coin, make some contacts, and pick up some hot girls along the way."

Renewed, I turn toward the door with purpose. Then, I stop dead as a major flaw in the plan occurs to me.

"Wait... if there are no monsters or demons to hunt for bounties... how the fuck am I supposed to make money?"

[Point of View: Edith Nivia]

I lean over the touchscreen, blueprints for a silent electric tank spread out before me.

Usually, these intricate drawings and complex calculations are enough to command my full attention, but today, my mind is drifting. The image of that knight, roaring like a V8 engine while passed out on my couch,keeps invading my thoughts. The man who saved me from those hyenas only to vanish into a sea of empty cans and greasy wrappers.

I tap the screen, adjusting a minor detail on the blueprint, but my heart isn’t in it. My fingers trace the lines absentmindedly as I try to piece together the puzzle of the armored man currently sleeping in my home.

I knew he was exhausted, the second the food arrived, he devoured it without even taking off his helmet, then simply collapsed. The bloodstains on his gear were dry, but they still looked fresh. Had he just come from a massive battle?

"Edith, you okay?" Gorete asks, sneaking up on me.

"Yeah, just... a lot on my mind," I reply, forcing a smile.

"It’s normal for you to be a little disconnected, but usually it’s because you’re buried in a project," she says, crossing her arms and eyeing me with suspicion. "But that pen hasn’t even touched the screen. What’s distracting you?"

"N-nothing much," I stammer. "Just rent and... other personal stuff, you know."

Gorete raises an eyebrow, her expression turning mischievous. "Personal stuff, huh? Like a guy?"

I feel my cheeks flush and quickly look away.

"No, it’s not like that," I try to deny it, but it’s already too late.

Gorete lets out a triumphant laugh, closing the distance between us. "No point trying to hide it from me, girl. I know that look. You’ve got that 'virgin in love' vibe. Hurry up and spill it to your gal here."

I sigh, realizing there’s no winning this. "Maybe there’s someone, but it’s... complicated."

Gorete’s eyes widen with pure excitement. "Complicated?" she asks, grinning. "Even better! Tell me everything."

I feel the weight of last night’s events settling on my shoulders. Gorete is practically vibrating with anticipation, her tail twitching. I know she won’t let this go until I give her the full story.

"Okay, okay," I concede, rubbing my temples. "I’ll tell you what happened."

[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

If killing monsters for bounties isn't a valid option, I have to fall back on the second-best way for an RPG hero to make bank.

Selling loot.

"I already told you, kid," the old boar in front of me says, her voice a grating rasp. "I’m not buying shit from an unmarked man."

"Fuck who I am. These pearls are legit," I snap, my brow furrowing.

I thought getting cash would be a breeze. I have an absurd amount of gold and jewelry in my inventory, not to mention weapons, armor, potions, scrolls, and even summoning crystals. I have everything... except normal clothes. Which is exactly why I’m still standing here like a canned nerd in full plate.

"Listen here, you walking tin can," the boar says mockingly. "I don’t want the State breathing down my neck for buying merch from a lone male. And to make it worse, you don't have a certificate or even a receipt for that necklace. I'm not risking my neck for some crazy slut like you."

I growl, snatching the necklace back. "Fine. How about gold?"

"Hmmm," she grunts, her interest finally piqued. "Much better. I can melt that down so it’s harder to trace. I can check the purity right here, but if it’s fake or just some gold-plated scrap, you’re paying me for the wasted materials. Got it?"

Facing this disgusting, bloated woman, I reach toward my waist, pretending to pull ten gold coins from a pocket.

"Take it," I declare, slamming the coins onto the counter.

The boar’s eyes nearly pop out of her head as she stares at the coins, each one the size of a damn coaster.

"I'll be back in a second," she mutters, snatching them up and scurrying to a room in the back to run her tests.

I’m left alone in the store. The place is a disaster, a hoard of junk crammed onto sagging shelves and piled on the floor. Dusty laptops, old TVs, and a hodgepodge of antiques fill every corner. The air is thick with the scent of dust and ancient electronics, a far cry from the fresh, blood-stained air of the battlefields I’m used to.

My eyes drift to a stack of newspapers near the register. A headline screams about some political scandal, but it’s not the news that stops my heart. It’s the date and the currency symbol.

"Caralho, porra!"

The year is 2024, and the prices are all in dollars. I flip through the pages, my pulse racing, but everything confirms it.

"Does this mean I’m in the United States?" I whisper to myself, stunned. "Or at least some furry version of it?"

I put the paper back, my mind spinning. Why the hell did I end up here?

The boar emerges from the back, her eyes gleaming with greed. "They’re real," she says, holding one up. "100-gram, 24k gold. I can give you a thousand dollars for each."

I nod. I’m positive they’re worth more, but when you’re desperate, half a loaf is better than none. "Deal."

She reaches for the cash drawer, but I hold up a hand. "Before you pay out, I need to buy some things."

She grins, clearly thrilled to offload some junk instead of parting with all that cash. "What do you need, boy?"

I lean over the counter, matching her smile. "What everyone needs. Money, a phone, and of course... documents."

"Documents?" she repeats, her expression shifting to confusion.

"Yeah," I say with a nod. "Do you know anyone who can forge them?"

She freezes, looking around to make sure the store is empty. Once she’s certain we’re alone, she leans in. "You have no idea what you're asking for, boy."

"Bitch, please. I’ve played poker with demons... and a fairy."

She just stares at me, mouth agape, looking genuinely shocked.

"Did you forget to take your meds today?" she asks with actual concern. "Or did you take way too many?"

...

"Fuck you, you rotten piece of bacon."

The boar’s nostrils flare, her eyes narrowing as she slides a small box across the counter. "Here’s your damn phone. There’s a box of clothes in the corner, knock yourself out."

I spend a few minutes digging through a bin of questionable fashion, eventually settling on four T-shirts and two pairs of jeans.

"Don't you have any sneakers?"

"I don't carry shoes that fit a male's foot," she says, burying her face back in the newspaper.

Realizing she’s officially done with me, I grab my cash, the clothes, the phone, and a wallet.

"Is there a place I can change?"

"This isn't a mall," she snaps dryly.

Breathe, Marcus, I tell myself. Remember, you can’t just blow up the store and claim it had a volcanic slime infestation.

"If you're done, fuck off!"

...

I wonder if a gas leak would be a good excuse?

[Point of view: Edith Nivia]

I push open the front door, my shoulders slumped under the sheer weight of the day. My brain is a static mess, buzzing with the remnants of Gorete’s incessant chatter; her rough laughter still rings in my ears like a migraine. That damn fat raccoon took a difficult day and made it officialy unbearable, her constant interruptions nuking any hope I had of concentrating.

Still grumbling internally, I step into the living room, bracing myself for the inevitable chaos of beer cans and greasy fast-food wrappers.

"My goodness!" I exclaim, frozen in the doorway.

The place is impeccable. Not a single can or crumpled bag in sight. The coffee table actually sparkles, and the sofa cushions are neatly arranged as if they've never been sat on.

Did the knight clean all this up? The thought feels absurd. The guy should be suffering through a legendary hangover after everything he put away last night.

As I take another step, something else catches my eye. There’s something written in bright orange chalk right on my wall. I walk closer, squinting to read the scrawl out loud.

"ShadowM4rcus69," I mutter, my confusion deepening. "It looks like an MMORPG username."

Suddenly, without a hint of warning, the letters begin to glow.

I stumble back, my heart hammering against my ribs as the orange text pulses with a violent, neon radiance. The light intensifies, throwing jagged, frightening shadows across the room.

A sudden flash blinds me, turning the entire world white for a split second. When my vision finally clears, I gasp. Standing right there, as if he had materialized out of thin air, is the knight. His armor, despite the heavy damage, shines with a terrifying pride.

[Armor / No Sword: https://images2.imgbox.com/d7/7f/UyO8vevv_o.jpg]

"Sir Knight?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "What is happening?"

He looks down, emerald green eyes shining through the narrow slits of his helmet.

"Hey, Lola!" he says with a grin.

...

"Lola?"

"I’m sorry... Edith," he says, letting out a sarcastic laugh. "But I needed to make that joke at least once."

As he speaks, he bends down and scoops up a cardboard box filled with clothes and a few plastic bags.

"Do you mind if I use your kitchen?" he asks, already turning his back and heading that way.

"Of course not, Sir Knight."

He stops halfway and looks back at me. "So..." He sounds a bit awkward now. "Don’t call me that. My name is Marcus. Marcus Carvalho."

My eyes widen, heat rushing to my face. I'm only just now learning his name. "Yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knight, I mean, Mr. Carvalho."

"Come on, Coelhinha," he says, disappearing into the kitchen. "You saved my life yesterday. You can call me Marcus."

"I saved your life?" I repeat, following him, totally lost.

Marcus starts unpacking the groceries, lining up ingredients on the counter with a precision that catches me off guard. He moves with the easy familiarity of someone who’s spent a lot of time over a stove. I lean against the doorframe, watching him as I try to process how weird my day has become.

"If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it through yesterday," he says, his focus never leaving the vegetables he’s chopping.

"What do you mean?" My voice is thick with uncertainty.

He pauses and turns toward me. His green eyes carry a gravity that makes my breath hitch. "I didn't look it, but I was in bad shape," he says, his tone turning serious. "Punctured lungs, broken ribs, shattered leg and arm. My stomach and a few other organs were basically mush."

"But you looked so strong," I protest, remembering how he fought off those hyenas.

Marcus smiles, a hint of sadness touching his eyes. "Appearances can be deceiving. I could only move because of the magical enchantments on my armor and a few buffs from potions I’d taken beforehand."

"Magical enchantments?" I murmur, my eyes going wide. "What are you talking about?"

I watch him season the meat, his movements fluid and confident. The aroma of garlic and fresh herbs begins to fill the air, making my stomach let out a treacherous growl. The kitchen, usually so quiet, feels electric with him in it.

"The kind you find on magical items," he says, like he’s talking about the weather.

"But... magic doesn't exist," I say, shaking my head in disbelief.

"It doesn't?" Marcus looks genuinely curious. "My items work fine, and..." He pauses, raising his thumb. Suddenly, it’s engulfed in a pale, white light. "My spells work too. Though I noticed there's no mana in the air here. Doing rituals in this world must be a total pain in the ass."

Whatever else he says after that is lost on me. My jaw literally drops.

"MAGIC?!" I shriek.

"Heh." He gives me an awkward laugh. "I guess it’s better if I give you a formal introduction. I'll stick to the short version."

Marcus steps away from the counter and approaches me. He clenches his right fist, thumps it against his chest, and begins a litany:

"I am Marcus Aurélio Rubro Carvalho, chosen by the Goddess Hemiliara, champion of the White Steel Vanguard, defender of Galbraza, liberator of the dwarves of Grakofin, master of the Luminous Vorpal Sword, chief of the Black Fang tribe, conqueror of the Bloody Plateau, Duke of the Iron Alps, the anathema of hell, chosen of the Elder Dragons, emissary of the ethereal Fae, and my personal favorite, the executioner of the Demon Lord Lilium."

My jaw hits the floor again. I have a thousand questions, but they're all jammed in my throat.

"Would it be easier if I just said I was an Isekai Hero?"

My face is actually starting to hurt from all the shock. "Are you like... one of those heroes who gets reborn in a fantasy world?"

He just smiles and nods. Unable to contain my excitement, I rush forward and grab his arm. "You mean you actually learned magic? You fought dragons? Saved princes? Met elves and dwarves?"

"Yes to all of it," he says, laughing loudly as he reaches out to pat my head.

The affectionate gesture makes me realize how close I am, and that I'm practically clinging to him. I jump back immediately.

"I’m sorry, Mr. Carvalho!" I stammer.

He just laughs it off, telling me it's fine. He finishes the cooking with practiced ease and sets the table.

"For dinner: potatoes au gratin, picanha steak, a lettuce and tomato salad, and steamed carrots."

GRRRRR!

My stomach demands tribute.

"Sorry," I mutter, dying of embarrassment.

But again, he just smiles. I cut into the steak, juices pooling on the plate. The first bite is an explosion of rich flavor, perfectly seasoned, and better than anything I've ever eaten.

"This is incredible," I murmur. Marcus beams with pride.

"Glad you like it," he says, digging into his own portion.

I take another bite, the flavors dancing on my tongue. It’s a meal fit for a king, served on my humble little table. As the warmth of the food spreads through me, a thought strikes me.

"Why did you do all this?" I ask softly.

Marcus looks up, fork frozen halfway to his mouth. "Do what?"

"This meal. You cleaned the whole house too. Why?"

He sets his fork down, his expression softening. "I made the mess, so it’s only fair I clean it. The meal is my way of saying thanks. But..." He pauses, his voice dropping into a heavier, huskier register. "I'll admit, I have ulterior motives."

I swallow hard, the delicious food suddenly feeling like dust. Ulterior motives. My heart hammers against my ribs, a frantic mix of fear and a strange, electric excitement. No man has ever looked at me like this. I was always the shy one, the rabbit girl hidden in the shadow of stronger, taller colleagues.

"Ulterior motives?" I manage to whisper.

Marcus leans back, his green eyes locked onto mine. The intensity makes me want to squirm, but I can't look away.

"Yes," he says, his voice steady. "You have to understand, Edith... men have certain... needs."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! I scream internally.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he says, his voice almost a purr.

By the Goddess, that voice is sexy. I'm going to slide right off this chair if he keeps talking like that.

" To eat a well-seasoned meal."

...

Wait.

"Eat a well-seasoned dish?" I repeat, my voice barely a breath.

Marcus leans back, a small, nostalgic smile on his lips. "You have no idea how rare spices are where I come from. In the other world, magic was everywhere, but trade sucked. Spices were a luxury, even in royal castles."

I blink, trying to recalibrate. "But you had magic. Couldn't you just... conjure them?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "Magic can do a lot, but it can’t replace the flavor of fresh herbs or the kick of a real pepper. Believe me, I tried."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he says between bites. "I once conquered an entire orc tribe just because they had access to a garlic supply."

I look down at my plate. The thought of a world without the simple joy of good food is almost unimaginable.

"So, have you known how to cook for a long time?" I ask, trying to shift to a lighter topic.

Marcus nods. "Before I was Isekai'd, my father taught me. Back in my original world, the one without Anthros."

I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. "Didn't have Anthros?" I echo. It sounds impossible. "How... how does that even work?"

Marcus shrugs. "In my first world, everyone is human. Men, women... all human."

I put my fork down, my appetite vanishing. "But that’s... that’s impossible. How does a society function without Anthros? We’re the backbone of everything, the leaders, the workers-."

"I noticed that today," Marcus interrupts gently. "My world is just different. We have our own strengths. But Anthros? They just don't exist there."

I shake my head, trying to wrap my brain around it. "But how do you... I mean, how do men and women... interact?" I ask, my cheeks flushing at the implication.

Marcus lets out a hearty laugh. "I think the biggest difference is that in my world, women are the 'fairer sex.' Here, it seems to be the other way around."

I sit back, my mind racing. A world without Anthros is fascinating and terrifying all at once. How did they survive without our strength or our perspectives?

"It must be so different," I mutter. "Almost unimaginable."

I want to grill him for hours, but I decide to just eat and enjoy the quiet. I don't want to ruin this moment with a million questions. We can talk tomorrow.

"By the way, are you single?"

"Iiiipe!"

The question catches me completely off guard, and I nearly choke. My face is burning. Fortunately, the shrill ring of a phone breaks the tension.

BEEP! BEEP!

"Saved by the bell," I murmur, immensely relieved.

To my surprise, the phone is ringing on Marcus’s side of the table.

"Just a second," he says, standing up.

I strain my ears, but even with my rabbit hearing, the person on the other end is too quiet to make out. Marcus's expression shifts, his eyes narrow as he listens intently.

When did he buy a phone? I wonder. Did he go out alone today? It’s incredibly dangerous for a male to walk the streets alone, especially one without a scent or a bite mark.

"I understand," he says firmly. "I’ll be there soon."

He ends the call and turns to me, his face unreadable. I feel a pang of worry. "Is everything okay?"

Marcus nods, though he looks a little concerned. "I have good news and bad news," he says with an embarrassed smile. "The good news is, I found someone to forge documents good enough to open a bank account."

"My goodness! That's amazing," I say, genuinely happy for him. "But... what’s the bad news?"

Marcus lets out a forced, awkward laugh. "I'm pretty sure they’re the Chinese Mafia."

[Point of view: Edith Nivea]

"We’re here," Marcus says, coming to a dead stop right in front of me.

I look at the building, my voice wavering with uncertainty. "Are you sure this is the place?"

"Of course it is." His response is immediate, dripping with a misplaced confidence that makes my skin crawl.

I glance up at the flashing neon sign vibrating above the double doors. The words Super Freedom Spin hum softly against the damp night air. My brow furrows, and I turn to Marcus to voice my confusion, but he cuts me off before I can even get a word out.

"Criminal organizations," he says, pausing for dramatic effect. He wants the word to sink in. "They need front businesses for their illegal operations. Places that appear legitimate, preferably with high foot traffic, to camouflage their 'profitable activities'."

"Profitable activities?" I repeat, the curiosity winning out over my common sense.

"Illegal gambling, prostitution, drug and gun sales."

A cold shiver snakes down my spine, and my stomach performs a slow, nauseating flip. The reality of being chest-deep in something this dangerous is finally hitting home.

"Usually, they pick something boring, like a cleaning service or garbage collection," Marcus adds, finishing his little lecture.

I squint at him. "And how exactly do you know that?"

"I’m pretty sure I saw it in an anime, or Breaking Bad." He shrugs as if there’s no difference between the two.

Before I can even begin to tear apart his 'sources,' Marcus marches through the doors. I’m right on his heels as he struts inside with a ridiculous amount of purpose, chest puffed out, head held high, scanning the room like he’s looking for a target.

The interior is massive. Eight long rows of washing machines stretch toward the back, where a dedicated staff handles large-scale orders. The place is packed with a demographic split: human men and anthro women. While the men are mostly buried in their laundry, the anthros have stopped dead in their tracks. Every eye in the building is locked onto Marcus.

They aren't just looking at him because he’s finally out of his armor. They’re staring at the exposed, well-defined muscle of his arms and his golden-brown skin. His emerald-green eyes seem to sparkle under the fluorescent lights, paired with a seductive, arrogant smile and brunette hair slicked back to perfection. His muscular chest is practically bursting against the seams of his tight white shirt.

Wait, what was I thinking about again? I ask myself, blinking as I stare at his back. Oh, right. The shirt.

Marcus had picked up a change of clothes from a pawn shop earlier. The shirts weren't just tight, they were cheap and printed with the most bottom-of-the-barrel vulgarities imaginable. That’s the real reason he’s the center of attention. Every anthro in the room is gaping at the bold, black capital letters printed across his chest, ' RAPE BAIT'.

[Shirt: https://imgbox.com/ah57wDcT]

And this was his least scandalous shirt.

"This situation can't get any worse," I whisper, dying of pure shame.

But I'm wrong. It can always get worse.

"Damn, boy!" a mole construction worker shouts, practically undressing Marcus with her eyes.

"Look at the lucky rabbit!" a panther yells from across the room.

"Atta girl!" A hyena let out a raucous, barking laugh. "She snagged a hot Latino and now she’s showing him off!"

"Let me put a FANGER in ya!" a country bear hollers.

"Damn, baby. Turn around and show momma what you’re working with," a mechanic boar grunts.

"Hot damn, you're cute!" howls a wolf biker.

A cat leans against a machine, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "She may be small, but she must have some pussy grip to keep him."

"It’s not just the front," a skunk near the entrance adds, her eyes roaming lower. "Look at dat ass. Momma wants a bite."

I stand there, frozen. The comments fly around us like a hailstorm. Each word feels like a physical blow, and I can feel a frantic heat rising in my cheeks. I pray for the shouting to end, but it only ramps up in intensity.

"Damn, dat azz look good in dem jeans!"

"Hey baby, you a grower or a shower?"

"You're every chair's dream!"

"I'd like to gargle those marbles!"

"I would love to see him squirm beneath me."

"Yo baby, ever had your dick sucked from the back by a fat girl in an overcoat?"

"I’d like to slap those buns on the grill!"

"Hey thick dick, c’mere baby."

"He’s so hot, I bet he cums lava!"

"Let me suck ya cock, pretty boi!"

"Chico! I want to eat your ass like pico de gallo!"

I cringe, my stomach twisting into a knot of embarrassment and simmering anger. How can they say these things right in front of him? I glance at Marcus, expecting to see disgust, or at least a flicker of annoyance. Instead, he’s wearing a smug grin.

"This is crazy," Marcus comments, barely holding back a chuckle.

"I am really sorry," I tell him, my voice barely audible over the thrumming machines and the vulgar chatter. "They’re… they’re horrible."

He just shrugs, his smile never wavering. "Relax, coelhinha. I’m enjoying this more than I should," he says with a laugh.

I stare at him, stunned. Does he actually like the attention? I wonder silently. Is Marcus… a whore?

Before I can follow that horrifying line of thought any further, Marcus stops in front of an anthro buffalo. She’s dressed in a white outfit with security ID pinned to her chest, guarding a reinforced fire door.

"What do you want, male?" the massive woman asks, her tone dripping with irritation.

Marcus pulls out his phone and flashes a message on the screen. "We received a message to look for Madam Shì Hún."

The buffalo’s eyes widen. She snaps up her walkie-talkie, barking orders in a hoarse, urgent voice. "I need a replacement at the entrance. Now. I’m escorting visitors to Madam Shì Hún."

Marcus expected this shift in behavior, he gives a soft, knowing chuckle at her reaction. The buffalo turns back to us, her expression now deadly serious.

"Follow me," she orders.

She leads us through the heavy, reinforced door, which shuts behind us with a solid thud, cutting off the noise of the laundry room. We follow her down a dimly lit staircase, our footsteps echoing sharply against the cold concrete walls. I can feel the tension building with every step, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Marcus, however, is the picture of calm. He scans his surroundings with a mix of curiosity and caution. How can he be so confident? I think to myself. Especially while dressed in a stripper-tight shirt and denim shorts that hug his ass like a second skin?

We finally reach the bottom and enter a wide, brightly lit hallway. Doors line both sides, perfectly identical and spaced far apart. The corridor seems to stretch on forever, the silence broken only by our rhythmic steps and the distant, muffled hum of machinery. I can feel the weight of the entire building pressing down on us from above. The air is thick, smelling of industrial detergent and something else, something metallic and unrecognizable.

How much further? I wonder.

The doors are numbered, the digits climbing higher as we walk. I try to keep track, but the sheer number of them makes my mind race. Eventually, we reach the end of the hall, where a large steel elevator door waits. The buffalo presses a button, and the doors slide open with a gentle hiss. She steps inside and gestures for us to follow.

I hesitate, looking up at Marcus.

"It’s okay, Edith," he says, his voice brimming with confidence. "I’ve got your back."

I really am a pathetic woman for needing a man to calm me down, I think sadly.

Taking a deep breath, I step into the elevator. The doors slide shut, the buffalo presses a button, and the floor drops away as we begin to descend.

[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

Holy shit, what have I gotten myself into? I swear to myself, the anxiety gnawing at me. Are we going all the way to China to find this bitch? Who the hell even dug all this out? Some kind of dwarven moles?

Despite the internal panic, I keep my face a mask of calm. I can’t let it show. Edith is already a nervous wreck, and she needs me to be the one holding it together.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a massive garden bathed in soft, artificial twilight. A gentle breeze rustles through the leaves of the surrounding trees, carrying the sweet, heavy scent of blooming flowers. At the center of it all sits a tranquil lake, a small waterfall cascades down a rocky outcrop, its splashing water creating a soft melody that fills the underground cavern.

But the moment I take a single step into the garden, a warning flashes in my mind.

[Detection Alert]

‘Aside from my inventory, it seems that the other parts of the system work.’ I think silently. ‘I need to test my powers later, I don’t know if I have access to everything.’

[You are being observed by 10 creatures with ill intent.]

As the last notification window fades, I feel a sharp spike of killing intent radiating from the ceiling. Whatever is up there remains shrouded in the darkness behind the blinding spotlights illuminating the cavern.

"Wow," Edith whispers, snapping my focus back to her. "How can someone maintain a garden this huge underground?"

"With a shit-ton of money," I respond, my brow furrowed. "This isn't just a garden, it’s a flex. A demonstration of power."

Edith looks at me, confused, but I don't have time to explain the nuances of criminal posturing. Near the lake sits an elegantly set table, decked out with fine Asian china and a silver tea set. An anthro bobcat sits there, her smooth gray fur contrasting sharply with her piercing, amber eyes.

"I have been expecting you, sir," she says. Her tone is dead neutral, completely devoid of emotion. "Your companion, however, was not anticipated. Though, that is easily rectified."

With a snap of the bobcat’s fingers, the buffalo guard who escorted us appearing with an extra chair. She sets it down, and the bobcat gestures for us to take a seat.

"So, you’re Madam Shì Hún?" I ask, my voice laced with curiosity.

Strangely, she freezes for a split second, as if catching her breath before she can find the right words.

"Yes," she finally says in that same robotic tone. "I called you here to discuss your request. Documents capable of fooling large institutions are difficult to acquire, but not impossible."

"But they’re going to cost a fortune, even for someone carrying gold coins, I imagine?"

She simply nods, confirming the obvious.

Before I can dig deeper into the logistics, another figure joins us. An elderly anthro tigress with gray tufts peeking through her orange and black stripes approaches the table. She carries a strange, greenish teapot that looks hauntingly familiar. Even with her advanced age, she moves with the lethal grace of a seasoned predator. Her eyes stay fixed on the cups as she pours the steaming liquid, her thumb dancing lightly over the teapot's handle.

"Please," the bobcat says, lifting her own cup. "Drink."

Edith picks up her tea, tilting it toward her lips, but I move fast, clamping my hand around her arm to stop her.

"Marcus?" she asks, startled.

"I really didn't want to do this," I mutter. I reach into my inventory and summon a handful of purple powder. "But you guys started it."

Without another word, I hurl the powder directly into the bobcat's face just as the old tigress slips away from the table.

The bobcat collapses instantly, hitting the ground and erupting into fits of uncontrollable laughter.

"Marcus, what the hell did you do?" Edith cries out as the bobcat thrashes on the grass, her cackles turning hysterical.

I turn to Edith, my expression dead serious. "They tried to poison us. I just retaliated with a heavy dose of Euphoria Powder."

Edith’s grip on her cup tightens until her knuckles turn white. "B-but..." she stammers, her nerves finally getting the better of her.

I gesture toward the bobcat, whose laughter is now dissolving into frantic, hysterical sobs. "She’s probably not even the real Madam Shì Hún."

To prove my point, I grab my own cup of tea and drain the entire thing in a single, defiant gulp.

"Marcus!" Edith screams, her voice cracking with pure terror.

[Poison Detected]

[Poison Neutralized]

“I knew it.” I whisper, opening a smile.

[Analyzing Compound]

[Sodium Pentothal Identified]

The moment the liquid hits my system, I feel it trying to take hold, and the intent behind the brew becomes crystal clear.

"It wasn't lethal," I comment, slamming the empty cup back onto the saucer with a sharp clack. "But trying to slip us a truth serum? That's some dirty-ass pool."

Edith gasps, her hands flying up to cover her mouth in shock. I reach out and pull her tight against my side, my protective instincts flaring. I’m ready to make a move, but a sudden, sadistic laugh cuts through the air, stopping me cold.

"You are a very interesting man, Mr. Marcus," a voice says. It’s aged, raspy, but vibrating with a terrifying level of authority.

I look up. It’s the old tigress. She isn't just a servant, she's the one in charge.

[Tiger: https://imgbox.com/rWSooskv]

"Smart men with good instincts are rare, my dear rabbit," the old tigress says, her voice smooth as silk as she settles into the seat previously occupied by the bobcat. She adjusts her black robes, her eyes locking onto Edith. "You are a fortunate woman."

Edith stammers, her bunny ears twitching nervously. "W-we aren’t a couple, Madam Shì Hún! Marcus and I are just... friends. In fact, we’re both single."

Shì Hún’s eyes narrow, her expression becoming unreadable as she turns her gaze back to me, dissecting me with a single look.

"A man like you, single? That is something you don’t see every day," she murmurs, a sound almost like a purr vibrating in her throat as she leans forward. "Usually, the state would have married you off by the time you were seventeen."

I'll admit, I loved the attention from the girls in the laundry room, but this? This old woman trying to poison me and creeping out the coelhinha? I’m starting to get seriously pissed off.

Time to fuck shit up, I think, a sadistic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

I whip a common dagger out of my inventory and hurl it at the old tigress. I use the bare minimum of my strength, making the throw look like it's coming from a weak, normal human.

SWISH!

My body is a powerhouse, but my brain is even further beyond human limits. I see everything that happens next in perfect, high-definition slow motion.

As the blade leaves my hand, two figures drop from the ceiling, emerging from the darkness behind the spotlights. The first one lands with her back to me, arms spread wide to shield the tigress, she takes the knife right in the shoulder. The second one lunges at me, a shiny blade glinting in her hand. At first glance, I take her for some kind of rat, but the membranes stretched under her arms give her away, she's a bat.

"Nope!" I bark. I twist my body and launch a kick straight into the charging bat’s chest.

The one who shielded the tigress spins around, revealing she’s a bat as well. She snarls at me, her face contorted with rage.

"洋狗!" she screams.

"My bad, but I don't speak Coronavirus," I fire back, blowing her a mocking kiss.

"Rrrrrrrr!" She growls, charging again.

But halfway there, her boss’s voice cracks like a whip.

"住手!"

The bat freezes instantly and turns toward her master.

"Leave," Shì Hún says, her tone stern and final.

In response, the bat ninja bows low. She reaches up, yanks the knife out of her own shoulder, and hurls it into the ground near my foot before retreating.

"Heh. Ninjas protecting an Asian mobster. A bit cliché, don't you think, Edith?" I turn to my side, but the rabbit is nowhere to be seen. "Edith?"

"Your 'friend' fainted the moment you kicked my servant in the face," the tigress says calmly, sipping her tea as if we hadn't just been trading blows.

[Point of view: Edith Nivea]

I wake up with the bitter, lingering taste of green tea on my tongue and a head that throbs like a rhythmic drum. As my senses return, I realize my cheek is resting against something warm, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a breath.

"Ah, you’re finally awake," a soft, gentle voice murmurs. "You’re just as fluffy as I thought you'd be."

I blink, my vision clearing to reveal Marcus’s face. His emerald-green eyes are staring down at me with an uncharacteristic softness. What happened? Where am I? I feel a hand stroking my head, and as I shift, the realization hits me, I’m draped across Marcus’s lap.

I scramble to my feet, my ears twitching in a frantic, nervous blur. "W-what happened?" I stutter, my voice trembling.

Marcus opens his eyes fully, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "You passed out," he says simply. "So I gave you a little something to wake you up."

"Your pockets are remarkably deep for someone wearing such... restrictive clothing, Mr. Marcus," Madam Shì Hún comments from across the table.

"Stop staring at my ass, you horny grandma," Marcus retorts.

Shì Hún lets out a laugh, her voice like velvet. She treats his insult like a child’s tantrum, entirely unbothered. "You are a truly curious man, Marcus Carvalho. Few have the audacity to speak to me in such a manner."

I take my seat at the table, caught in the middle of a bizarre standoff between a Latino man in a vulgar shirt and an elderly Chinese mobster tigress. The tension is thick enough to choke on.

"I apologize for the poisoning attempt," Shì Hún says, her voice smooth and calculated. "I was simply intrigued by a man carrying such precious coins."

"So you thought drugging us was the best way to get introduced?" Marcus asks, his tone dropping into something calmer and far more intense.

Shì Hún lets out a low rumble of a laugh. "It was merely a truth serum. A necessary precaution, Mr. Carvalho. In my line of work, trust is a rare commodity."

"You could have just asked!" I snap, my irritation finally boiling over. It's the first time I've raised my voice since we sat down.

Shì Hún turns her gaze toward me, her eyes softening ever so slightly. "Ah, my dear bunny, the world is rarely so simple. But please, Mr. Carvalho, tell me. How did you know the tea was tainted?"

Marcus scowls, looking more inclined to punch her than answer, but I quickly place a hand on his arm. "Please," I whisper. "Be nice."

His eyes are narrowed, body coiled for combat, but at my touch, he visibly relaxes.

"The teapot looked familiar, but it was your thumb on the handle that gave it away," Marcus says dryly. "I noticed a small hole that your finger covered only when you poured mine and Edith’s tea. I remembered the 'Assassin's Teapot' from a post."

Madam Shì Hún’s eyes widen in genuine surprise at his sharp wit. "And how does a male like you come across such specialized information?"

"9gag."

My jaw drops. He saved our lives because of a meme site?

"I am not familiar with that particular school of assassins," the tigress replies calmly, taking another sip of tea. "A Western institution, no doubt." There’s a faint hint of disdain in the word 'Western.'

Marcus leans back, his eyes locked on her. "So what now? Are we talking business, or are you going to try another trick?"

A slight smile curves Shì Hún’s lips, as if she hasn't had this much fun in years. "The documents you require are not easily obtained. They require resources I am loath to waste."

"If it were impossible, we wouldn't be sitting here," Marcus counters, crossing his arms.

She beams at his defiance. "The problem is that it will cost me favors with powerful people. Money alone is not a sufficient incentive, Mr. Carvalho."

Marcus sighs, looking exhausted by the theatrics. He reaches into his pocket and dumps a handful of gold coins and shimmering jewelry onto the table. The tigress looks at the pile with complete indifference, her tail swinging lazily.

"Is this meant to impress me?" she asks, her voice dripping with disdain. "I told you, money is not enough."

"Just making sure," Marcus says, sweeping the treasure back into his pocket. "What do you have in mind then?"

Madam Shì Hún turns to me, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. "He has a strong spirit, but he knows when to yield. An admirable quality in a male."

Marcus growls, but I intervene again, resting a hand on his leg to keep him grounded. He looks at me, his green eyes burning with fury, but my presence seems to act as a tether.

"Let’s get straight to the point," Shì Hún says. "I have a proposal. A tournament. Three fights against three different anthros. You don't even have to win, just participate. In return, I provide your documents."

Marcus leans forward, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the table. "And if I do win?"

Shì Hún smiles, baring her sharp, predatory teeth. "For every victory, a favor. Win once, and I clear the debts this little bunny has accumulated from her college and... irresponsible purchases."

"How do you know about that?" I gasp, a chill of fear running through me.

"I don't let people into my garden without knowing everything about them," she purrs. "With a second victory, I will introduce you to a trustworthy contact who can move your jewelry out of the country."

"Making it untraceable," Marcus finishes.

"Exactly. But the third fight... that will not be easy. It will be against the most powerful warrior at my disposal."

Marcus grins, a voracious, focused look in his eyes. "Then it’s only fair I ask for your most precious possession if I win that one, right?"

Shì Hún blinks, shocked by his sheer audacity. Then, she lets out a hoarse, barking laugh. "If you win all three fights, I will give you the documents, the debt settlement, the contact, and my most precious possession, the Flaming Prism, my beloved fire opal."

Marcus looks at me, seeking my approval. I feel a knot of worry in my chest, but I also know what he’s capable of. He’s a hero.

"Seems fair," he says, turning back to the tigress. "But I want guarantees. No deceptions."

"You have my word," Shì Hún nods. "And my word is law."

"Let’s do this," Marcus laughs. "I always did enjoy a 'Tournament Arc'."

Shì Hún stands, her imposing presence filling the space, and they shake hands to seal the deal. She claps twice, the sound echoing through the garden. From the shadows of the ceiling, four anthro bats in ninja attire descend silently.

"Escort Mr. Carvalho to the locker room," she orders. The ninjas nod in eerie unison. "And you, dear Edith... please, follow me."

Marcus gives me a look of concern. I try to smile back, but my stomach is in knots. Separating us wasn't part of the plan.

She leads me through large double doors into a VIP lounge that looks like a slice of a Chinese imperial palace. Red silk, golden ornaments, and carved dragons decorate the room. Further ahead is a decorated balcony overlooking the arena. Shì Hún gestures for me to sit as a human servant in a tight green tunic pulls out an ornate chair.

The arena below is a massive octagon surrounded by a high fence.

"Marcus..." I whisper. I turn to Shì Hún, my eyes wide. "Please, can't you just take the money? He doesn't need to get hurt."

Shì Hún laughs. "Oh, Edith. This isn't about money. This is power and entertainment for my allies, and my enemies."

"But he could die! There must be another way!"

"If you're worried now," Shì Hún says, her laughter echoing against the silk walls, "imagine how you'll feel when he loses and is... shall we say, 'used' in front of the public?"

My heart stops. "Used?"

A sadistic, malicious smile spreads across the tigress's face. "One of the rules of my arena is that the loser is humiliated by the winner. And with a male as charming as Marcus... I'm almost worried about what my female fighters might do to him."

The room spins. Humiliated by the winner. The words echo in my mind until I feel sick.

"No!" I shout. "You can’t do that!"

"He agreed to the terms," she says, leaning back. "He will face the consequences if he loses."

Tears well up, but I blink them back. I won't be weak in front of her. "When does it start?" I ask, my voice trembling.

As if on cue, a booming female voice erupts from a lemming presenter in the center of the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Chicago's hottest event! Tonight, a true gladiator will face three of our most formidable anthros!"

A figure in a gray cloak emerges from the shadows, walking with total confidence.

"We present to you the challenger! As dangerous as he is beautiful, the strongest man in the world, the DRAGON WARRIOR!"

The figure throws the cloak aside with dramatic flair. It's Marcus. He’s wearing nothing but tight black swim trunks and a green dragon mask. The crowd erupts in a deafening wave of cheers and whistles as he stands tall, his muscles glistening under the spotlights.

[Dragon Warrior: https://imgbox.com/ocrcn1N8]

As the announcer continues to whip the crowd into a frenzy, I can’t pull my eyes away from Marcus. He radiates confidence, his gaze coolly scanning the arena as if he’s already sized up every threat. The thought of him getting hurt, or suffering that promised "humiliation" is unbearable. I have to do something, anything, to stop this madness.

But God, he looks so good in those swim trunks... The thought slips in unbidden, and I realize I’m actually drooling a little at the corner of my mouth. I quickly wipe it away, face flushed.

"And now, please welcome our first challenger!" the lemming shouts. "Hailing from the wilds of the American Southwest, she is known for her ferocity and cunning. She is the queen of chaos, the voracious, the one-of-a-kind... HONEY HAVOC!"

The crowd erupts into a deafening roar as a figure prowls out of the shadows. Honey Havoc, a compact and terrifyingly muscular anthro honey badger, steps into the light. Her fur is a striking pattern of black and white, and her eyes glow with a wild, predatory intensity. She wears a high-cut, skin-tight swimsuit that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, highlighting every powerful curve and rippling muscle in her frame.

[Honey: https://imgbox.com/2tY6V2E3]

Marcus stands in the center of the octagon, muscles coiled, his gaze locked onto Honey Havoc. I can see the strain in his posture, the way his fists clench and unclench, but it’s his eyes that truly terrify me. They’re wide, almost glassy, completely transfixed as if he’s staring at a ghost.

"Marcus," I whisper, my knuckles white as I grip the arms of my chair. This isn't the fearless, arrogant Marcus I know. Something is very, very wrong.

"FIGHT!" the announcer screams, scrambling out of the way.

Honey Havoc begins to circle him like a apex predator, her eyes glowing with savage intent. She’s smaller than Marcus, but her frame is a dense knot of powerful muscle, her movements fluid and dangerously precise. She wears a mischievous, sharp-toothed grin, as if she can taste his fear and is savoring every drop.

"Fresh meat," she taunts, her voice a low, gravelly growl as she flicks her tongue out. "Let’s see if you can handle a few bites, boy."

Marcus remains frozen. It looks like his own terror has him held captive.

Honey Havoc lunges. Her claws are extended, her teeth bared in a snarl as she closes the distance. Marcus shudders, but suddenly his body moves, not in a strike, but an instinctive, forward surge. He catches her mid-air, sweeping her off the ground and pulling her into his chest.

The shock of him lifting her isn't the biggest surprise. It’s what he bellows next.

"You are so cute and cuddly!" he shouts, squeezing his opponent in a crushing hug.

The crowd erupts into a mix of confused laughter and applause, blindsided by this sudden display of tenderness. Honey Havoc looks utterly bewildered, her eyes wide with shock. She tries to writhe free, but Marcus holds her fast, his eyes shining with genuine affection.

Her counter-attack is immediate and brutal.

"Rrrrrrrr!" With a furious snarl, she sinks her razor-sharp teeth deep into Marcus’s shoulder.

"SHIIIIIIIIT!" Marcus screams, the pain ripping through him like a jagged blade.

Panic and reflex take over. With a violent heave, he slams Honey Havoc into the floor.

THUD!

Before she can even think about recovering, Marcus brings his foot down. He stamps on her, pinning her to the mat like a common cockroach.

The arena falls deathly silent, stunned by the sudden turn toward brutality. The anthro lies motionless on the floor, and an uncomfortable chill settles over the room as everyone fears the worst. Marcus’s eyes widen as the haze clears and the weight of what he’s done sinks in. He stumbles back, lifting his foot. He drops to his knees, hands shaking as he reaches for her wrist to check for a pulse.

The entire room holds its breath.

"She’s alive!" Marcus shouts, his voice echoing off the concrete.

A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the stands, and Marcus lets out a shaky, relieved laugh.

"Now, as per the rules," the announcer calls out, "the winner may humiliate the loser however he wishes!"

Marcus looks down at Honey Havoc, his brow furrowed in confusion. He shakes his head, trying to refocus. "Can I... sit her on my lap and brush her hair?"

"U-uh," the lemming stammers, her eyes bugging out. "I mean... yes. That’s allowed."

Marcus pauses, his gaze shifting between his fallen opponent and the expectant crowd. He seems to be weighing the option. Then, his expression hardens.

"No," he says, his voice firm and final. "I’m not doing anything to her."

Surprised murmurs ripple through the crowd.

"Any particular reason?" the lemming asks, genuinely curious.

"What kind of scumbag motherfucker humiliates an unconscious person in public?" Marcus asks indignantly. "That sounds like some anime villain shit. No, worse. That's some hentai villain shit."

A smile spreads across my face, and I feel a sudden, overwhelming surge of pride. Marcus has just proven that beneath that vulgar shirt and the bravado, he has the honor of a true hero.

"I... don’t really know how to answer that," the presenter admits. "Can we move to the next fight?" Marcus asks, clapping his hands together.

The lemming looks uncertain, clearly wanting to question the wisdom of continuing with a bleeding shoulder. But strangely, the wound is already closed, the only remnant being a small, fading smear of blood. Shrugging, she returns to her hype-man duties.

"Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the most powerful force to ever enter the ring! She is a living legend, a powerhouse on a mission to dominate! Make way for the indomitable, the unstoppable... BULLDOZER!"

The ground beneath my feet begins to vibrate, sending a chill straight up my spine. The arena entrance turns into a wall of shadow before an imposing, massive figure emerges. Bulldozer, a gargantuan anthro rhinoceros, lumbers toward the center of the octagon.

"No," I murmur, the fear returning tenfold.

She is colossal. Her rough, slate-gray skin gleams under the spotlights, and her muscles look as though they were hewn from solid granite. Every step she takes makes the floor shudder. Her presence is so suffocating it feels like she’s sucking the oxygen right out of the room. Her small, piercing eyes lock onto Marcus with a terrifying, singular intensity.

[Bulldozer: https://imgbox.com/CmXPoJLp]

Marcus, still rooted in the center of the arena, looks almost tiny compared to the monstrous, tectonic scale of his opponent. But despite the titanic difference in their sizes, he’s wearing a voracious, hungry grin.

"Other than the faint scent of Havoc lingering on you, you’re as good as new," Bulldozer mutters, her tongue darting out to lick her lips lasciviously. "I’m going to love getting you dirty in front of everyone."

"No fucking way, you skinny Lizzo," Marcus growls, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms with casual defiance.

"FIGHT!"

[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

"Stop moving!" the rhinoceros woman bellows, her massive frame lunging forward as she tries to impale me on that wicked horn.

I take a single step to the left, pivoting with ease. I let the Anthro barrel past me like a runaway train with its brakes cut.

POCK!

The heavy, dull thud of her face meeting the dirt triggers a literal explosion of laughter from the stands. The crowd is loving this shit, I’m just exhausted.

This wasn't a fight she wanted, and it certainly wasn't one I wanted either, I think, my breath coming in ragged hitches as cold sweat sticks my shirt to my back. Even with my blessings suppressed, it’s a goddamn struggle to keep from accidentally blowing her head off with a single punch.

[BLESSINGS]

Click to view details

God's Blessings: {OFF}

Elemental Blessings: {OFF}

Mortals Blessings: {OFF}

Lovers Blessings: {OFF}

[BLESSINGS]

Next time, I’ll just curse myself or chug one of those hydra poisons I’ve been saving, I muse. Anything to make a fight actually exciting.

"PAY ATTENTION, YOU CUCARACHA COCKROACH!" Bulldozer bellows, hauling herself back to her feet.

The crowd erupts into a roar as she charges again, her massive frame literal-shaking the arena floor. I slide to the side, the tip of her horn missing me by a hair’s breadth.

"’Cucaracha’ means cockroach in Spanish, you know," I remark, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "A bit redundant."

"Fuck that noise!" she grunts, tensing her pillars for legs. "You shit Mexican!"

Furious, she lunges forward in a desperate grab. I don't even break a sweat.

"I'm not Mexican," I say, flashing a wicked little smile.

As she closes the distance, I vault into the air. The armored giant barrels helplessly beneath me, hitting nothing but empty space.

"I’m Brazilian," I add, landing softly and adopting a tone of mock indignation.

Bulldozer shakes her head, spinning around to face me with a dazed expression. "Huh?" she mumbles, genuinely lost. Then, her face contorts as she points a massive gray finger at me. "Then you're doing cultural appropriation!"

...

A cocktail of fury and hatred boils in my gut. For a split second, I want to stop playing nice, activate the blessings of the Gods of Chaos and Death, and end this. Instead, I take a slow, deep breath. Public humiliation is a much more satisfying sentence than a quick death.

"First off, you dropped a racist comment less than a minute ago-"

She cuts me off with a desperate punch. I drop into a classic Dark Souls somersault, rolling through the strike and leaving her blinking at the spot where I used to be.

"Second, I respect the culture of the Luchadores," I continue, lecturing her. "They’re badass, and their aesthetic influenced some of my favorite superheroes from the 1960s onward."

The rhino stares at me, jaw hanging open as if I’m speaking a forgotten tongue.

"Wolverine’s first costume is basically a luchador outfit, and Spider-Man started out as a wrestler too," I explain didactically, like a professor explaining the basics to a particularly dim student.

Bulldozer’s face twists into a mask of primal rage. Her eyes narrow into dangerous slits. She raises her tree-trunk arms, biceps and forearms bulging like steel cables under maximum tension. Her knuckles turn white, the very air seems to crackle around her.

"You are dead meat," she growls, the guttural rumble echoing off the stadium walls.

I watch with clinical curiosity. Every fiber of her being is coiled for this next blow. Her triceps flex, skin stretching dangerously thin over the muscle, veins pulsing with heat. She takes a massive breath, her chest expanding and back rippling like a mountain range. Then, with a deafening roar that shakes the arena's foundations, she brings it all down on my head.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

The sheer displacement of air vibrates before her fists. The crowd gasps, the tension thick enough to choke on.

KAPOWW!

The impact hits like a thunderclap. The ground beneath us groans and shatters, concrete sinking several centimeters. A thick shroud of dust and debris explodes into the air, swallowing the ring. The roar of the crowd is instantly smothered by the sound of the destruction, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

As the dust slowly begins to settle, the aftermath is revealed. Bulldozer’s massive arms are still outstretched, her fists buried deep into the crater she’s created.

Too bad for her, I’m standing exactly three inches in front of her face. Untouched. I hadn't even run, I’d just taken a small step.

The crowd erupts. It’s a scene ripped straight out of a shonen manga, and they are losing their minds.

Bulldozer, however, is a mask of pure horror. The rage has evaporated, replaced by a deep, hollow terror. She threw everything she had into that strike, and I dodged it with an ease that bordered on a middle finger. Her massive frame begins to tremble as the reality of her situation sinks in.

"N-No... it can't be true," she stutters, her voice a fragile whisper.

The confident, brutal fighter is gone, only a cornered animal remains. I stand there, posture completely relaxed, a small smile playing on my lips.

"You're strong, Bulldozer," I say, my voice calm and steady. "But I am beyond strength."

The screams of the fans drown out our voices for the cameras, only my opponent and the announcer can hear the truth. Bulldozer’s breath comes in ragged gasps, her eyes darting around for an exit that doesn't exist.

She turns to bolt out of the ring, but her nerves are shot. She trips over her own feet and faceplants. The impact makes the floor shudder. She tries to scramble up, but her limbs are uncoordinated, paralyzed by fear.

I take the opening and sit leisurely on top of her back. Her skin is rough and radiating heat, her muscles twitching under me. She freezes, eyes wide with panic.

"Please... don't hurt me," she whimpers, barely audible over the noise.

I stare at the back of her head, impassive. Silence is the only response she gets.

Suddenly, the arena speakers crackle to life, the announcer's voice slicing through the chaos.

"Ladies and gentlemen, what a fight! What a display of skill! But it appears our Bulldozer has reached her limit!"

Bulldozer’s eyes flick toward the sound. She hadn't even realized the countdown had started. She’s too broken to care.

"And the winner, through an incredible display of agility and strategy, is the Dragon Warrior!"

The stadium explodes. I stand up, stepping off her prostrate form, and raise my hands to the lights. The roar of the fans is like a drug, fueling the adrenaline. I look down at Bulldozer, sprawled and defeated, but physically whole.

Her pride is never going to recover from this, I think, stifling a mocking laugh.

"What a night!" the announcer screams, waving to the stands. "But our challenger doesn't even look tired yet! Let’s have another hand for our winner!"

I take a deep breath, letting the moment wash over me. This world is a trip, Anthros, tech, and gladiator pits.

At least I'm having some fun, I think, waving back to the sea of faces.

As the applause begins to taper off, I reach down and offer Bulldozer a hand. She looks up, stunned by the gesture. She hesitates, then takes it, letting me haul her bulk to her feet. The crowd cheers at the display of sportsmanship.

"Good fight," I say with an encouraging smile. "Keep the shit-talking to a minimum and work on your technique instead of just brute force. You’ll get better."

Bulldozer nods, a flicker of genuine respect in her eyes. "You are something special, human," she admits, her voice husky.

"And we're headed for a short thirty-minute break!" the announcer interrupts. "But stay tuned, because we still have the final fight coming up!"

A break? I wonder. Perfect. I need to take a piss and find something cold to drink.

[Point of view: Edith]

"If you want to see him before the final fight, his dressing room is at the end of the hallway on the left."

With Madame Hún's words echoing in my mind, I push open the heavy door. I have to see Marcus. I have to make sure he’s actually okay after everything.

But nothing could have prepared me for the scene waiting inside.

"M-Ma-Marcus?!" I stammer, my voice failing me.

Marcus is sprawled in an armchair. He’s taken off his mask, but he’s still in his wrestling trunks, his muscular body glistening with sweat and... oil?

He’s surrounded by beautiful men, their bodies clad only in silk loincloths of every imaginable color. Their slender, delicate forms are smeared with oil, shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. They’re rubbing his shoulders, offering him water, and one is even holding a grape between his fingers, trying to force-feed it to Marcus, who is keeping his mouth clamped shut, scowling furiously.

The scene is way too... 'exciting' for me. I freeze for a solid second, my brain short-circuiting.

"Marcus?" I finally manage to squeak out once I regain my composure.

He looks up, his eyes widening as they meet mine. Relief washes over his face, and he starts to smile immediately.

"Edith... ARGH!"

He tries to speak, but one of the servants seizes the opportunity. As soon as his mouth opens, the guy shoves the grape straight down his throat.

Marcus coughs, hacking the grape back up, and bolts upright. His face is a deep, thunderous red.

"ENOUGH!" he roars, startling the servants so badly they nearly jump out of their skins. "All you twinkies in silk thongs, get out! NOW!"

The servants scramble for the exit, some of them actually sobbing like babies, leaving Marcus and me in a sudden, ringing silence. He collapses back into his chair with a heavy, exhausted sigh. I approach him cautiously, I’m still a little shell-shocked by the... 'unusual' display.

"Marcus..." I whisper. "Are you alright?"

He looks at me, his green eyes tired but relieved.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just... not used to all this," he says, gesturing vaguely at the ridiculous luxury of the room. "Are all the men in this world like this?"

I hesitate, grasping for the right words.

"Most of them at least try to be... it’s pretty popular with the Anthros, I think," I reply, my tone uncertain. "But there are some who are more... like you. Rougher, cruder, and more... direct."

Marcus nods, rubbing his temples as if a headache is blooming there. "I understand. It's just so damn different from what I'm used to."

I step closer and place my hand over his, feeling a pang of genuine sympathy. "I can't imagine how hard this is for you. Coming from a world so different from ours, right after you’d finally gotten used to another one."

He gives me a small, weary smile. "It's been a challenge, for sure. But Galbraza was much harder to adapt to than this."

I return the smile, a warmth spreading through my chest. "When I have time, I’d love to hear more about this magical place you came from," I say, unable to hide my excitement.

Marcus looks at me in surprise, but his smile turns cheerful.

"Sure. If it's somewhere that serves red meat and beer, we can call it a date."

His words hang in the air. I stare at him, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribs.

"Huh?" I stammer, completely blindsided. "D-da-date?" I feel a hot blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks.

Before I can wrap my head around his intentions, the door swings open. An imposing Anthro Gorilla marches in, her gaze locking onto Marcus.

"Come on, hottie," she announces in a gravelly voice. "The fight starts in ten minutes."

Marcus stands up, his relaxed expression snapping into one of grim seriousness.

"I'm coming," he says, his voice firm and laced with confidence.

The gorilla nods and ducks back out, the door clicking shut behind her. I watch Marcus as he pulls his mask back on, my mind racing a mile a minute.

"Marcus," I start, my voice barely a whisper. "About what you said..."

He turns to me, those piercing green eyes meeting mine through the eyeholes of the mask.

"We'll talk about that later," he says, his tone gentle but immovable. "Right now, I need to tocar o terror."

[Point of view: Marcus Carvalho]

I step into the dimly lit hallway leading to the ring. The roar of the crowd echoes through the narrow passage, a symphony of raw anticipation and bloodlust.

"Reminds me of my early days as a hero back at the coliseum," I mutter to myself.

Despite the happy memory, a sudden weight settles in my heart as I think of the old friends and loves I left behind in Galbraza.

"That world could be a total bitch, but it was worth it when you had seven beautiful wives waiting for you," I murmur, letting out a dry laugh to drive away the lingering sadness and longing.

The roar of the crowd grows louder with every step. I can feel the vibrations of their applause pulsing through the soles of my boots. Suddenly, the announcer's voice cuts through the noise like a blade.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event of the evening!"

The crowd’s reaction is primal, a beast waiting to be fed.

"Tonight, we witness the birth of a legend! A man capable of going toe-to-toe with Anthros! But will the strongest man in the world be a match for the greatest champion to ever step into this ring?"

The audience responds with a deafening, unified scream.

"You know him! You love him! Please welcome the one and only... the Dragon Warrior!"

I walk through the curtain, my heart pounding as a fresh surge of energy fills me. The crowd erupts, and their frantic energy becomes my own. I take a moment to soak it all in, then decide to give these bastards a show they’ll never forget.

I take a few steps back, testing the grip of the floor. With a deep breath, I launch myself forward, blurring into a series of cartwheels and somersaults like a goddamn circus performer, picking up speed with every rotation. When I hit the edge of the ring, I vault into the air, executing a perfect triple somersault.

I land lightly on my feet, spin around, and throw my arms wide, flexing my muscles for the stands. My mask hides my face, but pride is written in every line of my posture. I’ll admit, I’m acting like a total show-off asshole, but the audience eats this shit up.

My spotlight lasts until the announcer cuts in to introduce my opponent.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for the reigning, undefeated champion! With fifty fights, fifty wins, and fifty knockouts, she is the epitome of strength, speed, and skill! Welcome the one and only... the unstoppable... Yami Kage!"

The crowd goes into a literal frenzy. The cheers reverberate through the arena like a physical storm.

"Yami Kage?" I mutter in the center of the ring. "That sounds like some edge-lord nickname a fourteen-year-old otaku would pick."

"Shut it!" the lemming presenter hisses next to me, covering his microphone so the crowd doesn't hear.

The arena falls into a sudden, heavy silence as the figure of Yami Kage appears. She’s a tigress clad in black ninja gear, walking toward the ring with deliberate, threatening steps. The tension in the air is palpable, the sickening calm before a hurricane hits. Her piercing orange eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that could melt steel. She looks powerful, deadly, and moves with the terrifying grace of a predator that’s never lost a hunt.

[Yami Kage: https://imgbox.com/d3gAo1aT]

With a terrifying grace, Yami Kage leaps into the ring. Her landing is completely inaudible, smooth as a shadow hitting the floor.

"So, you are the Dragon Warrior-sama," she says, her voice a low, melodic growl that seems to vibrate through the entire arena. "Let’s see if you actually live up to the hype."

She’s nothing like the other two I’ve faced. Honey Badger was a mindless engine of violence and blood, while Bulldozer was just a pathetic, sadistic bully. Yami, though... she feels like a true warrior. She reminds me of the legendary enemies I crossed blades with in my previous life.

A wild idea flashes through my mind, and a wide, jagged smile spreads across my lips.

"Are you actually going to fight me seriously?" I ask, genuine curiosity lacing my tone.

Startled by the question, she raises an eyebrow but gives a firm, respectful nod.

"Regardless of whether you are human or Anthro, you are an honorable warrior who stepped into this arena to give your best. I won't disrespect you. I will fight with everything I have."

"And that’s exactly why..." I say, my smile widening as I pull one of my last doses of Hydra poison from my inventory. "You’re going to get the honorable fight you deserve."

Both Yami and the announcer stare in shock at the bottle that just materialized out of thin air. But before they can get a word out to question me, I down the poison in a single gulp.

[Hydra Poison Detected]

With my blessings disabled, I am without protection against the toxin, allowing the poison to spread throughout my body without resistance.

[Status Poisoned]

The poison courses through my veins like liquid fire, searing every nerve and fiber of my being. My vision blurs into a fractured mess, and the roar of the crowd vanishes, replaced by a low, distant hum in my ears.

"What did you do?" Yami Kage’s voice cuts through the haze of pain. Her eyes narrow, shifting from confusion to genuine concern. "Are you fucking crazy?"

I can’t even respond. My jaw is clenched so tight it feels like my teeth might shatter, holding back the scream that’s clawing at my throat.

With a final, desperate surge of willpower, I force myself to stand. My entire body shakes with the effort, every muscle screaming in protest against the toxic heat.

[All class bonuses have been disabled.]

[All stats bonuses have been disabled.]

[All fate bonuses have been disabled.]

Smiling, I explain exactly what I’m doing.

"I’m giving you the fight you deserve," I manage to choke out, my voice a harsh, rasping whisper. "Hope I don't regret it." I raise my fists, forcing my trembling limbs into a fighting stance.

The lemming referee steps forward, her stern gaze darting between us.

"Fighters, take your positions!" Her voice is sharp, authoritative, slicing through the tension.

I stagger forward, my muscles screaming in protest with every agonizing inch. Yami Kage, meanwhile, flows forward with the liquid grace of a predator, her eyes locked onto mine.

"FIGHT!"

The word has barely left the ref's mouth before Yami is on me. Her fist whistles through the air, aimed straight for my skull. I barely manage to cross my arms in a block, the force of the wind trailing her strike stinging my face.

"You're fast," I grunt, a pained smile tugging at my lips. The white-hot agony in my arms actually helps me focus, it gives me something to fight against.

"And you are a fool," she growls, her irritation palpable. "I saw your other matches. Why the hell would you drink poison to make yourself weak?"

She pivots her entire body, launching a kick that comes in like a cannonball. I catch it on my forearm and shove it away, the impact making my bones shudder with a sickening ache.

She doesn't let up. A storm of punches and kicks rains down on me. I block and dodge, every movement a desperate war against the pain pulsing through my body.

"You are resilient," she says, a flicker of respect coloring her voice.

"And you’re relentless," I huff, panting for air.

The only reason I’m still standing is my sheer experience. I’ve lived through enough life-and-death shit to know how to suffer. Her next punch drives straight for my solar plexus, unable to dodge, I tighten my guard and take it head-on. The shockwave rattles my teeth, but I use the momentum to spring backward, creating some distance.

Surprised by the move, Yami stops to analyze me.

"Time to fight seriously," I murmur.

I drop into a wide, stable base, bringing my fists to my sides. Her eyebrows shoot up, noticing the shift to a more orthodox style. I slide my left leg back and raise my hands, right hand forward, palms open.

"No way," Yami breathes, her eyes widening. "You know Kung Fu?"

I give her a sharp nod and a smile. The tigress can't help herself, she smiles back and lunges.

Now, her movements are a blur of lethal precision. But my body is responding instinctively. I block her first punch with my forearm, rooted to the spot. Her second strike follows instantly, but I’m already slipping to the side, letting her fist pass millimeters from my nose.

She’s a whirlwind, but I’m the mountain. I parry and deflect every move, my new stance absorbing the impact so the pain is barely a whisper compared to before. In a desperate bid to break my guard, Yami roars and spins for a heavy roundhouse.

I step inside the arc, dodging the kick by half a millimeter. I’m suddenly at her back. I seize the opening and plant a kick squarely in her spine, sending her flying.

Yami executes a perfect roll to kill the momentum, coming up on her feet and staring at me with piercing, intense eyes. The crowd is absolutely losing it.

"Where the hell did you learn Wing Chun?" she growls, her voice low and dangerous.

"I had a good teacher," I reply with a crooked smirk. "Master of a loooooooot of things, Wing Chun included."

She tilts her head, never breaking eye contact. "He must have been a god to teach a human to fight like that."

I shrug, a surge of pride warming my chest. "He was... but I’m a pretty dedicated student, too."

She nods, a spark of genuine respect in her eyes. "Then let’s see how much you actually learned."

The tone of her voice shifts. She opens her fists, revealing curved white claws that glint like daggers under the lights. The change catches me off guard, and my instincts scream at me to stay sharp. Up until now, she was a martial artist. Now, something primal and ancient is waking up in her.

"What are you-?"

My question dies in my throat as Yami pounces. She drops to all fours, moving with the terrifying agility of an apex predator.

"Shit," I mutter, heart hammering.

She’s no longer a person, she’s a wild beast. She charges, her movements erratic and unpredictable. With teeth bared, she lets out a guttural growl that vibrates through the floorboards.

I dive out of the way of her first swipe, her claws shredding the air where my head was. She spins instantly, claws seeking meat. I block with my forearm and hiss as the sharp points furrow into my skin.

"Fuck!" I snarl, blood beginning to slick my arm.

She doesn't waste words. She strikes again, aiming for my face. I leap backward, but she anticipates it, spinning mid-air to deliver a brutal double-kick with her hind legs. I twist just enough to save my organs, but the blow catches my shoulder and sends me tumbling.

I roll to disperse the force and spring up, my body aching, but the scent of my own blood has sharpened my mind to a razor edge. To my surprise, Yami pauses, licking the blood from her paws like a cat playing with a mouse.

"Wing Chun is useless against someone with knives for nails," I complain, dropping the stance. "Honestly... without a shield or armor, a regular human is just cat food for a tiger."

The wildness in her eyes flickers, replaced by a feline curiosity. She wants to see what I’ll do next? Fine. Let's see if curiosity really does kill the cat. Time to try something a bit more... national.

I close my eyes and start to clap. 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3. I dictate the rhythm, a basic three-beat pulse. 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3.

Confused, the audience falls into a hushed silence. My claps echo through the entire stadium. I open my eyes, turn to the stands, and bellow at the top of my lungs:

"LET'S GO, GUYS! CLAP WITH ME!"

A few people start, then a few more, and within seconds, the entire arena is a thunderous, rhythmic engine of sound. Yami stays back, her honor and curiosity keeping her from attacking while my back is turned.

I give the crowd a grateful bow. "THANKS! KEEP IT UP AND I PROMISE I’LL WIN!"

The clapping intensifies. I flash a grin, throw my left leg back, and start to sway. My arms and legs swap in a fluid, rhythmic motion, perfectly timed to the beat. It’s natural. It’s a dance.

"Why are you dancing?" Yami calls out, looking utterly baffled.

I laugh. "I’m not dancing. I’m jogando capoeira."

She doesn't get it. She drops back to all fours and charges like a hungry lioness, leaping at me with everything bared.

"Nope," I whisper.

Yami hits the spot where I was standing a split second ago. Using the sway of the ginga, I launch into a cartwheel to the left, my body flowing with the beat. My movement is a continuous, confusing stream of motion that her predator instincts can't quite track.

"Soooo?" I taunt, my body still swaying to the rhythm.

Yami growls, her frustration mounting. She lunges again, her claws a blur, but I’m already gone, ducking, weaving, and spinning away. My defense is too foreign, too dynamic. The crowd’s energy is a physical force now, pushing me forward.

She stops, panting, a new wariness in her eyes. She’s destabilized. She has no idea how to hit a target that moves like water.

My turn.

I explode forward in a series of cartwheels and pirouettes, closing the gap instantly. The audience roars. Yami tries to punch me out of the air, but I spin around her strike and plant a heavy kick right into her thigh.

"Dammit!" she hisses, dropping to one knee.

She tries to disembowel me with a retaliatory swipe while I’m low, but I somersault backward, staying perfectly in sync with the music of the crowd.

"And now, for the big finale," I whisper.

I launch myself upward. In mid-air, I feint a high flying strike. She bites, raising her guard to protect her head, but I tuck and roll, landing right beside her.

The audience holds its breath. Total silence.

From the ground, I spring up with every ounce of strength I have left, driving my foot straight into her face.

CRACK.

The impact is devastating. A boom echoes through the silent arena as my foot connects with her jaw. The shockwave travels all the way up my spine. Yami Kage is lifted off the ground, thrown backward like a rag doll.

POF!

She hits the dirt with a dull thud, a small cloud of dust rising around her. The arena stays silent, every eye fixed on the fallen champion.

I stand there, gasping for air, my body a map of pain and exhaustion, but the adrenaline is a flood that keeps me upright.

The silence is broken by the frantic tapping of the lemming referee’s feet. She rushes to the center of the ring and kneels by the tigress, checking for a pulse.

"Is she...?" My voice is hoarse. I didn't actually want to kill her.

The referee looks up. "She's alive. But she needs a medic. Now."

I nod, the weight of the moment finally hitting me. The crowd begins to murmur, a low hum that quickly swells into a crashing wave of noise. The referee stands, grabs my bruised arm, and hoists it high.

"THE CHAMPION OF THE NIGHT! THE STRONGEST MAN IN THE WORLD! THE DRAGON WARRIOR!"

The applause is a storm. I raise my fists, a tired, bloody, but determined smile on my face. My muscles and bones are screaming, and my skin is a mess of cuts.

Enough of that. I close my eyes and finally activate my blessings.

[Hydra Poison Detected]

[Hydra Poison Neutralized]

With the Hydra venom neutralized, I feel my wounds knit together in seconds, the agonizing muscle tremors vanishing as if they were never there.

I head straight for the dressing room, desperate for a shower and a change of clothes, but the massive Anthro Gorilla from before is already waiting for me. She doesn't ask, she commands me to follow her.

Bitch didn't even let me change, I think, the frustration bubbling up.

She leads me through a labyrinth of stone corridors, her heavy footsteps booming against the walls. I follow in silence, my muscles feeling fresh but my skin still caked in dried blood, sweat, and oil. I’m a sight to behold: boots, green trunks, a luchador mask, and absolutely nothing else.

Finally, we emerge into the garden where this whole mess started. The tea table is set exactly as before, the scent of jasmine and green tea hanging heavy in the air. My system doesn't detect any hidden threats this time, just the two of them.

Madame Hún is seated, wearing a smile that’s way too wide for a woman who just lost a fortune on a bet. Beside her sits Edith. Her eyes are red and puffy, and pure terror is written across her face.

"Edith, what happened?" I ask, my voice gravelly with concern.

She doesn't answer. Her hands shake as she keeps her eyes glued to Madame Hún. The old tigress turns to me, her eyes gleaming with a manic, unsettling joy.

"Ah, the great Dragon Warrior honors us," she says, her voice polished and sweet, yet carrying an edge that makes my skin crawl. "Your performance was beyond magnificent. A triumphant spectacle. I dare say no empress of the ancient kingdoms has ever had the pleasure of witnessing such a thing."

She’s laying the praise on thick, but I’m not biting.

"Why are you so damn happy?" I demand.

Madame Hún lets out a melodious laugh that feels completely wrong given the tension in the air. "Ah, my dear, any mother would be overjoyed on her daughter’s engagement day."

The words hang there, cold and heavy. I look at Edith, who looks like she’s about to faint, then back at the tigress.

"Engagement?" I repeat, the word tasting bitter. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Madame Hún stands, her presence filling the garden despite her age. "You triumphed in all three fights. As promised, I am granting everything I owed you."

The gorilla drops three thick folders onto the table. Before I can get a word in, the Madam continues.

"In here, you’ll find the contact for your gold sales, the identification documents you requested, and the proof that Miss Edith’s debts have been completely erased."

My eyes widen. I’m genuinely shocked at the speed of it all. How deep does this mafia bitch’s influence actually go? It’s almost intimidating.

"And of course, my most prized possession," she declares solemnly. "The Flaming Prism. My beloved fire opal... Shì HǔPò."

"I don't believe it," I murmur.

"My daughter," she adds. "Though I believe you know her as... Yami Kage."

...

"You know what..." I say, stepping toward the tigress as she calmly sips her tea. "I really don't like being manipulated."

The threat in my voice is palpable. Madame Hún just raises a curious eyebrow, but her gorilla bodyguard isn't nearly as chill.

"Listen here, you stupid human," the gorilla growls, slamming a heavy hand onto my shoulder. "I think it’s best you-. ARGH!"

Before she can finish the threat, I seize her hand and twist her arm into an angle God never intended. The simian howls in pure agony.

"Let go of her, foolish boy," the old tigress snaps, though she doesn't bother standing up.

I whirl on her, eyes locking onto her orange gaze. "Why should I obey you? You think I’m afraid of you?"

The tigress smiles, as if she’s been waiting for me to ask.

"You have no records, no identity, no family. You have resources that shouldn't exist and a power that defies logic," she says, as if she’s reading a grocery list. "I’d be an idiot to think you’re afraid of me. But..."

She turns that predatory smile toward Edith. She licks her lips slowly, staring at the rabbit Anthro until I release the gorilla and shove my way between them.

"The people you care for have jobs, families, legacies... weaknesses I can exploit," she purrs, a guttural laugh vibrating in her throat.

Something dark and ancient bubbles up inside me, a vile, icy fury that I haven't let out in a long time.

"If you touch her," I begin, my voice dropping to a deadly, frozen whisper, "I swear I will destroy every single thing you have ever built. And I will make you watch it all burn, without arms, without legs, and without pupils, so you don't miss a goddamn second of it."

It’s been an eternity since I’ve let this side of me show. To my absolute surprise, the tigress beams at me with pride.

"Perfect!" she exclaims, standing up and opening her arms. "I have never been so satisfied in my entire life!"

Before I can react, she pulls me into a hug.

"The strength of a monster and the heart of a warrior," the old woman murmurs emotionally. "Not only do I promise to do you no harm, but from now on, whatever you need, you come to me. You come to your mother."

The way she says "son" is disturbingly affectionate. It makes my skin itch.

"Right..." I mutter, feeling incredibly awkward. "How about we talk more about this... some other day?"

She lets me go, her eyes still misty. "You’re right. It’s been a long day, and HǔPò needs time to recover from her match as well."

I don't wait for a second invitation. I scoop Edith up in my arms.

"Belezademoravaleutchaufui!" I bark in Portuguese, not even realizing I’ve switched languages as I bolt from the room with the bunny in my arms.

After a few minutes of sprinting, Edith shakes off her stupor and starts kicking.

"Marcus, let me go!" she protests, hitting me with the most adorable, ineffective punches I’ve seen in three lifetimes. "I can walk!"

"This is faster," I grunt, refusing to drop her. "I know I’m a sweaty mess, but just hang on."

She goes quiet, finally relenting and burying her face against my chest. Good girl.

Sniff. Sniff.

Wait. Is she smelling me?

Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff! The rabbit is inhaling like she’s in a trance. Jesus! I think. She looks like a Wall Street broker face-down in a pile of white powder.

"Aaaaaaah," she sighs, her entire body going limp in my arms.

I need to distract her. Fast.

"So, where are we eating?"

The question snaps her out of it. She blushes a deep crimson and looks away in total embarrassment.

"You wanted meat and beer, right?" she asks quietly. "It’s late, so I think only the Hooters around here is still open. They have both."

I slam on the brakes and set her down. "You guys have Hooters here?"

She nods, looking surprised by my sudden enthusiasm. A chance to see the different species of this world in tops and shorts? Count me in.

"Can we go?" I ask, genuinely excited.

"Of course. It’s two blocks from the laundromat."

I memorize the directions and quickly swap my clothes using my inventory. I still smell like a locker room, but at least I look presentable. As we emerge from the underground laundry, I march toward the promised land.

From a distance, I see some skinny human girls out front. They have that delicate, lolita-style anime look. They’re waving at Anthro girls walking by, but they seem to completely ignore the guys.

"That's weird," I mutter. "Why are they ignoring half the customers?"

"Most men don't really like this... type of establishment," Edith says, her voice sounding a bit strained.

As we get close enough to actually read the sign, the realization hits me like a freight train.

"Son of a-."

"Welcome to Femboy Hooters!" chirps a happy, incredibly effeminate voice from the host stand. "Table for two?"

[Femboy hooters: https://imgbox.com/pwz8qPrC]

"Shit…" I mumble in frustration.