I woke up sitting down.
Wrong. I didn't wake up. I just... became aware. Like someone had hit the play button on a video that had been paused halfway through.
A man's voice echoed across open air, amplified by speakers I couldn't see. "—and it is with great pride that the International Hunter Coalition welcomes the Class of 2044 to San Nicolas Academy."
Applause. Polite. Scattered. The kind of clapping people did when they were supposed to but didn't actually give a shit.
I blinked.
Where the fuck was I?
My eyes focused on rows of folding chairs in front of me. Hundreds of them. Filled with teenagers in identical black uniforms with color-coded trim on the shoulders. Red. Blue. Gold. Silver. Bronze.
Beyond the chairs was a stage. Podium. Flags from a dozen different countries hanging limp in the ocean breeze.
Ocean breeze.
I turned my head. Slowly. Took in my surroundings.
We were outside. Massive amphitheater carved into a hillside overlooking the Pacific. The sun was setting behind us, casting long shadows across the stone seating. Salt smell in the air. Seagulls crying somewhere in the distance.
And I was in the back. Way in the back. Section cordoned off from the rest with a rope barrier and a sign that read: LOTTERY ADMISSIONS.
"What the—"
My voice came out wrong. Too high. Too soft. Not my voice.
I looked down.
My hands were on my thighs. Pale. Soft. Fingers thick like sausages.
No calluses. No tan lines from my watch. No tattoo on my left wrist.
These weren't my hands.
The speaker droned on. "—represent not just your nations, but humanity's collective will to survive in this new era of—"
I lifted my hands. Turned them over. Flexed the fingers.
Fat. These hands were fat.
I looked down at my body.
Holy shit.
I was wearing the same black uniform as everyone else, but it fit wrong. Too tight across the stomach. The fabric pulled and bunched at the sides where it couldn't quite contain the gut underneath. My thighs pressed together, filling the chair.
I could feel the weight. The heaviness. The way my stomach pushed against the waistband of my pants.
This wasn't my body.
My body was lean. Cut. I'd put in hours at the gym five days a week for the past three years specifically so I wouldn't look like—
Like this.
"—those who have earned their place through skill and dedication, and those who have been granted the extraordinary opportunity through our lottery program—"
Lottery program.
The words cut through the fog in my brain.
I knew this. I'd read this.
Or skimmed it. Yeah. Skimmed it while taking a shit one afternoon when I was bored and my phone was at 12% battery.
Hunter Academy: America's Elite.
Some nobody author's crack at the hunter academy genre. Progression fantasy bullshit set in the States instead of Korea for once. The protagonist was a lottery winner. Underdog with a hidden talent. Worked hard, made friends, fell in love with some pure-hearted girl who believed in him.
It was fine. Mediocre. Competently written in that way that meant the author had read enough web novels to copy the formula but hadn't actually lived enough to make it feel real.
Especially the sex scenes.
I remembered that specifically. There'd been this one chapter where the main character finally got together with the girl and the author had written it like he'd never touched a woman in his life. All purple prose and metaphors. "Her petals bloomed beneath his touch." Who the fuck said that? Nobody. Nobody who'd actually made a woman cum said shit like that.
I'd left a comment. Something like: "Author-nim clearly doesn't know where the clit is."
Got downvoted to hell. Banned from the comment section.
Worth it.
And now I was—
A window materialized in front of my face.
Not a window. A glowing screen. Transparent. Floating in midair like someone had ripped a UI element out of a mobile game and copy-pasted it into reality.
[WELCOME, TRANSMIGRATOR!]
You have successfully possessed the body of JACE MONROE in the world of
Analyzing host compatibility…
Analyzing soul structure…
ANALYSIS COMPLETE!
Congratulations! You have been granted the DIVINE MILKING SYSTEM!
I stared at it.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me."
The girl sitting two seats to my left glanced over. Skinny. Asian. Nervous looking. She gave me a weird look and then went back to staring at the stage.
DIVINE MILKING SYSTEM - INTERFACE
◆ SYSTEM STATUS ◆
Level: 1
Experience: 0/1000
Remaining Lifespan: 71 Hours 53 Minutes
Points: 0
◆ CORE ABILITIES ◆
⟨ ESSENCE EXTRACTION ⟩
Rank: MAX
Type: Passive
Physical contact with designated targets triggers lactation regardless of biological state. Extracted essence can be harvested and stored. Quality and quantity determined by target's rank and emotional state.
Required: Skin contact with breast tissue
⟨ ABILITY THEFT ⟩ Rank: MAX | Passive
Consuming a target's essence grants access to their primary ability at Copper rank. Permanent until released or overwritten. Upgradeable via points.
⟨ SNAKE EYES ⟩ Rank: MAX | Active
Direct eye contact reveals target's bust size and rank, and creates compulsion scaling with existing attraction. Ineffective on targets 2+ ranks above user.
⟨ EUPHORIC FEEDBACK ⟩ Rank: MAX | Active
Channeled touch transmits pleasure directly to target's nervous system. Intensity ranges from subtle warmth to overwhelming ecstasy. Builds tolerance with repeated use.
⟨ PRIVATE SANCTUM ⟩ Rank: Copper | Active
Pocket dimension, user-customizable. Capacity: 1 target. Duration: 30 minutes/day. Resets midnight PST. Upgrade: 500 Points.
⟨ OVERCLOCK ⟩ Rank: Copper | Active
Consume 1 stored cup to elevate one stolen ability up two tiers for 4 minutes.
Cooldown: 6 hours.
⟨ ESSENCE VAULT ⟩ Rank: 1 | Passive
Dimensional storage. Capacity: 3 cups, indefinite freshness. Upgrade: +3 slots per 300 Points.
◆ CURRENT ABILITIES: None.
◆ SYSTEM MECHANICS ◆
10 pts/cup consumed | 20 pts first extraction | 100 pts = +1 day lifespan
Ability upgrades:
Copper→Bronze 500pts
Bronze→Silver 1,500pts
Silver→Gold 5,000pts
Gold→Platinum 20,000pts
Platinum→Diamond 50,000pts
I read it twice.
Then a third time just to make absolutely sure I wasn't hallucinating.
Divine Milking System.
Lifespan: 71 hours 53 minutes.
I was going to die in three days unless I convinced women to let me milk them like dairy cows.
"This is the most degenerate incel bullshit I have ever seen in my entire life."
I said it out loud. A few heads turned in my section. I didn't care.
On stage, the speaker had been replaced by someone else. A woman in a sharp white suit.
She was saying something about international cooperation and the future of humanity but I couldn't focus on her words because there was a fucking death timer floating in front of my face.
71 hours. 52 minutes now.