HOW TO NTR A NETORI PROTAGONIST

Even with a thousand concerns swirling in my mind, I kept moving. My feet dragged me from shop to shop, loading my arms with everything I was tasked to buy.

Vegetables, grains, a chunk of cheap meat that looked more bone than flesh; each item felt heavier than it should. Not because of the weight, but because of the stares.

The streets of Gendal were alive with noise, merchants hawking their wares, children darting between stalls, the occasional horse-drawn cart rattling by, but none of it drowned out the whispers.

They weren't even trying to hide it.

"Is he some kind of freak? Look at him! He's like a corpse with clothes."

"Goddess, his legs are thinner than my kid's arms. How's he even walking?"

"Does he eat? He looks like the wind could blow him straight to the heavens."

"And that height… It's unnatural! Like someone stretched him out for a cruel laugh."

"Bet he can't even lift a sword. No way a guy like that can fight. What's he good for, other than being a scarecrow?"

The whispers turned into chuckles, and some outright laughter followed. But the worst was yet to come.

"Bet he spends his days jerking off in some corner. Guys like that don't get women. Not with a body like that and a pencil between his legs."

That one stung. Hard. I felt the heat rising to my face, but I kept my head down, gripping the handles of my bags like they were lifelines.

It wasn't like they were wrong. I was a spectacle. At 6'5" and barely scraping 48 kilograms, I looked more like some forgotten husk than a man. My reflection in every shop window mocked me, gaunt cheeks, hollow eyes, a frame that looked like it might collapse under its own weight.

It didn't matter how much I ate. Since waking up in this body, I'd devoured enough food to feed a family, but it didn't show. I could eat a damn horse, and I'd still look like this: a half-starved shadow of a man.

"Damn it," I said under my breath, jaw tightening. "Not my fault I'm stuck like this. Blame the damn author. He didn't even give me a proper backstory. Just a 'lanky thug,' a poor brother-in-law who witnessed his sister-in-law being fucked by Alex, and thus killed in Chapter Three. No name. No purpose."

I wasn't just an outcast because of my appearance. I was an outcast because this world was designed to favor strength, favor power. 

Here, strength mattered. Muscle and power earned respect. Knights with broad shoulders and gleaming armor, mages with mana that bent the air around them this was their world.

And me? I was level 3. Damn weak.

The body I was stuck with was pathetic.

But I couldn't afford to stay like this. I had a plan. A system whispered promises in my head. It didn't care that I was weak now. It wanted me to take what others held dear.

Treasures, power… and their women.

But none of that would happen if I stayed weak.

I clenched my fists, feeling the bones shift under my thin skin.

For now, I just kept walking.

From what I remember from the book, the world of Torsen was filled with magic, different species, and, of course, massive boobs. Yeah, the author was clearly a pervert, he made sure that every woman, no matter how old, had a chest that could put the biggest mountains to shame.

Even the little girls in the book weren't too far behind; they had assets that would make any man's head spin. But beyond that, Torsen had its fair share of dark history, the usual fantasy clichés: epic battles for supremacy, backstabbing, and power-hungry gods.

All of it mixed together to shape this messed-up world.

It all started with Aerathav, the supreme god. Time, reincarnation, and the endless cycles of life and death, that was his domain. For eons, he ruled alone, and the ten lesser gods followed him, their power insignificant next to his.

They existed because he allowed it. Simple as that.

Then the Age of Darkness began. The Great Evil arrived, a god of malice so twisted that his name alone poisoned the air. War came with him, the kind that dragged on for centuries and left nothing standing.

Aerathav fought him, because who else could? But even he struggled. The Great Evil was relentless, determined to reduce everything to ash.

Eventually, Aerathav won. He destroyed the Unholy One, ending the war. But by then, he was drained, vulnerable, and that's when the ten lesser gods made their move. They betrayed him, tearing down the very god who had kept them alive.

Aerathav fell, but not without a fight. With his dying breath, he cursed his traitors, sealing them in the god realm, a prison they could never escape. They could watch the mortal world, whisper to it even, but they'd never set foot there again.

Of course, none of that fixed the damage. The blood of two gods, the supreme and the unholy, soaked into the land. Aerathav's blood awakened mana in humans, giving them magic, a way to evolve and survive.

But the blood of the Great Evil? That was something else entirely. It gave rise to demons, monstrosities that existed to destroy.

The world was on fire, and there was no one left to save it. So Aerathav, even in death, made one final sacrifice. He gave the traitorous gods authority over mortal champions, letting them guide heroes to fight back against the darkness.

Not out of forgiveness, Aerathav wasn't that kind, but because the alternative was annihilation.

And so, the cycle began: heroes chosen by the gods clashing with the Unholy One's creations, over and over again. Mortals caught in the crossfire, praying to gods who couldn't hear them.

A never-ending war, all because the ones at the top couldn't stop tearing each other apart.

When I read this in the book, I'd thought it was impressive world-building. Dark, layered, full of potential. Now? It was my reality, and it felt more like a death sentence.

But there was one thing I knew for sure. If I wanted to survive in this hellhole, I couldn't stay weak.

And Torsen, for all its blood and fire, had given me a way out.

Magic.

That was enough for now.

The magical theories in this world were basic, probably because the author never bothered to delve deeper into them.

By the time a person reached five years old, most would awaken their magical attributes, or, failing that, their aura would emerge, marking them as future knights.

Magic was simple enough, fire, water, earth, wind, lightning. The classic elements.

Then there were the secondary attributes, rarer, more powerful, ice when water met wind, magma when fire met earth. Storms born from lightning merging with wind.

The combinations were endless, each one giving birth to new forces.

But beyond these, there were the unique attributes, like mine: Mirror, Cage, Chain.

And then there were the others, commonly known, blood, light, dark, poison.

I had three of these unique attributes, but my mana heart… it was weak. Fragile. It couldn't absorb much of the world's energy, and that left me at a disadvantage.

Unlike the privileged nobles, I wasn't born into anything but hardship. I was an orphan, picked up by my brother Jonathan, a man who treated original owner like a slave for most of his life, though I suppose that made him more of a brother than I'd had before.

Anyway, Once your attributes awaken, you're expected to make something of yourself.

There were levels to this world, rankings, ways of measuring power, One-Star Mage, Two-Star Mage, up to Archmage, then Sage.

But none of that mattered to me. Not yet.

After some time, I found a narrow alley between two buildings, away from the hustle of the market. The air was cool, and the cobblestones beneath my feet were damp with morning dew.

I paused, standing still, trying to shake off the dizziness. My heart was pounding.

[Magic: Mirror, Cage, Chain]

I stared at the screen again, barely able to comprehend it. Mirror, Cage, Chain. The words looked so… simple. How could I make them work? How could I do anything with only Level 3 Intermediate magic?

I let out a deep breath and focused on the first one: Mirror. What did it even mean? Was it a reflection spell? Did it show me things?

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to concentrate. I didn't know how to begin, but I had to try. I lifted my hand into the air, willing something to happen. For a moment, nothing.

And then—wham.

A flash of purple light exploded in front of me, and a mirror, made from some strange purple material, materialized in the air. It hovered there, shimmering, as though it was trying to hold itself together.

My heart raced in disbelief. It worked.

But only for a split second.

Before I could even fully admire it, the mirror shattered—crumbling into wisps of smoke, like dissipating fog. I cursed under my breath, angry at how fleeting it was.

"So that's how it is…" I muttered. Low mana, weak magic. My reflection had lasted barely a few seconds, then vanished as if it had never been there. This wasn't enough.

I couldn't just stand around like this, hopeless and weak.

I moved on to the next magic: Cage. I didn't know what it was supposed to do, but I needed to see.

Again, I raised my hand, this time imagining some sort of binding or barrier, something strong to contain or trap. The air around me hummed faintly.

A cage appeared, shining with a dull yellow light. It was thin, flimsy—not the kind of thing I could trap someone in. It was weak, barely visible in the space around me. And then it, too, faded, dissipating into nothingness.

I ground my teeth, frustration building.

I was nothing more than a joke with these powers.

The last one: Chain. I could almost imagine it—magical chains, probably to hold something or someone. So, I thought about it. I pictured chains appearing, glowing, strong. I visualized wrapping them around something, anything.

This time, a flicker of energy burst into being, but the chains weren't solid. They were like illusions—translucent, thin, and insubstantial. They barely clung to the air before they vanished.

Each one of my attempts was a failure. All my powers were weak. So weak.

"Shit," I muttered, clenching my fists in frustration.

What was the point of having Unique magic if I couldn't even hold it together long enough to make something real?

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The magic, the powers, they were still there. Maybe I didn't understand them yet, but I could learn. I could figure it out.

The key was time. The key was practice.

But then I looked at the status once again:

[Will die in three days.]

Damn it. I didn't even have time.

So I made up my mind right then and there.

The reason I died in the original book was because of Alex, so somehow I needed to intercept Alex before he gained his power and confidence.

Soon, I picked up my bags. And I turned to leave, my thoughts flickered to my sister in law, Isabella and Jonathan, my bastard brother, the drunkard trash.

And so, I walked back into the streets, ignoring the stares and whispers of the people.

Headed toward home. With determination.

""I'm going to rewrite this whole damn story. Every woman I come across? I'll fuck them all. No mercy in pounding. First.. Cough.. Cough...I need to put on some muscles. Don't want some MILF getting top of me and crushing my balls under her fucking vaginal weight. The last thing I need is my nuts turned to mush"