The last thing he remembered was the sound of his shitty excuse for a car getting annihilated by a truck; at 15 and orphan, the only kind of car he could afford was barely better than nothing.
Glass everywhere, metal crunching, pain shooting through his body like someone lit him on fire and left him to roast.
In that final moment, as blood filled his lungs and his vision faded, he cursed everything—every person, every thing, the entire fucking world. It had all been one giant cosmic joke at his expense.
And then... nothing.
Well, not quite nothing. When his eyes opened again, he was sitting in some dark room.
It wasn't normal dark either; it was like the void swallowed everything except the floor. And that floor? Covered in a chessboard pattern that looked way too clean, like someone had just waxed it for the first time in their life.
Across from him, a wooden chair sat empty, almost mocking him.
"What the fuck?" he muttered, running his hands over his chest, his face, his legs. He was alive. Or... something.
No pain, no blood, no wreckage or steel piercing his body. Just him and this weird, empty room.
The chair in front of him started moving. He froze, staring as it twisted and writhed like something out of a horror movie.
It collapsed inward, shrinking and morphing until—bam! It wasn't a chair anymore. It was a... snail?
A snail. Of all things.
"What the actual fuck?" he whispered, half-expecting to wake up from some fever dream. But the snail just sat there, slimy and smug, its shell glinting like it was covered in oil.
"Yo," it said, its voice deep and weirdly casual, like a stoner at a party. "Name's GhostGirlFucker."
He blinked. "What?"
"GhostGirlFucker," the snail repeated, like it wasn't the dumbest name he'd ever heard. "Yeah, yeah, I know. It's a mouthful. But whatever, let's move on."
"What the fuck is happening right now?!" he snapped, finally finding his voice. "Am I dead? Is this hell? Are you... Are you God?"
The snail laughed—a wet, gurgly sound that made him want to gag. "God? Hell no. Do I look like the kind of asshole who runs shit? I'm just a bored guy who can do whatever the fuck I want. And right now, I've decided to screw with your pathetic existence."
He stared at the snail, his brain struggling to process the absolute bullshit coming out of its nonexistent mouth. "Screw with me? What the hell does that mean?"
"Relax, dude," GhostGirlFucker said, its shell glowing faintly now, like some kind of accessory. "Here's the deal: you're dead. Congrats. Life fucked you over, yadda yadda. But I'm feeling generous, so I'm giving you a do-over."
"A do-over?" His hands clenched into fists. "You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?" the snail shot back. "I'm sending you to another world. You know, like those dumb anime you used to jack off to. Except this one's My Hero Academia. Ring any bells?"
He blinked. "You're serious."
"Dead serious," the snail said. "And I'm not sending you there empty-handed. Oh no. I'm giving you a system. A Harem System, to be precise."
He stared, dumbfounded. "A... what?"
"You heard me, dumbass. A Harem System. You know, girls falling all over you, you getting stronger with each hookup, the whole shebang. It's cheesy as fuck, but you're into that kind of shit, right?"
"I—" He couldn't even form a coherent response. His brain was short-circuiting.
"Look, kid," the snail continued, "I'm doing this because I'm bored. You're a shithead, but that's what makes you interesting. You've got anger, spite, and zero morals—the perfect combo for chaos. And chaos is entertaining. So here's the plan: you go to this new world, you fuck around—literally and figuratively—and you make a name for yourself. Deal?"
"What happens if I say no?" he asked, his voice shaking with a mix of confusion and anger.
"You don't get to say no," GhostGirlFucker said, more menacing, or as much as a Snail could be. "This isn't a negotiation, jackass. You take what I'm giving you, and you run with it. Or you don't. Either way, you're going."
"This is insane," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You're insane."
"Probably," the snail said with a shrug. "But that's not your problem. Your problem is figuring out how to fuck as many girls as possible and becoming the strongest. Oh, and don't worry—I hooked you up with a quirk that's a mouthful. You'll love it."
Before he could respond, the floor beneath him dissolved, and he fell into the void. As he plummeted, the snail's voice echoed in his ears.
"Don't screw this up, kid. Make it fun... For me!"
When Yami woke up, the first thing he saw was a massive tit shoved right in his face.
Not just any tit—this was a colossal, gravity-defying, anime-tier pair of jugs that made his already-fucked-up situation even weirder.
He couldn't even think straight because, before his now baby brain could catch up, instinct kicked in. His tiny baby mouth latched onto the nipple, and he started sucking like it was his life's mission.
The milk hit his tongue, and it was sweet as hell, almost like vanilla ice cream. Then reality hit like a hammer. He was sucking on some random chick's tit—no, his mom's tit—and that was a whole new level of weird.
His adult brain was screaming, but his tiny, useless baby body didn't give a shit. It was running on autopilot, like, "This is life now, deal with it."
As he sucked, he tilted his head back a little, trying to get a good look at whoever this was. His mom—because that's apparently who this was now—looked like a walking wet dream.
He forced his eyes to focus, looking up to see the woman holding him. His new mom, apparently. She was hot—way too hot for this situation to feel okay.
She had long blonde hair that fell over her shoulders in soft waves, her skin glowing like she spent her days lounging in the sun instead of doing anything productive.
Her face was almost annoyingly perfect—high cheekbones, a small, cute nose, and those eyes. Well, kind of. Her half-shut green eyes gave her this permanently relaxed look, like she was stoned or too rich to care.
But let's not lie here—the main attraction was her tits. They were massive, round, and jiggly, barely contained by her loose black and gold kimono.
The kimono, by the way, wasn't doing much to hide anything else, either. Her waist was slim, her hips were wide, and her every move seemed designed to show off just how stacked she was. She looked like she belonged in a cheap doujin instead of someone's house.
"My little Yami," she cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. "You're such a hungry boy."
'Yami? What kind of weird-ass name is that?' he thought, his brain still catching up. But then again, his whole situation was already fucked, so who cared? Yami, huh? That was him now. He was stuck with it.
He didn't know how long he kept feeding because, honestly, his brain was on overdrive trying to process everything.
One second, he died; the other, he'd been in the void talking to a snail with an attitude problem. The next, he woke up in a world straight out of My Hero Academia, and now here he was, stuck in a baby's body, sucking on the biggest pair of tits he'd ever seen.
Life really had it out for him.
When his new mom finally pulled him off her nipple, he let out a pathetic little whine that only pissed him off more.
She laughed softly and adjusted him in her arms, holding him close like he was some fragile little thing. "There, there," she said, brushing his hair back. "You've had enough for now, haven't you? Such a strong, handsome boy. You're going to grow up to be so amazing. I just know it."
Amazing? He wanted to laugh, but all that came out was a gurgle. Yeah, sure. Nothing screams "amazing" like being a fully grown dude trapped in a baby's body.
She rocked him gently, walking across the room. It wasn't much to look at—just a plain little place with tatami mats on the floor and sliding paper doors that let in a soft glow of sunlight.
It looked like something out of old-school Japan, except it was clean and cosy, like someone had actually kept it nice.
As she carried him, he caught sight of himself in a polished wooden cabinet. Seeing his reflection like this was weird as hell—a tiny baby with messy black hair and sharp golden eyes.
His old self was gone, replaced by this... tiny, squishy, helpless thing. But at least he didn't look like a total loser. Even as a baby, there was something intense about his eyes. He could work with that... probably.
"You're going to be so popular," his mom said out of nowhere, nuzzling him like he was some kind of stuffed animal. "All the girls will love you."
'What the actual fuck, lady?' he thought, trying not to gag. Who says that to their baby? But then again, she didn't seem like the type to follow normal mom rules.
Between her ridiculous tits and the way she talked to him like he was already some kind of lady-killer, this woman was on a whole different level of weird... Nice.
The day crawled by in a blur of naps, feedings, and awkward moments where he had to pretend he wasn't dying inside every time she whipped out a tit to feed him.
It didn't help that she didn't seem to believe in modesty. Her kimono barely stayed on half the time, and every move she made was like a goddamn tease. He hated how his adult brain kept noticing.
By the time night rolled around, Yami was mentally fried. Being a baby sucked. Everything was too loud, too bright, and too close. His new mom tucked him into a futon, her voice soft as she hummed some lullaby.
He didn't understand the words, but it was enough to calm the storm in his head, at least for a little while.
As he stared at the ceiling, he thought about what the snail had told him. A second chance. A Harem system that basically turned his life into a harem hentai.
And a quirk that was supposed to be... well, he didn't exactly know if his quirk was supposed to be good or bad, but he couldn't wait to find out.
The thought made him grin—well, as much as a baby could. This world didn't know what it was in for. He might have been reborn as a helpless little shit, but he wasn't planning on staying that way.
[Cooking Rice]