Stories in novels move us, cool as sword-light, but we don’t take them as iron truth.

Reading’s for a rush, like wind in pine, to taste lives we never lived, not to chase gritty realism.

Most readers split real and unreal like two rivers parted by stone, so fantasy feeds the heart without flooding daily life.

Take harem light novels. A ring of cute girls orbits you like fireflies. Every morning a childhood friend comes to wake you.

At a street corner, you bump into your destined one like stars crossing.

Every day you spar with the beautiful discipline prefect, wit against wit like chess on a lacquer board.

Such a beautiful life, like spring blossoms.

But we know it’s impossible. We enjoy the sweetness, and real hopes pop like bubbles with a laugh.

Fantasy and reality are two lands walled by steel.

So... the weight on my waist can’t be a real girl.

Probably last night’s blanket slipped, or a pillow sat on my waist like a lazy cat.

“Quit lazing, get up, Andor.”

No, I’m hearing things like wind bells. I clearly haven’t slept enough.

Roll over, drag the quilt over my head, dive back into sleep like a fish.

“Get up get up get up!”

Fine, she’s a body pillow. Right, the one I bought yesterday. My bad sleeping pressed it on me like a rock.

“Wrong! I’m Stini, get up!”

I snake out a hand and haul the noisy pillow under the covers, like reeling silk.

Smooth and soft, like polished jade... body pillow indeed.

Okay. Back to sleep... sinking like dusk.

“Sleep to death then!”

Fists fall like rain on my ribs, and yank me out of the dream.

“Ah, Stini, it’s you. Quit punching, that hurts. A normal man would be dead.”

Alright. Pain’s real. This isn’t a trick of mist.

Groggy, I crawl up. Stini stands at my bedhead, cheeks puffed like a steamed bun.

“Stini, why’re you wearing Raven’s face?”

“I set a defense spell.”

“How’d you get in?”

“Forget it; I’m used to it.”

More important, if Stini’s at the bedhead, then inside my quilt—

I flip the blanket. Princess Golia peeks from beneath me like a startled fawn.

“Confused. Andor should be shy. Why disappointed face?”

“Because I can’t trade feelings with you, I lost a whole route. Lost a shy memory with a girl.”

“So this is a morning ‘guess-who with a blindfold’? Be glad I sleep in pajamas, not bare as a newborn.”

Otherwise, whose shame would bloom?

I’m used to the girls in the Hero Squad storming my place like sparrows.

I’m a guy; I’m generous to girls.

I grab yesterday’s clothes and glance left and right.

They’re not leaving.

I’ll change in the bathroom like a turtle retreating.

I close the door and stack a few defense spells, like bricks in a wall.

Heroes’ household carries a “lucky lecher” charm, like foxes blessed by chance.

Augustus has bumped into bathing girls more than ten times in the hills.

Stini sees me naked often too. She’ll head to the toilet and catch me showering.

She’ll bring cake and find me changing, like fate’s prank.

I’m fine with it. “There’s nothing shameful on this body,” I told her, like a banner.

Later she peeked through her fingers like leaves. Then she peeked openly, bold as noon.

“Andor, hurry. Let’s go do a quest. Hurry up.”

Her tapping lands in a drum rhythm, three long, one short, pause. Then again, like woodpeckers on bamboo.

“Quit bugging me! If you want me quick, stop bugging me!”

I crank the shower on, the spray hissing like rain.

I yell back.

We’re close enough to trade barbs without venom.

“Andor, hurry. Let’s go do a quest. Hurry!”

This time the rhythm riffs like a drum kit, quick and bright like sparks.

Not bad. She’s weirdly talented in odd places, like a traveling bard.

“Wait till I wash and eat. Nivifar won’t run. Relax.”

The tapping stops like wind dropping.

“What are you talking about?”

“You wanna see Nivifar, right?”

“Andor, what are you saying? I don’t.”

“Don’t tease me. Every day you lead, you run into Nivifar.”

“You work together and walk back together.”

“What’s between you?”

“Wait— don’t tell me you like girls?”

“Coincidence. We just happen to bump into her... probably.”

Her voice wavers like a reed.

“Or does the Hero’s instinct tell you something’s off about her?”

“Uhh... not a problem.”

“More like my own problem.”

“No— like a relation?”

“Ahh, I can’t say it.”

“No need to clear it. I trust you. I trust your gut like a compass.”

“Thanks. I’m moved...”

“I trust your instinct more than your logic.”

“That’s too cruel!”

This time the tapping goes allegro, fast as summer rain.

“Stini, quit it. You’ll break the inn door...”

My words are wind. Even if I warn her, she’ll break it.

The bathroom door crashes down like thunder. Stini stares at me under the shower, eyes round.

Princess Golia peeks from the bed like a cat.

I saw that coming.

So the moment the door fell, I smeared the foam from my hair down to cover my crotch, like white cloud armor.

“If the inn demands compensation, you pay, Stini.”

“Ah, um, thanks... for the hospitality?”

“Not hospitality. Pay or not, I won’t be happy.”

I rub my head to ease the morning low pressure. It helps like tea in rain— not much.

“Haah.”

I yawn and stretch hard, bones crackling like frozen twigs.

“Good. Energy’s back. Andor Mephy, fully revived!”

My body is Shadow in material form, energy draped in matter.

So why does it crackle like a normal body?

I guess this shell uses a human template.

Human bones and muscles aren’t perfect, so even strengthened they fight themselves like locked antlers.

Like cramps. Like a dislocated joint. Two wolves in one body tugging antlers.

“We fight, not clown.” Princess Golia warns in clipped lines.

“It’s simple work. Let the heart relax like a loose bow.”

“Underestimate the enemy, you die.” Her voice is cold as iron.

“That’s the usual thinking. We’re Hero-tier. No need to fret.”

“If you’re uneasy, I’ll take point.”

“Today’s destination’s Blue Moon Lake, right?”

I hurry ahead of Gloria and cut a path with my Greatsword, like hacking ivy.

The Eastern woodland itself is a threat. Monsters hide in trees like shadows, ambushing travelers.

We’re beyond human. The Hero is another world.

No one can break Gloria’s defense.

And me— a villain boss doesn’t die here.

A maxed character won’t lose to mobs.

Even ambushes are low-level to us.

In reality there’s no “plot kill” falling like a guillotine.

“Left side, three creatures like winged elephants.”

“Right-rear, two things that look like Stini’s hair.”

I pour Shadow into my Greatsword.

My strike zone covers our whole three-man spread, and I sweep back to shove the ambushers away.

In the lull as they recoil, the other two finish their kills like falcons stooping.

“Ugh, how is that ‘like Stini’s hair’? It’s a tentacle monster.” Stini frowns like she’s bitten a lemon.

She kills clean with a blade, then gets sick after.

Maybe harvesting needs hands, and slime clings like raw egg.

“Doesn’t it look like your hair?”

“Not at all. I thought this monster would wear a sleek ponytail.”

“You’re set up as a ponytail girl, sure.”

“But you rarely keep it neat.”

“That tangled mess looks like this tentacle brute.”

“Your hair used to be emerald.”

“Now, long unwashed, it’s deep green like pondweed.”

“Even if true, you can’t call my hair a tentacle beast!”

“Fine, fine. How about that one?”

“That split, frizzy shape is your just-woke look.”

I point at a treant ahead, bark bristling like porcupine quills.

A treant isn’t strong alone.

But within a range, their strength stacks like rings in a trunk.

That’s the nasty part.

And we face a whole treant forest, a choir of wood.

“See? Stini, you led us wrong again.”

“Oh no, a grand crisis! (falsetto)”

“You were leading!”

“I don’t even know where we are.”

“Don’t dump it on me!”

In general, our direction’s fine.

Blue Moon Lake is northeast of the city— our current heading.

The sun rises east and sets west.

Nature’s law doesn’t break like pottery.

“We charge straight? Too many enemies.” Princess Golia asks, voice like a clear bell.

“Not that hard.”

“I keep thinking our style is too cautious.”

“We can open the throttle.”

A max-level player can clear every dungeon.

Why get stronger? To farm faster, like wind through grass.

“Don’t understand.” Her brows stay even like painted lines.

“Point is, we’re strong.”

“We can just push through like a river.”

“No, Andor.” Stini stops me, her hand up like a halt sign.

“Why?”

“The treant hunt goes live tomorrow.”

“If we kill them all today, we won’t get paid tomorrow.”

Her eyes shine, earnest as stars.

“So it was that.”

I knew Stini’s steadfast gaze is never reliable, like a compass with a magnet.

“No problem.”

“What if we beat them half to death today?”

I stride on.

A treant swings a huge crown at me, leaves roaring like a storm.

I swing my Greatsword.

One stroke, both arms off, sap spraying like rain.

The treant clutches the wound and howls.

The whole forest answers, a wave of bark-voices.

“Keep up. Told you it’s easy.” I grin like a fox.

Aside from the noise.

Next time, bring earplugs like little shells.