Fan Yu was a regular Chinese high school kid, plain as tap water, average in height. His grades ran midstream, steady top ten, never a cresting wave. His temper was gentle, yet a mule-stubborn streak anchored him. He had a few solid friends, but his circle stayed tight as a closed shell. He’d shoot hoops now and then, but mostly holed up in his room, bathed in screen-glow, gaming and binging anime like a night moth to neon.

He’d sometimes cram a mountain of unfinished homework at dawn, heart thudding like a drum in fog. A bad test brought parent and teacher down on him like twin thunderstorms. A great anime sparked half a day of chatter with friends, laughter bubbling like spring water. A pretty girl in his grade sent his thoughts skittering like sparrows in a banyan tree.

He was the most typical of the typical—back in China you could bag a dozen like him in one classroom—an ordinary boy with no special shine.

And then, that ordinary life broke like thin ice.

After a week trapped at school, Fan Yu bolted free like a bird from a snare. He shot home, dropped his bag, and dove for his monitor. Headset on, no hesitation, like a knight snapping down his visor before a tilt.

He booted his ping booster, launched the game with muscle memory, and popped open QQ. One scroll, one click on his buddy’s ancient anime avatar, and he spammed calls like a flurry of arrows.

“Hey, hey, you there? I’m home.”

“Queue fast, queue fast. Bro, I spent all day in the training yard on G-7. Watch me terrorize fools.”

“Hah. Your G-7 isn’t touching my G-8.”

“Right, right, I’m the G-7 criminal, you’re the G-8 menace.”

“Who you calling names?”

“That’s not flaming. Queue Shards!”

“Bruh, you’re not afraid to die? Fine. Let’s see who else dropped into Shards. Oh hell, Hunters!”

“Oh hell, this is a Diamond lobby. Bail! Bail! Bail!”

“Diamond’s been like this. I already counted four Hunters. We’re doomed this match.”

“Forget it. Rat for points and we’re good… urk!”

“What the—ah! I’m red. Thanks. Respawn.”

“Wiped.”

“Wiped.”

Fan Yu huffed, salty as seawater, and backed to lobby. He hit rematch.

“Bad start. What even was that mess?”

“That’s the game, man.” His friend’s tone stayed calm, like a rock under waves. More hours meant steadier hands.

“Whatever, next one—wait. Does the bot idle with that animation?”

On Fan Yu’s screen, the character his friend always used—a familiar robot—lifted its hand and pointed straight at him. The monitor on its chest flickered. A spiraling vortex bloomed, dark as a well, catchy as a whirlpool in a mountain stream. Fan Yu stared, caught like a moth in candlelight. He felt his mind drift, a kite cut from its string.

“What animation? What are you seeing?”

“Hey, Fan Yu, don’t go quiet on me.”

“Dude, you didn’t just hallucinate before sudden death, right? Didn’t you just get home?”

“Hey! Say something!”

“Don’t… be loud…” His eyelids turned to lead. His shoulders softened like warm wax. His head sagged to the desk. Darkness closed like velvet curtains.

When Fan Yu opened his eyes again, he was sitting in a plain, austere temple that somehow breathed holiness like incense. A white-bearded old man in a monk’s robe knelt before him, reverent as a pilgrim in snow, murmuring, “Great and holy God Icarus, descend your decree for your people. Bless your daughter, our great Lady Saint.”

Saint? Who? Me?

(O∆O)

Confusion swelled first, then motion. Fan Yu shook his head and glanced around. Besides the old man, there was only him here. Every sign pointed to him as that so-called Lady Saint.

No way. I’m a dude. What Saint?

He opened his mouth to snap back—emotion spiking like a struck gong—but his arms, folded across his chest, shifted. His hands brushed something that should not be there.

He looked down, slow as a falling leaf. His eyes went wide.

Boobs!

Panic hammered him. His hand darted down in a desperate grab. A small, pale hand found nothing. It smacked his inner thigh and pain pinched his brow.

Gone. The little buddy that kept him company for sixteen years—gone.

Buddy, my buddy—why’d you die on me?

For me, rise again, Great Teacher Mo! He thrashed, half laughing, half crying, like a fish in a net. But what was lost was lost. As a not-quite-hardcore but well-read otaku, he understood the picture in a snap.

He, sixteen-year-old Chinese high school boy Fan Yu, had apparently crossed into another world—and misplaced some very important hardware on the way.

Hah. Maybe he wasn’t awake yet. Let him sleep a bit more and—

Yeah, no. In his past life, he’d dreamed of an isekai, a road of sword and sorcery under a sky like a painted scroll. Becoming a Saint instead of his favored role—a Hero—was a tiny pity. But if he could slay the Demon King, who cared?

As he thought that, holy light poured over his face like sunrise over frost. He flinched and shut his eyes. Across from him, the old man gasped, his voice cracking like old wood.

“That’s—the Mark of the Hero!”

Fan Yu snapped his eyes open. A sword-shaped sigil burned on the back of his right hand, cold and clear as etched ice. So that must be the Mark of the Hero.

Well, perfect. I just said I wasn’t a Hero, and now I am. Thanks, unknown goddess.

Ah, and if there’s a system, that’d be great.

“Host, did you call for me?”

A gentle woman’s voice blossomed in his head, soft as spring rain. A game-like panel bloomed in the air before him, icons twinkling like city lights at night.

Oh, it’s real…

“Lady Lilith, you’ve been blessed as both Saint and Hero. Wonderful! Our nation is saved!” The old man saw the Mark and prostrated himself, tears wetting the floor like spilled pearls. He prayed to the statue, voice trembling, “Praise be to Lord Icarus. Praise be to Lord Icarus.”

Fan Yu caught the key detail. So this life, his name was Lilith. A bit cliché, but he kind of liked the ring.

Good. Then the power-fantasy road that belonged to Fan Yu—no, to Lilith—begins now.

——————————

“Human Hero, kneel beneath the Demon King’s power!” The twisted mass of meat howled, a low, stormy sound that made hearts shrivel. It swung a bulging fist like a battering ram and sent the white-clad girl flying across the chamber like a petal in a gale.

“Guh!” The snow-pale girl raised her sword. A black shadow flared at her side like a raven’s wing, swallowing most of the impact. Lilith steadied, set her feet like roots, and charged again with her blade. “Die, you disgusting thing!”

“Foolish dream. Human strength is a candle in a storm. Your companions already rotted under my hand. How can a lonely Hero defeat me, the great one?” The Demon King—nothing but tumors and sneers—jabbed a dripping arm toward three bodies by the door. Lilith glanced back, jaw clamping like iron.

The kingdom’s strongest witch, Mona. The High Paladin, Dov. And Vera, a half-elf born of elf and human. They were teammates she could trust, each a mountain on their own. Even so, they’d all been cut down by the Demon King. Only Lilith, blessed with both the Saint’s grace and the Hero’s might, still stood before this evil.

“They stand with me, filthy monster. Don’t you dare belittle human bonds.” The black shadow at Lilith’s side condensed, shaping into a sharp-eyed Black Swordsman. Together, they raised their blades and carved down.

The Holy Blade pierced that thick, fatty mass. The meat-ball hide turned the force aside like old armor, and the Demon King roared, pain boiling like tar. It lifted hammer-hands and slammed for Lilith’s head. The black shadow shifted, swelling into a burly knight. He braced a heavy maul and caught the blow, buying the Hero a breath to weave her skill.

“Thanks, Dov. Damn you, Demon King—eat this! O holy light, drive out the evil!” Lilith clenched the Holy Blade. The Mark of the Saint on her brow flared like a star. Purging power bloomed from within the Demon King and burst outward like a sunbeam through storm, blowing half its body into bloody mist.

“GROOOAAAR! You wretched ant! You dare wound your king?” Purple, filthy meat-balls spat from its body like a hail of poison, every one arcing toward the white girl. “I’ll make you my throne!”

“Hmph.” Lilith’s snort was cold as steel. The black shadow became a witch in dark silk. She tapped the floor with her wand, and a jet-black orb rose like a moon. It popped every flying meat-ball, then pressed on to bind the Demon King’s limbs like chains of night.

“What?! You can bind me?” The monster thrashed, a boar in a snare, but the dark sphere held it fast.

“Nice work, Mona!” Lilith whooped, palm meeting her shadow’s in a crisp high-five. “Now, the last strike! Vera!”

The black shadow flowed into a half-elf archer. She drew her longbow toward the mass. Lilith raised her Holy Blade. The Mark of the Saint on her brow and the Mark of the Hero on her right hand flared together, twin suns. Holy light gathered into a grand blade, a radiant edge like a waterfall of gold. Lilith took aim and brought it down.

“O sun, bow your head for me!” The colossal blade sheared the Demon King’s thick neck. Its piggish head spun up like a tossed boulder. The archer’s shadow loosed. A black arrow tore the air and nailed the head to the wall.

“Impossible! Impossible! I—I am the Demon King of Calamity. How can I die to you, to mere humans?” The pinned head raged, eyes like pits, as if its hate could shred the slim white girl before it.

Lilith glanced up once and raised her Holy Blade again. “It won’t hurt your eyes.”

She cut.

“I’ll curse you! I’ll make you feel my—waaah!” The last words died as the light-blade erased the head. It unraveled into black vapor and drifted away like smoke on wind.

“Tiresome.” Lilith slid the Holy Blade into its sheath. Her knees buckled like reeds in current. The black shadow resumed the form of the Black Swordsman and caught the swaying girl.

“Thanks.” Lilith forced a smile for the Black Swordsman. “Help me. I need to bury those three before I drop. If they hadn’t given their lives to weaken the Demon King, I never would’ve won.”

The Black Swordsman nodded. He set her down gently and walked toward the fallen three. Lilith lay on the floor, eyes on the ornate ceiling of the Demon King’s palace, mind drifting like a kite on a soft wind. This was her third year in this world. As the kingdom’s Saint and Hero, she’d finally felled the Demon King that menaced the realm and fulfilled her charge.

With the mission done, she planned to ask the system if there was a way to make her male again. Three years had taught her every inch of Lilith’s body, and she moved in it like a willow in breeze. But she’d once been a normal, healthy, straight high-school boy. Of course she wanted to hug soft, sweet girls. This petite, childlike shell had to go.

Objectively, Fan Yu did like Lilith’s body. A spotless girl, pure as a lily after rain, untouched by any Taint, drew the eye more than anything. Small and light, maybe one meter forty, a look that, back in his old world, would’ve driven lolicons wild.

She was so mad she shook like a winter leaf. How was she supposed to snuggle soft, sweet girls with this body, when she was meant to lead the dance?

"Host, cease your daydreams—this System can't alter your gender."

As Lilith drifted into a sugar-spun fantasy, the System popped out like a jack-in-the-box, cutting the thread.

"Accept reality: you're already a girl, and that tide won't reverse."

"Shut it—you're the only one flapping your lips!"

Lilith snapped, her words like thrown pebbles.

With that cherub face, her scowl had no fangs; it stirred the urge to pinch those mochi-soft cheeks.

The System reached out and poked her puffed cheek like prodding a steamed bun.

The angry girl turned away like a cat avoiding rain and grumbled.

"You junk System, maybe use your body for something useful? And what do you mean, what now?"

The System sidestepped her first jab like a reed in wind, and unfurled her status pane like a paper scroll.

Lilith pried her eyes open, propping herself up like a tired sparrow to read.

Let's see.

Buffs: Injured—yeah, that hit left a bruise, but it's a rain-drop, not a landslide; I'll ignore it.

Fading Holy Light and Hero's Slumber—great, a shut door for three days of fighting.

Fatigue—no surprise; my limbs feel like wet laundry.

Last line... a curse?

Lilith heard the Demon King's dying words echo like a cracked bell. Did that bastard mean it?

"System, did the Demon King really mark me with a curse?"

"Yes," the System said, voice smooth as still water.

"Don't worry. I've checked it; this curse won't threaten your life."

"Then who cares—let it curse all it wants. I'm spent, no time for this," Lilith sighed.

She sank back onto the ground like a petal on water.

Her fight with the Demon King had drained her dry, like a river in drought.

Luckily, the System had gathered all his Taint, bottled like storm-water, waiting for her to absorb.

"System, I'll nap first. While I'm out, draw in the Taint, then we head home."

"Understood," the System replied, voice firm as a drumbeat.

It moved with practiced hands to help her take in the Demon King's Taint.

It was Lilith's duty as a Saint, to be the vessel that drinks the demons' Taint.

Otherwise, one good rain would wake those weeds again.

Bone-weary, Lilith closed her eyes like shutters at dusk.

The Demon King's Taint weighed on her like wet iron.

If she didn't steal sleep now, she'd be wide awake once the intake finished.

The sleeping girl didn't see it: the curse buff on her pane flickered like a firefly.

A pair of small silver horns sprouted atop her head, like new moon crescents.

She looked like a little dragon.