Chapter 138: Iron Will

The door closed behind Hina, leaving Nash alone in the room. The silence was thick, broken only by his own shallow breathing and the muffled thump of his heart against his ribs.He lay sprawled naked on the rumpled sheets, the scent of sex, sweat, and Hina’s cloying perfume hanging thick in the air.

His body felt like lead, useless, betraying him utterly. His cock lay flaccid against his thigh, sticky with a mixture of her arousal and his own spilled precum, a pathetic testament of his utter helplessness.

Humiliation.

He felt something inside him, something strange. It wasn’t a hot rage. Not yet, but a colder, deeper sensation. A slow seep of ice water into his bones.

He’d been played, tricked, used, like a fucking toy. And worse, he hadn’t even been able to respond. Not physically, not mentally, not verbally, not any kind of ’lly’.

He had been a living sex toy for an idiot who outplayed him in a game he didn’t know he was playing.

Abused... I’ve been abused... it’s abuse, right?

The word echoed in the hollow space behind his eyes.

She abused me when I was drunk. I was incapacitated, and... yeah, I didn’t consent. It’s basically the R word... It should be, right? If the roles were reversed, I’d be facing serious charges.

He blinked, in his life as a virgin shrimp, he often though this would be the dream. Being violated by a beautiful sexy woman.

Yet, he didn’t expect that when the day would finally arrive, he would have felt this.

Humiliation, frustration, anger.

His jaw clenched, the muscles bunching tight.

Then, a bitter twist curled his lip.

Who would care? Where? Down here in the underground? In the neon gutters of the city where Breakball stars were living gods and women’s virginity was a myth?

They’d probably slap him on the back. Call him a lucky bastard. You got fucked by a Baby-Boom girl? Hina, no less? Damn, you asshole, gimme your trick!

The thought was acid.


Where did he mess up? Where did the cracks start? The grand orgy he’d promised but couldn’t make happen? Fucking Sarra instead of cheaking the room? Exposing himself to Baby-Boom’s attention deliberately, drawing their fire away from Mac and Drex? Yeah, that sounded cold, but it was strategy.

They had some rumors about Baby-Boom seducing opponents to make them players sabotage their team. Mac and Drex were weak minded enough to fall for that.

He deliberately exposed himself to become a prime target for their strategy, and it had terribly backfired.

He was becoming the king. Or he was supposed to be.

When did that change? When did the crown get so heavy? When did he become the one scrambling, reacting, defending?

When Lina, Sarra, Amara... they were his, it was because he had decided it. Zayela, his anchor, his most vital piece, because he’d been selfish enough to crave his cousin, to reach out and take her before another man would.

He’d wielded power like a blade, sharpened it, until the time of war.

But where was this blade now? He was sprawled naked and violated in a stranger’s hotel room, cock soft and useless, while the girl who’d just used him dismissed him as "top three... maybe." A fucking consolation prize.

His humiliation curdled into something darker. A slow, simmering fury. Not explosive, not a scream. A quiet, focused rage of a predator assessing a wound.

His eyes, flat and hard, stared at the ceiling. Flashes of Hina assaulted him: her mocking smirk, her bubbly voice, ordering him around, grinding her fucking pussy on his face, and her triumphant cry as she rode his limp cock to her own finish.

The feel of her wetness smeared on his skin. The smell of her, the sound of her.

His stomach churned. Revulsion clashed with a sickening, unwanted spark of... something else.

A new sensation? Or simply the body’s stupid biological betrayal?

Top three?

The words were a brand. Seared into his pride.

She ranked me third.

His lip curled back from his teeth. A low sound escaped him, barely audible. Not a growl. The scrape of stone on stone.

Does she even realize who she’s dealing with?

The question hung in the air. Nash the strategist, the alpha, the one who played the long game. The one who built a harem, manipulated systems, broke opponents on the Breakball court... reduced to this. A drunken plaything.

Revenge.

The word crystallized in his mind, cold and sharp as diamond. No police report. No tearful confession. No pathetic plea for justice in a world that laughed at the concept. That wasn’t the way, that wasn’t his way. Never had been.

An eye for an eye.

A fuck for a fuck.

Simple. Brutal. Elegant.

His gaze flickered down his own body. The humiliation still burned, but beneath it, a different kind of heat was stirring. A slow, insistent throb.

Not lust. Not for her. But the body’s stubborn, stupid resilience. The blood flow returned, pushing against the numbness.

[System Alert: Alcohol Effects Reduced]

[Iron Will (Passive) Activated: Mental fortitude counters physical impairment. Toxin resistance increased by 30%. Cognitive functions stabilizing.]

The fuck?

The fog in his mind thinned abruptly. Clarity com back in, sharp and painful. He could process the room around, the rumpled sheets, the discarded bottle. The faint scent of Hina still clinging to the air. And the undeniable, growing pressure at his groin.

He looked down.

His cock, previously limp and defeated, was stirring. Slowly, inexorably, filling with blood. Thickening. Lengthening. Rising from death like a vengeful spirit exorcised for doom.

Precum beaded anew at the flushed tip, glistening in the dim light.

The sight was obscene. Arousing. Infuriating.

Was this a dream? A miracle? His body was ready. Now, after she’d taken what she wanted and left. After she’d dismissed him.

A dark, humorless chuckle rasped in his throat. Of course. That good old all watching System.

Perfect fucking timing.

The flashes of Hina intensified. Her smirk. Her grinding. Her triumphant cry. Her dismissive pat. Top three... maybe.

Each image stoked the fire in his gut, the fury coiling tighter, hotter. And his cock responded, hardening further, pulsing with a heat that mirrored the rage building inside him.

It wasn’t desire for her. It was the raw, primal energy of vengeance made in flesh.

He felt it. The power returning. Not just to his body, but to his will. The alcohol’s grip was broken. The helplessness shattered.

His eyes, reflecting the lamp light, darkened. Hot, hard, and utterly focused, just like his third leg.

He clenched his fist. The knuckles cracked. The tendons stood out like steel cables.

His cock stood fully erect now, thick and heavy, a rigid pillar of vengeance aimed at the ceiling. At the closed door. At Hina.

A slow, smile touched his lips.

"Alright, bitch," he murmured.

He swung his legs off the bed, his movements slow, controlled. The numbness was gone, replaced by a coiled, lethal energy. He stood, naked, powerful, his erection a defiant banner of his might.

He cracked his neck, his dick standing on a perfect angle.

"Imma plant me a dumbass bitch."

The hotel suite’s master bathroom was a marble cavern, all gleaming surfaces and soft, golden light. Hina stood at the sink, humming a cheery, off-key pop song, her reflection bouncing in the mirror.

She looked... pleased. Relaxed.

Her Yellow hair was damp, a few strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. She was washing herself from the crime, water droplets still glistening on her smooth skin as she toweled her hair.

Her eyes held a smug, satisfied sparkle.

"Top three... lol, I’m so funny," she giggled to herself, mimicking her own earlier dismissal. "Hah! Bet he’s still passed out. Stupid lightweight. All this talk for this. I couldn’t even cum."

She leaned closer to the mirror, examining her face critically.

"Gotta look fresh for the after-party... maybe find someone who can actually stay hard. Maybe those two idiots who tried to get me drunk."

She winked at her reflection, then resumed humming, turning to grab a bottle of lotion from the counter.

*Thump*

The sound was soft, muffled like something shifting just outside the heavy wooden door leading back to the bedroom.

Hina paused, the lotion bottle hovering mid-air. Her humming died instantly.

She tilted her head, listening. Silence, probably just the air conditioning kicking on. She shrugged, squirting a dollop of lotion into her palm and starting to smooth it over her arms.

*Creak.*

A distinct sound. The groan of a floorboard under pressure. Right outside the door.

Hina froze. Her eyes darted to the door. It was slightly ajar, showing a sliver of darkness beyond. She hadn’t closed it properly. She felt a prickle of unease tracing down her spine.

Her playful smirk faltered.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice higher than usual. "Kai? Rei? That you girls?"

Only the noise of the extractor fan answered her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

"Nash? You awake?" Still nothing. She forced a laugh, shaky. "Okay, not funny! Quit messing around!"

Silence, deep, thick, oppressive.

She turned back to the sink, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on her skin. Her reflection looked pale now. She reached for the faucet, intending to splash water on her face.

*Whoosh.*

A rush of air. Someone was there.

Hina gasped, whirling around, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Someone stood at the doorway.

Nash.