Tomboy Meltdown!

'Hehehe... Boobas~'

For the first time in his miserable, boobless existence, Alex had achieved enlightenment.

He had touched divinity.

The forbidden fruit of the gods.

The jiggling, bouncing, gravity-defying wonders of the universe—the very pillows destined for a man's eternal rest.

They were so soft, so warm, so full of life, it felt like his soul was being sucked into the most blessed abyss known to mankind. If this was where he was meant to disappear forever, then so be it—Alex would go out with a smile and a nosebleed.

Truly, who can fight fate?

Fate had dragged him into a new world, thrown him into a land of magic, warriors, and dumbass hero tropes.

And now, fate had gifted him the legendary Heavenly Pillows of Salvation.

The universe had spoken, and it had spoken through TIDDIES.

"Oh, my lord! What happened to this poor child?!"

A melodious gasp escaped the Blessed Priestess of the Holy Booba, her golden eyes wide with concern.

Celestia, practicing priestess of the Holy Church, sworn servant of the divine, and unknowing victim of anime protagonist energy, looked down at the spasming idiot who had collapsed into her heavenly valley.

As a devout priestess of the Holy Church, it was both her divine duty and her savior's will to assist those in dire need.

And right now, as fate itself had ordained…

This strange, twitching, delirious young man…

Was very, VERY much in need.

Celeste, the Blessed Lady of the Holy Booba, did what any devoted, compassionate priestess would do in such a dire, life-threatening, absolutely-not-perverted situation—

She wrapped her arms around the poor, helpless "child" and shoved his head deeper into her celestial bosom.

The hallowed airbags of salvation.

The pillars of divine comfort.

The sacred flotation devices that could carry even the most hopeless of sinners to paradise.

As she held him there—a place warmer than any mother's embrace, softer than any pillow, and holier than a pope's bedtime prayer—she began to chant.

"Oh, my savior, grant thy will upon this child, bless him with the holy will, and bestow your will upon this child."

As the words left her lips, a golden radiance erupted from her, bathing Alex in an ethereal glow.

And that's when Alex's primordial caveman brain finally caught up to reality.

'HOLY SHIT. MAGIC. IS. REAL.'

Sure, he had already seen the system windows, noticed the unusual greenery, and witnessed the whole "everyone here is wearing medieval cosplay" situation—but none of that really, truly hit home until he felt the warm, divine, boob-infused magic coursing through his body.

Even though, in hindsight, he should have known this was a fantasy world the very moment he went boing-boing on some real, actual, non-inflatable boobas.

But whatever.

While Alex was ascending into a blissful nirvana, the rest of the party, unfortunately, was not feeling the holy spirit.

Instead, they watched with expressions ranging from mild irritation to pure, unfiltered disgust.

"Oh, come on! How long are we gonna stand here watching the village idiot lick the holy marshmallows? The dude's clearly too far gone. Retarded, if you will—what's the point of healing him if he's mentally challenged and gonna croak anyway?"

It was the resident tomboy menace again—Ellie, the queen of impatience and professional dream crusher.

Her leather-clad foot tapped the ground like a machine gun, her sharp eyes narrowed into deadly slits, and her muscles tensed like she was five seconds away from committing an international war crime.

Why?

Because she had shit to do.

They could be halfway to town by now, gathering information, preparing to crack skulls and take names, and most importantly—hunting down the demon lackey like proper badasses.

But NOPE.

Once again, the universe had conspired against her, throwing yet another time-wasting inconvenience directly in her path. And this time, it had taken the shape of a half-dead idiot who was currently motorboating a priestess.

Typical.

Ellie sighed so hard it could have put out a candle.

'Great. Just great. Another day, another roadblock. The moment I actually commit to something, some bullshit always gets in my way. Every. Single. Time.'

For a brief, fleeting moment, she considered the possibility that this random, conveniently-placed dumbass was actually a demon lackey in disguise. Or at the very least, the lackey of a lackey.

But one look at his weak-ass, mana-less, noodle-armed, flesh prison of a body told her everything she needed to know.

This guy wasn't some secret villain or a powerful enemy sent to sabotage their mission.

No.

He was just some loser who had won the otherworldly lottery and was now living his best life buried in holy titty.

And frankly?

Ellie was one more second away from drop-kicking his dumb ass into the next dimension.

If Alex could hear her thoughts right now, not because he was in heaven, he would have already been crafting a five-step master plan to plow through this tomboy brat first.

But alas, our boy was too preoccupied with his current breast-taking activities to hear even her actual words, let alone her mental hate speech.

"Show some compassion, Ellie."

Celeste started.

"This man is in need of our help, just like the people in the town. Saving a hundred men while leaving one innocent to die is not the way of heroes. A true hero values saving lives over chasing valor and fame. Remember that."

Boom. Mic drop. 

With the wisdom of a woman who had seen two whole decades and change, Celeste let her 22-year-old maturity flex on the hotheaded tomboy.

Ellie gritted her teeth like she was chewing on raw lemons, her fists clenched, and her body practically vibrated with repressed violence.

She had exactly two modes—"Ready to fight" and "Actively fighting"—and right now, she was dangerously close to flipping the switch.

She whipped her head away, looking for something—anything—to distract herself before she gave Celeste's self-righteous sermon the good ol' middle finger.

Unfortunately, her eyes landed on the human equivalent of a potato sack—Kriss.

There he was.

Standing comfortably, stuffing his face like a feral hamster at an all-you-can-eat buffet, still munching sunflower seeds like he was hoping to shit out an entire farm by morning.

Disdain filled her gaze.

Disgust curdled in her stomach.

Regret settled deep in her bones.

How the hell did she end up in a party with these morons?

Kriss, feeling the weight of her judgment but being too much of a professional muncher to give a damn, slowly turned away, still working his jaw like a cow on a lazy Sunday.

"What? I need to replenish my energy..."

He muttered through a mouthful of what was definitely 80% shells at this point.

He knew Ellie would never understand his struggle.

She would never grasp the deep, primal need to consume food like a man whose stomach was a black hole with a personal vendetta.

She was a warrior. A fighter. A woman of action.

She would never understand... the way of the snack.