This Isn't an E*otic Game?

Chapter 1

If I were to sum up my 20 years of life after reincarnation in one sentence, it would be this: I became the useless youngest child of a family famed for prophecies.

"Your prophecy skills are truly awful. Can you even make a living with them?"

"You’ll never be able to inherit the family fortune-telling business!"

"Predictions about good fortune can afford to be vague, but predictions about misfortune can’t! They have to be precise! You’re utterly useless!"

The Jericho family, the one I was born into, was renowned for generations as a family of seers—earning their keep by foreseeing people’s futures and receiving payment in return.

The problem was, maybe because the nature of the job often brought them into contact with the upper class, my parents were unbelievably extravagant to the point of absurdity.

They’d rack up debts just to attend various events and banquets, always chasing the delusional dream that they too could become part of high society.

Their extravagance was one thing, but the real issue—and the root of my misery—was that they also had a habit of thoroughly discriminating among their children based on their abilities.

"Even bread is wasted on someone as useless as you!"

Starving was an everyday occurrence for me since I was young.

While my older siblings, who could predict the future as effortlessly as breathing, enjoyed the best food and clothes, I was stuck in a hot attic during summer and freezing in winter, wearing ragged hand-me-downs.

For 20 years, I was little more than a servant, taking care of my family’s every need and doing all the menial chores.

Unlike my older siblings, who could predict good fortune, I could only foresee misfortune. Even then, my prophecies were so vague and short-lived that I could only see fleeting glimpses of one or three seconds into the future.

Predicting misfortune requires precision and detail to provide actionable guidance that avoids disaster. My vague glimpses were practically worthless.

When it came to prophecy, I truly was useless.

Just how useless was I?

Even on the day when my parents and older siblings all died in a car accident at the same time, I didn’t foresee it at all.

When my family disappeared overnight, I didn’t feel particularly sad.

Given how they’d treated me, it would have been stranger if I had.

The real problem was this:

"Jericho Amael? My condolences. Did you know your parents left behind an enormous amount of debt?"

Even in death, my so-called family found a way to drag me down.

The debt was immense.

So immense that I had to sell off the house, the fortune-telling shop, and every single inheritance to cover it.

Overnight, I lost everything.

And on the very same day I became completely penniless...

[Confirmation of reaching adulthood upon passing your 20th birthday!]

[Congratulations!]

[You have acquired the following skills: , , , <3000x Sensory Amplification>!]

[Train your sex slaves as you see fit!]

For the first time in 20 years, a status window appeared before my eyes.

So, I did have reincarnation skills... but they were erotic game skills that couldn’t be used as a minor?!

***

Thanks to the survival skills honed through 20 years of menial labor, I managed to get a job at a small diner near the fortune-telling shop.

My days consisted of serving food, wiping down tables, and collapsing onto a small employee bed at the end of each shift.

But even as I lay down to rest, an intense desire surged through me time and time again.

Unlike my previous life, where all I had was my trash-tier prophecy ability, now I had these erotic game skills.

Couldn’t I use them to live the good life?

What if I approached a rich, lonely widow, used my reincarnation skills to turn her into my complete and utter plaything, and lived as a kept man?

Honestly, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

With the superior physique and handsome looks that were the only good things my wretched parents had given me, combined with my erotic game skills, living as a gigolo didn’t just seem plausible—it felt downright achievable.

But of course...

It was nothing more than a fantasy.

There was one massive obstacle stopping me, boldly plastered on the diner wall where I worked:

[Unregistered illegal magic use is a serious crime!]

[If you witness illegal magic use, report it immediately!]

[Reporting illegal magic helps make the Empire safer for everyone!]

Let’s say I actually went through with my plan.

I seduced some wealthy, lonely widow, used my skills to make her completely mine, and had her saying things like, “Amael, I can’t live without your massive rod! Unyoooo♥”

The moment one of her servants overheard and reported it, I’d be on the gallows by sunset.

Even if I somehow managed to win over the servants, secrets like that never stay hidden forever.

Sooner or later, people would notice some gigolo hanging around a rich widow’s house, using strange magic and blowing through her money.

When that happened, I’d have to prove my abilities weren’t illegal magic. But do I have a certification from the Mage Tower? A permit from the temple?

Of course not. The moment I was exposed, my death would be inevitable.

Why not just formally register the skills, you ask?

This wasn’t supposed to be some kind of post-apocalyptic dark fantasy! Wasn’t this an erotic game?

I couldn’t sleep.

Ripping at my hair, I tried to come up with a solution.

They say your brain works faster when you’re in a life-or-death situation.

Like a lightning strike, an idea came to me.

The witch’s face—half of it was horribly deformed.

Those clusters of eyes, grotesque and terrifying.

And she had asked me, "Do you also think I’m hideous?"

It occurred to me that maybe her rampage was caused by her disfigurement. Perhaps she had fallen into despair over her appearance, and that despair had driven her to madness.

If that were the case...

What if I could fix her face before she went berserk and destroyed the empire?

The idea seemed promising.

But how?

How on earth was I supposed to heal a face as twisted and grotesque as hers?

I wasn’t a priest or a healer.

If I had been a medical student in my past life in Korea, maybe I’d have a clue.

But I was just a science major...

Then it hit me.

"Body Modification."

One of the four erotic game skills I had received.

Couldn’t this skill fix her disfigured face?

"Status window."

I quickly pulled up my status window and carefully reread the description of Body Modification.

The explanation was so crude and vulgar that King Sejong himself would weep and reconsider inventing Hangul, but in essence, it boiled down to this:

The skill allowed me to alter someone’s body to any form I desired!

This could work.

I could use this skill to transform the witch’s deformed face into something beautiful, prevent the apocalypse, and live happily ever after.

A smile spread across my face.

But it quickly faded.

[Unregistered illegal magic use is a serious crime!]

[If you witness illegal magic use, report it immediately!]

[Reporting illegal magic helps make the Empire and your life safer!]

The words on the poster boldly plastered on one wall of the diner flashed through my mind.

Unregistered magic use.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

If I used my skills, I’d be executed for illegal magic use even if I managed to heal the witch.

This was a no-win scenario.

If I didn’t heal the witch, she would destroy the empire and kill me along with it.

If I healed her, I’d be executed for using unregistered magic.

Why the hell is life so unfair to me?

There had to be a way to use my skills without getting executed.

A way to bypass the Mage Tower and temple’s strict magic regulations.

I spent the entire night pondering.

"Amael! Are you up? Let’s start getting ready to open the diner!"

Just as the diner owner called my name, interrupting my sleepless night of deliberation, a solution came to me.

There was a way to use my skills without being executed as an unregistered magic user.

"I’ll only be working here until today!!!"

"What are you talking about? Why so suddenly?"

"There’s something I absolutely must do!!!"

I worked until the end of that day, received my wages, and used the money to buy a train ticket to the capital.

The only way to use unregistered magic without facing execution...

...was to pretend to be a saint.