SMASH or PASS

Next morning.

Back at the academy, between classes, a woman stopped me in the corridor. She grabbed both my hands. "I have twenty minutes, a private study room, and zero patience for small talk. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Thank god." She pulled me by the wrist.

Another woman at lunch. She put a dormitory key on the table and said: "Room 118. Tonight. Don’t bring wine. I have wine." She left. The interaction lasted eight seconds.

A third woman was more creative. She slipped a note into my bag during History: "I’ve reserved the alchemy lab workroom for ’supplemental study.’ The workroom has a door that locks and a table that’s the right height. Meet me at 7." Below the text was a detailed drawing of the workroom layout. Including furniture dimensions.

Pixia watched the escalation from my collar. "The system rewards sexual conquest with a buff that generates more conquest. The buff generates more encounters. More encounters will generate another title. The next title will generate a stronger buff." She kicked her legs. "This is an exponential growth curve applied to reproduction. The last time I saw something like this, it was being used by a goddess to repopulate a continent after a cataclysm. She succeeded. The continent was repopulated. Then it collapsed because the population outgrew everything that sustained it." Pause. "That goddess was Velnaris."

Vel... naris?

Her name was rather weird.

But most importantly.

"Are you comparing me to a goddess?"

"I’m comparing your system to a tool a goddess used. The purpose was achieved. The consequences were catastrophic. Draw your own conclusions."

I drew no conclusions. I filed the information and continued scheduling. She looked at me. Blinked. Adjusted her spectacles.

She really didn’t like the system. However, if she wanted me to stop using it, she was doing it the wrong way. All the warnings she gave me were "Other people will get hurt."

I never have, do or will care about anyone else.

◇◇◇

The encounters were becoming logistics exercises. Scheduling conflicts between women who wanted the same time slot required negotiation. Location management was a full-time job. Recovery windows between encounters became necessary because the +50% had increased demand beyond what my body could sustain in a single evening.

TL;DR I was getting fucked too much.

But the SP points... I can’t just stop.

I sighed.

Cassius looked at the pile of notes on my desk. New notes. Fourteen of them. Stacked.

"What did you DO?"

"Nothing."

"That’s a lie. Something changed. Every woman in this room just oriented toward you like a compass finding north. Professor Valen lost her train of thought MID-SENTENCE. Professor Valen has never lost her train of thought. She’s been teaching for ten years."

"Maybe she was having an off day." I said casually.

"She was staring at YOU and she was having an off day?" He shook his head. "Something is different. You smell the same. You look the same. But the room’s response to you just doubled."

Someone is too smart for their own good.

He was perceptive. He was also right. Something HAD changed.

The +50% was invisible to everyone except its effects.

Nobody could see the title.

Nobody could detect the system buff.

They just felt the pull. Stronger than yesterday. Unexplainable. Irresistible for some.

"Maybe they realized my irresistible charm all of a sudden?" I said sarcastically.

Dorian, from the far end of the row, didn’t speak. His grip on his pen snapped it in half. Ink ran across his notebook. He looked at the broken pen. Looked at me. Said nothing. The ink spread across his notes like a stain he couldn’t clean.

Cassius sighed and left with an apologetic smile.

I said that earlier on purpose. As I wanted you see if any of them was actually having an issue with my behavior-- enough to cause me trouble anyway.

Cassius seemed right, but Dorian...

A cold killing intent rose deep within me.

If either of those two actually got in my way, I will not hesitate to get rid of them.

No one can threaten my pussy-monopoly.

◇◇◇

At the end of the fourth week, an ethics committee summons arrived.

Official academy letterhead. Wax seal. "To Mr. Noel, Ward of House Vellmont. You are required to appear before the Ethics and Conduct Committee in response to complaints regarding your conduct."

...Well, here it comes.

Honestly, I even thought they were a little late.

◇◇◇

I was at the academy conference room.

There was one long table with five chairs on one side. And one chair on the other.

I walked in. Then sat in that single chair.

I looked at the five women across from me.

There were three professors, the student representative. and the academy dean.

’Fuck, I’m in trouble.’

Perhaps that would be the normal thought process of anyone else in my position, right?

However, right there, there was only one thought on my mind.

’Fuck, the dean is too hot.’

If the word "milf" was a person, it would file a copyright lawsuit against her for being too goddamn on the nose. She was older, late thirties maybe, but fuck if age did anything but give her more ammunition. Hair the color of expensive whisky, swept up in a severe knot that I just wanted to pull loose. Her face was all sharp, knowing angles and a mouth that looked like it invented the concept of a smirk. She wore a pantsuit that probably cost more than my rent, cut to perfectly frame a pair of tits that were frankly one of the best I saw. They were big, heavy, and full, straining against the silk of her blouse like they were trying to escape and start their own, more interesting meeting.

’Holy shit...’

Her hips were wide, her ass a generous curve that the tailored trousers hugged with sinful precision. Everything about her screamed authority, expensive perfume, and a deep, hidden understanding of every filthy thing a person could possibly want.

’Fuck... I just wanna fuck her...’

Jesus fucking christ.

What’s happening to my thought process?

Calm down me. Now is not the time to be horny! Not yet!

The dean adjusted her silver-rimmed glasses. She was holding a prepared statement. "Mr. Noel. This committee has received seventeen formal complaints from noble families regarding your relationships with their daughters."

"Relationships?"

"Sexual relationships. Repeated. With multiple students. Over multiple weeks." She adjusted her spectacles. "The families allege predatory conduct."

"Predatory?... is that their word, or the committee’s position?"

"Their word." She shuffled papers. "The Ashford family used ’exploitative.’ The Merival family used ’inappropriate.’ The Lysander complaint included a timeline, a list of known encounters, and a formal demand for expulsion."

Again, FUCK that guy.

They even made a timeline. What a bitchy family.

Professor Valen leaned forward. History department. Strict school. Adjusts her glasses frequently. "I’ve noted that homework submission rates have dropped by fifteen percent. Late arrivals are increasing. There have been two dormitory transfer requests."

Next to Professor Valen was Professor Linara. Alchemy department. Young. Dark hair. The type who straightens her posture before opening her mouth. leaned forward with the posture of someone who’d been waiting to speak. "For the record, I would like to note that Mr. Noel’s academic performance has not declined. His written work is in the top percentile. His attendance is perfect."

"That isn’t the point, Professor Linara."

"Respectfully, it should be. This is an academic institution. If his academics are unaffected, this committee’s jurisdiction covers conduct violations, not personal life management."

"I agree with Professor Linara!" The student representative leaned forward with a smirk.

She too, was very hot.

She was fresh-faced and full of fake earnestness, this bitch was the picture of "innocent" corruption. She looked like she’d been assembled in a lab to make college recruitment videos, but her eyes were a little too sharp. She also had a long, glossy blonde hair in a perky ponytail, with big blue eyes that she knew how to widen for effect. She was petite but built like a fucking fantasy. She had a tiny waist that made her tits look even bigger than they were. And they were huge. Round, perky, jiggling globes that threatened to spill out of her tight, academy-approved sweater vest with every breath. Her skirt was short, her legs long and toned, ending in knee-high socks that made me think of all the classic, trashy tropes.

She had that "wouldn’t say no to anything" smile and the kind of plump, pink lips that were just begging to be wrapped around something.

’I wanna fuck her...’

Alright. Genuinely what the fuck is happening to me?

Professor Linara spoke. "The seventeen complaints are from families. Not from the women involved. Not one woman has filed a complaint. The families are upset because they lost control of WHO their daughters are sleeping with."

Wow!

What a Good person Professor Linara is. I’ll remember that.

This absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that I was sleeping with her assistant.

And then the student representative spoke again.

She was the youngest of the committee, and the one sitting the straightest. "As the professor said. The houses are just mad because they lost control over who their daughters are sleeping with."

The conference room went quiet for one beat.

The dean looked at the student representative. Then at Professor Linara. Then at the other two committee members, who hadn’t spoken and were both looking at me with expressions that told me the +50% was actually working.

"Professor Valen, your position?"

Professor Valen, the strict History instructor, cleared her throat. "The conduct is disruptive. Homework completion rates speak for themselves. However..." She adjusted her spectacles. "The student representative raises a valid point. The complaints were filed by houses, not by the students themselves. If the students are consenting adults and academics are maintained, there are limits to this committee’s authority to intervene in personal behavior."

"That sounds like a ’dismiss.’"

"That sounds like a ’dismiss with reservations.’" Professor Valen looked at me. The +50% was working on her too, though she was fighting it with the discipline of someone who’d been teaching for years. "Mr. Noel, are you aware that your behavior has material consequences for the women involved?"

"They’re adults."

"Adults whose families are making decisions about their futures based on information that your behavior is generating. Every encounter becomes a critical point in a noble marriage negotiation. Every bad point changes the terms. You may not be making those decisions, but you’re providing the raw material."

She folded her hands.

"Something to consider."

The dean rubbed her temples. "We need to deliberate. Fifteen-minute recess."

◇◇◇

The recess lasted forty-five minutes.

They all were human. And they all were female.

And they were under the influence of the +50%.

So I wasn’t worried that much... Maybe a little.

Now I thought about it, I was always cold when it comes to this type of stuff, what the hell was happening to me?

During those forty-five minutes, the student representative found me in the hallway.

"Committee is split. Two for suspension. Two for dismissal. Dean hasn’t decided."

She was standing closer than professional distance warranted. "I voted to dismiss."

"Thanks."

"I voted to dismiss because seventeen noble families don’t get to dictate what consenting adults do." She tucked hair behind her ear. "Half of those houses have their own private breeding contracts. They’re not angry about sex. They’re angry about losing control."

She looked left and right down the corridor.

Empty.

Wait was she going to—