The System Keeps Making Me Do Indecent Missions [BL, R18]

Chapter 30: Chapter 30: A Calculating Prey in the Rain

Under the pitch-black veil of night, the rain continued to pour down in torrential sheets. Heavy, freezing raindrops lashed directly against his face, whipping at the fragile body of Lucien, who was clad in nothing but a flimsy jacket. He trudged aimlessly along the deserted asphalt road. The downpour washed away the bloodstains soaking his trouser legs, only to reveal the dark crimson cuts on his knees, sending waves of bone-deep, agonizing pain through him.

The surrounding scenery blurred into a hazy wash, with only the dim, flickering glow of the streetlamps casting a desolate and pitiful shadow over him.

[Host...] The mechanical voice of 000 echoed within his mind, seemingly carrying a hint of hesitation: [Does it hurt?]

Lucien tilted his head slightly. Clearly, there was no one beside him, yet he acted as though he were listening to a friend speaking. After a period of gradual adaptation, Lucien had come to realize that this system seemed to possess two distinct personalities. One was the quest-giver, its tone utterly mechanical and devoid of emotion.

The other was like a child, deeply sensitive and overly sentimental.

The one that had just spoken was undoubtedly the second personality. Perhaps it was wondering why Lucien would torture himself in such a manner, yet only he himself knew clearly what he was doing.

The corners of Lucien’s lips twitched slightly upward, forming a faint smile that vanished into the rain. He raised a hand to wipe away the freezing water streaming down his face, and replied with serene composure, "Of course it hurts. But pain is the only thing that makes one remember for a long time."

Lucien admitted to himself that perhaps he was being slightly influenced by the remnant emotions of this body. This child... had suffered far too much.

But let it be, he would just try his best and see where it led. Besides completing the system’s missions, Lucien also hoped he could seek vengeance on behalf of this body.

He was still trudging along when his footsteps suddenly faltered. Lucien raised a hand to clutch his violently heaving chest. At this very moment, he unexpectedly discovered an anomalous trace slithering through his body. It did not stem from the wounds on his knees nor the impact on his forehead, but rather emerged from deep within every single cell.

Beneath the bone-chilling cold of the downpour, deep within his lower abdomen, a dry, scorching flame ignited, a heat that was intensely lustful and intimately familiar.

Lucien deduced that it must be the lingering aftereffects of that damned system’s aphrodisiac, which had yet to completely dissipate.

Although the mind-altering aphrodisiac effect had been suppressed to absolute zero by the system, the lingering physiological dependence clung to him relentlessly. Lucien felt a violent shudder run down his spine. He was excruciatingly cold, unbearably hollow, and... desperately yearning to return and lie beneath the burning chest of Dominic Vance. His body seemed to still memorize the man’s tyrannical body heat, remembering that masculine scent tinged with tobacco, recalling the very sensation of being fiercely enveloped by those unyielding arms to the point of suffocation.

A shameful surge of desperate reliance welled up within him.

"Damn it..." Lucien cursed inwardly through gritted teeth, his fingernails digging so fiercely into his palms that they drew blood in an attempt to force himself to stay lucid: "What absolute rubbish of a drug."

He vehemently loathed this sensation of losing control. Yet, Lucien closed his eyes, and the corners of his lips curled into a thoroughly calculating arc. If his body craved Dominic to such an extent, then exploiting this desire a little would not hurt in the slightest.

...

At the very same time, within the magnificent villa of Dominic Vance.

The atmosphere was as silent as the grave, with only the rhythmic ticking of an antique clock echoing steadily. Dominic Vance sat upon the genuine leather sofa in the living room, the warm yellow light casting a glow over his sharp, angular profile and his fathomless, pitch-black eyes.

Resting upon the glass coffee table was an ashtray littered with several half-burnt cigarette butts.

It was eleven o’clock at night, and outside, the heavy rain poured relentlessly.

Dominic frowned, picking up the mobile phone from the table. He pressed the name "Lucien Sinclair" once more, but the repeating mechanical voice only served to further ignite the violent hostility swelling in his chest: "The number you are calling is currently unreachable..."

Switched off again.

Initially, when Lucien had claimed he had family matters to attend to and needed to leave, Dominic had not cared in the slightest. In his eyes, Lucien was already his person; the boy had obediently spread his legs and lain beneath Dominic begging for pleasure, so even if Lucien fled to the ends of the earth, he could never escape this palm.

But as the hands of the clock crept deeper into the night, the space within the vast villa suddenly became unusually desolate. Dominic Vance began to feel a gnawing sense of irritation.

This was absolutely not the anxious worry of an enamored lover fearing for his partner’s safety. It was the intense frustration and loss of control of a dominator discovering that an object belonging exclusively to him had suddenly vanished from sight without permission. At this time yesterday, the boy was still weeping and moaning beneath Dominic, yet now Lucien dared to turn off his phone and disappear without a sound?

He let out a cold scoff, tossing the phone back onto the table.

"He is probably playing the pitiful victim again." Dominic muttered, his eyes flashing with icy mockery: "Deliberately severing contact, wanting me to frantically go searching for him? Lucien Sinclair, you are far more scheming than I thought."

He knew full well that these affluent young masters often employed such manipulative games of playing hard to get in order to attract attention. Dominic told himself that he would absolutely not fall into the trap, he would leave Lucien to taste a bit of suffering, and then the boy would automatically drag himself back to apologize.

However...

Five minutes later, Dominic Vance was already standing before the door. With a dark, stormy expression, he hastily shrugged on a long trench coat and casually snatched up the keys to his supercar. His mouth spouted contempt, but his legs had utterly betrayed his own rationality.

The silhouette of the pitch-black Maybach tore into the night, ripping through the curtain of rain like a savage beast frantically searching for its lost prey.

...

Lucien could have completely hailed a taxi. He had his phone on his person, and his account still held funds. If he wished to, he could be resting comfortably in a warm bed in less than thirty minutes.

But he had deliberately chosen not to call for a car.

He walked at a painstakingly slow pace, allowing his body to be devoured by the biting cold, allowing the wounds on his knees to continuously seep bright red blood from the exertion, mingling endlessly with the rainwater.

Lucien possessed a profound understanding of wild, beast-like men such as Dominic Vance. They suffered from extreme possessiveness, obsessed with controlling everything in the palm of their hands, and harbored an intense hatred for being ignored. If Lucien were to automatically crawl back home, Dominic would merely view him as something cheap and subservient. But if Dominic was forced to go out of his way to find him, the outcome would be entirely different.

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