Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties

Liam sat at the corner of a dimly lit bar, his back pressed against the rough leather booth while soft jazz music hummed in the background, muffled beneath layers of idle conversations and clinking glasses.

He still couldn’t figure out how exactly this had happened.

After the restaurant, he thought they were heading back to the hotel. He thought Lana had scratched her "explore" itch and would be satisfied for the night. But no—just as they stepped out of the restaurant into the icy air, Lana had pointed at a neon-lit bar across the street and pulled him along like it was all part of the plan. The strangest part? She paid for both their drinks.

And now here they were.

Liam sat with an untouched glass of clear vodka in front of him. Lana, on the other hand, was swirling her fifth shot glass in her hand, cheeks slightly flushed but her expression calm and amused. She was leaning back, crossing her legs under the table, wearing her parka jacket halfway open now, revealing a cream-colored sweater underneath.

She tilted her head, looking at him as she swirled the liquor.

"You’re really not going to drink?" she asked, voice smooth, maybe even teasing.

Liam stared at her, baffled. "Since when do you drink?"

She shrugged lightly and knocked back the fifth shot like it was water. Then she exhaled sharply and gave a small wince. "I don’t. This is my first time."

Liam blinked. "Wait. First time? You’ve had five shots. Already."

He stared at her in disbelief, then glanced down at his own glass. The liquid inside caught the dim light and gleamed like a dare.

Lana raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a look—playful, sharp, slightly mocking.

She was challenging him.

And for some reason, that worked.

Liam clenched his jaw, picked up the glass, and knocked the vodka back in one gulp. It burned. Not like pepper or chili—this was something different. It was like drinking fire and snow at once. His throat twisted, his chest heated, and he shut his eyes for a moment as the liquid settled somewhere deep inside him.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath.

His mind flashed to the system’s earlier warning about getting sick. This probably wasn’t the best time to mess around with alcohol. But the buzz that followed that first drink—it was sharp and smooth at the same time. For a brief second, it silenced the noise in his head. He wanted more of that silence.

He poured himself another.

Glass up, head back, gone.

By the third drink, his body had gone warm. The cold that clung to him since they left the hotel had vanished, replaced with a slow-building heat under his skin. Lana was on her sixth, and she was smiling now, faintly, her eyes more relaxed, like some invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

Liam leaned forward, resting his forearm on the table.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" he asked, eyes squinting a little, tone lazy.

She met his gaze, smirked. "You’re not?"

He didn’t answer, just filled another glass.

The bartender watched from behind the counter, arms crossed, face confused. When the pair had walked in earlier, he’d figured they were tourists—too well-dressed, too clean, clearly rich. He expected them to take one sip of Russian vodka, cough, and leave. But now? ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

They were drinking like pros. Like they belonged there.

The girl with the curves and full lips was graceful in every movement, but there was something dangerous about her now. Something wild beneath the calm surface.

And the guy?

The guy gave off that vibe bartenders knew too well—he looked quiet, but every movement, every expression, screamed confidence. That expensive kind of confidence—the one backed by power.

By the time the tenth round was done, the bartender was silently impressed. He’d seen grown men pass out after seven. These two?

Still talking. Still upright.

Liam finally stood, reaching into his jacket to toss some extra cash on the table.

"Let’s go."

Lana nodded and rose after him, her steps a little off but still steady. She pulled her jacket tighter around her and let out a soft chuckle.

"That was fun."

He gave her a look, half amused, half irritated. "You ambushed me."

"You needed it."

They stepped out into the cold again, the snow falling gently under the flickering yellow glow of the street lamps. Their breaths formed light clouds in the night, and their footsteps echoed down the quiet street. The city felt quieter than it had earlier—like it was holding its breath.

The bartender stood behind the glass window, watching them walk away.

Two kids, he thought. Early twenties. At most.

But what he didn’t know—what no one there could possibly know—was that those weren’t ordinary kids.

They weren’t even entirely human.

Their bodies, thanks to the device and their system-enhanced evolution, processed alcohol differently. More efficiently. They had higher stamina, more resistance, and faster recovery than regular people. So what could have knocked out a grown man just gave them a slight buzz.

Still, it was enough to loosen something between them. A wall. An invisible tension. Maybe that was Lana’s plan all along.

---

The hotel room door clicked softly behind them as they stepped in. The warmth inside was a relief from the icy air outside, but it did little to ease the buzz still simmering in their veins. Lana didn’t say a word—didn’t even pause. The moment they crossed the threshold, she made a straight beeline for the bed and collapsed onto it face-up with a quiet thump.

She landed like a fallen star, arms stretched out slightly, her long legs still in her jeans and boots. Her head rested awkwardly on the pillows, and she blinked slowly, staring up at the elaborate chandelier on the ceiling.

Liam closed the door gently, locking it, then turned to look at her with a deep frown on his face.

"Lana... your boots," he said.

She didn’t respond. Just kept looking upward, eyes fluttering a bit like the light above her had doubled. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink for a second.

Liam sighed. "Seriously?"

She gave a small, lazy chuckle, but still didn’t say anything. He shook his head, then walked over to the bed and knelt beside her legs. He gently took hold of her ankle.

"Alright, then," he muttered under his breath.

She lifted her foot ever so slightly, helping him without speaking. He slipped the first boot off, then the second, and set them neatly to the side. Her socks were soft, fuzzy—warm. Probably kept her from freezing out there. He stood back up, brushing his hands against his pants, then reached for his own jacket and slipped it off. The heat from the alcohol was already fading, and that cold—subtle but steady—was creeping back into his bones again.

He gritted his teeth.

Then Lana moved.

She sat up slowly, dragging herself with her hands until she was resting her weight behind her. Her fingers were flat against the bed, holding her steady as she reached up with the other hand and pulled out the tight band that had been keeping her hair.

Her dark brown hair tumbled down in a rich, flowing wave—like a waterfall of silk cascading over her shoulders and down her back. The moment it was loose, it changed her whole look. There was a wildness to her now, a soft chaos that hadn’t been there earlier. She reached up and tugged at the zipper of her parka jacket, shrugging it off with little care and tossing it—literally—towards the floor.

It landed far from where it should’ve. Liam stared at it for a second, then glanced at her.

She didn’t even seem to notice.

"Really?" he said quietly, walking over and picking it up. He folded it once and set it over the nearby chair.

When he turned back to look at her, Lana was still sitting there, arms behind her, chest rising and falling slowly, eyes locked on him.

There was a strange calm in her gaze. Not blank like someone fully drunk—no, Lana wasn’t gone. She wasn’t slurring or tripping. She was drunk just enough to stop caring about hesitation. That little voice in her head that usually told her to think twice before doing something? It was gone. And what was left?

Raw impulse.