I Stopped Simping and the Heroines Lost Their Minds

By Thursday morning, the panic in the first-year courtyard had reached critical mass.

The deadline to submit the four-person rosters for the F-rank dungeon expedition was tomorrow. The elite students, like Leon and Alicia, had already formed their perfectly balanced, politically advantageous death squads. The rest of the student body was frantically trading favors and begging to fill empty slots.

Arthur sat alone on a stone bench, watching the chaos with mild amusement. He still needed a team.

He scanned the courtyard, his artificially high perception picking up fragments of panicked conversations, until he zeroed in on a lone figure sitting under a massive oak tree.

It was a girl. She was wearing oversized, thick-rimmed glasses and clutching a wooden healer’s staff to her chest like a life preserver. She was desperately avoiding eye contact with everyone, practically trying to meld into the tree bark. A textbook, cripplingly introverted support character.

Arthur stood up and walked over. His shadow fell over her, and she flinched visibly.

”You got a group?” Arthur asked bluntly.

The girl looked up, her eyes wide behind her thick glasses. She recognized him instantly. Everyone knew the resident ’creepy stalker.’ But right now, the fear of failing the expedition was warring with her social anxiety.

”N-No,” she squeaked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. ”I’m a... a level 12 healer. M-My name is Chloe.”

”Can you cast a basic heal without blowing yourself up?”

”Y-Yes.”

”Congratulations, Chloe. You’re hired,” Arthur said, tossing a piece of scrap paper with his scroll contact info onto her lap. ”Don’t die on Friday.”

Before the terrified girl could even process the sudden recruitment, a heavy gym bag hit the dirt next to Arthur’s boots with a loud thud.

Arthur turned. Emily Thorne stood there, her hands on her hips. She was wearing her usual black athletic shorts and a tight white tank top, her skin already glistening with a thin layer of morning sweat. She looked incredibly annoyed.

”You need two more for your squad, Vance?” Emily asked, crossing her arms.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. ”I thought you were riding the protagonist express with Braveheart and Valentine.”

Emily scoffed, rolling her brown eyes. ”Alicia is a complete control freak. She insisted on taking the primary vanguard role to ’lead from the front and protect Leon.’ It completely ruins our combat spacing. I’m a brawler, I need room to grapple, not a knight swinging a broadsword in my face. So, I walked.”

Arthur smirked. The golden trio was already having internal party friction. Perfect.

”I’ve got a healer,” Arthur said, pointing a thumb at the trembling Chloe. ”And I’m on ranged DPS. If you want the frontline, it’s yours.”

”Done,” Emily agreed instantly. She appreciated Arthur’s blunt efficiency. ”And I brought a plus one.”

She gestured behind her. A completely average-looking boy with a generic iron shield and a permanent look of mild panic gave Arthur an awkward, shaky wave.

”This is Felix,” Emily introduced. ”He’s a Shielder. He doesn’t talk much.”

Arthur looked at Felix. The kid had absolute, expendable NPC energy radiating off him in waves.

”Perfect. A meat shield who doesn’t complain,” Arthur noted, pulling out his academy scroll to finalize the group. ”Squad’s full. I’ll submit the roster to the administration.”

Thursday afternoon. The combat training fields.

Instructor Morwenna paced back and forth across the dirt, her wooden cane tapping rhythmically against her thigh. The Dark Elf’s ruby-red eyes swept over the sweating first-year students as they ran through their physical conditioning drills.

Arthur was knocking out pull-ups on the metal bars. He kept his movements strictly controlled, deliberately hiding the explosive power of his triple-digit Dexterity from the rest of the class.

Morwenna stopped right behind him.

”I heard a very amusing rumor from the administration building yesterday, Vance,” Morwenna drawled, her voice a dark, mocking purr.

Arthur dropped from the bar, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He turned to face her.

”I don’t listen to rumors, Instructor,” Arthur replied casually.

”They say the academy’s favorite pathetic little scout stumbled down a hole and miraculously found a Class Awakening Rune,” Morwenna smirked, stepping uncomfortably close. ”Archer, was it? Quite the lucky break for a charity case.”

”The Goddess smiles on the hard workers, I suppose,” Arthur said, his face completely deadpan.

Morwenna’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t buy the ’lucky accident’ story for a second, but she couldn’t prove otherwise.

”We’ll see exactly how much the Goddess smiled on you,” Morwenna whispered, tapping the tip of her wooden cane against his chest. ”Stay after class. Evening session. It’s time to see if your new class fixed your atrocious footwork. Don’t be late, Archer.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the academy in deep purple shadows. The training fields were completely empty, save for the two of them.

Arthur stood opposite Morwenna, both of his high-carbon steel daggers drawn in a reverse grip.

”An archer relying on daggers,” Morwenna mocked, pacing back and forth like a panther. ”How cute. Come on, then. Show me your new stats.”

Arthur didn’t waste time. He lunged.

With 105 Dexterity, he didn’t just run; he blurred. He crossed the ten yards in a fraction of a second, his right dagger slashing upward in a deadly, silent arc.

Morwenna’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. He’s fast!

She barely managed to bring her wooden cane up in time to parry. The steel sparked violently against the enchanted wood. Arthur didn’t stop. He pivoted effortlessly on his heel, using his momentum to drive his left dagger toward her ribs.

For the first time since he met her, Morwenna was actually forced to take a step back.

A dark, incredibly sadistic thrill flashed through her red eyes.

”Better,” she purred.

She dropped her cane entirely into the dirt. She didn’t want to use weapons anymore. She wanted to use her hands.

Arthur stepped in for a third strike, but Morwenna slipped perfectly under his guard. She grabbed his right wrist with terrifying, bone-crushing strength. Before he could react with his left dagger, she swept her leg behind his knee and twisted his body entirely around.

She slammed him chest-first against the heavy wooden training post.

Thud.

Arthur grunted as all the air forcefully left his lungs.

Morwenna didn’t let go. She violently twisted his right arm behind his back, locking his wrist between her breasts, and pressed her entire, muscular body flush against his back to pin him to the wood.

Arthur was completely immobilized. The physical difference in their Strength stats was still a massive canyon.

But the sheer, tactile contact was overwhelming.

Morwenna was pressing her chest so hard against his back he could feel her racing heartbeat. Her thick, athletic thighs straddled his right leg, locking his lower body securely in place. The friction of her tight combat suit rubbing against his pants was sending a massive rush of blood straight to his groin.

”You got faster,” Morwenna whispered.

She leaned her head forward. Her stark white hair brushed against his cheek. She dragged her nose slowly up the side of his sweaty neck, taking a deep, deliberate inhale of his scent.

”Much faster,” she hummed, her hot breath ghosting over his ear. ”But you’re still relying entirely on speed to make up for a lack of technique. When you missed that second strike, you overextended your shoulder. A vanguard would have snapped your collarbone.”

Arthur ground his teeth, trying to ignore the absolute, burning heat of the Dark Elf plastered against his back. Her hips shifted slightly against his, a subtle, dominant grind that made his breath hitch.

”Point taken,” Arthur rasped. ”You can let go now, Instructor.”

Morwenna chuckled. It was a dark, wicked sound that vibrated straight through his spine.

”I don’t think I will,” she murmured, pressing her heavy thighs tighter against his leg. ”You need to learn what it feels like to be completely helpless in a grapple. Struggle, Vance. Let’s see you try to break my hold.”

Arthur closed his eyes, his newly troll-blooded stamina warring aggressively with his common sense. She was deliberately teasing him, testing his breaking point, establishing absolute dominance.

Two can play at this game, Arthur thought.

Instead of violently struggling against her superior strength, Arthur intentionally relaxed his body. He let out a heavy, ragged breath and pushed his hips backward, pressing his ass and the very obvious, straining heat in his pants directly against the junction of her thick thighs.

Morwenna’s breath hitched. Her ruby eyes widened slightly as she felt him deliberately grind back against her.

”Careful, Instructor,” Arthur whispered over his shoulder, his voice dropping into a low, entirely unapologetic growl. ”If you keep holding me this tight, I might get the wrong idea about this private lesson.”

Morwenna froze.

For three long seconds, the only sound on the training field was the heavy, shared breathing between them.

Then, she abruptly shoved him away, releasing his arm.

Arthur stumbled forward, catching himself on the wooden post. He turned around, rubbing his sore wrist, a confident, knowing smirk playing on his lips.

Morwenna stood a few feet away. Her dark skin was flushed a very faint shade of purple, and her chest was heaving beneath her tight combat suit. She glared at him, a volatile mix of anger, shock, and undeniable arousal burning in her red eyes.

”You have a death wish, Cadet,” Morwenna warned, picking up her wooden cane from the dirt.

”I just call it like I feel it,” Arthur replied smoothly.

Morwenna pointed her cane at him. ”Class is dismissed. Go rest, Vance. You’re going to need it for tomorrow.”

She turned and walked away rapidly, her wide hips swaying with an agitated, heavy rhythm.

Arthur watched her leave, completely satisfied. He had finally pushed back, and the sadistic Dark Elf hadn’t hated it.