Honkai Star Rail: Corruption System

[Is the Host questioning the system's plan?]

The system's voice cut through the air, punctual as always, a mechanical, emotionless drone that offered no hint of feeling. It was impossible to glean any sentiment from its flat tones.

Daziel sighed, a soft exhale of weariness. He massaged his temples, a dull throb beginning to pulse there. "It's just... without you, without your system, conjuring up that kind of money out of nothing to fix Belobog and Topaz… it feels… unreal. Like a dream."

[The Host need not dwell on the rationality of the process.]

The system's response was as cold and clipped as ever.

[Whether discussing the so-called 12+ storyline or the inner world narratives, their fundamental logic clashes with the rigid laws of reality.]

[As the Host has previously observed, much in this world crumbles under scrutiny, flimsy as if cobbled together by writers grasping for plot points.]

[The crucial point is: the crisis is resolved.]

The system's logic was stark, brutally utilitarian; results were all that mattered, morality and emotional nuances irrelevant.

[Bronya has secured Belobog, guaranteeing debt repayment in installments.]

[Topaz retains her position, continuing her service within the Interstellar Peace Corporation, and demonstrates no animosity toward the Host's actions.]

[All involved parties have avoided substantial losses.]

[May I inquire, Host, what dissatisfaction persists?]

"I…"

Daziel began, but the words caught in his throat. The system's pronouncements were like icy shards, surgically precise, leaving him no room for argument.

Silence stretched, then another sigh escaped him, laced with a subtle, growing fatigue. "I feel like I've lost something… something important."

[What does the Host perceive as lost?]

The system pressed, unwavering.

"My… bottom line. Even if it's worthless to those who wield power… it still hurts." Daziel's voice was low, grating, as if dragged up from his very depths. "I should be drowning in guilt for what I did. But… that guilt is fading. I'm starting to… accept this… unscrupulous way of solving problems. And I'm terrified that one day, I'll become a slave to pure desire. I have a feeling… that day is coming, sooner rather than later."

Daziel lifted his head, his gaze distant, complex, fixed on the pinpricks of starlight beyond the window, as if trying to pierce the endless cosmos, glimpsing a future self, hollowed out by desire, irrevocably changed.

[That is a matter for the Host's personal reckoning, outside the system's purview.]

The system's reply was indifferent, absolute.

[The system's function is to facilitate task completion; the Host's character development and ethical choices remain solely within the Host's domain.]

The system's cold, almost cruel objectivity underscored a stark truth: it was merely a tool. Daziel was, and always had been, the one holding the reins.

Just as Daziel sank deeper into introspection and the gnawing unease about his future, a flurry of frantic footsteps shattered the train car's quietude.

"Daziel! Daziel!"

March 7th's voice, thick with sobs, ripped through the hushed night.

Daziel turned to find March 7th, clad in cartoon pajamas, barefoot, hurtling towards him like a startled rabbit, tears blurring her vision.

Her usually meticulous pink hair was a tangled mess, and tear tracks were etched clearly on her face, evidence of recent weeping.

"Little March? Why are you crying again?"

Daziel was instantly on his feet, meeting her halfway, his voice laced with concern.

Is March 7th's character about to pivot from ditzy to crybaby? Is this the system's doing again? This 'Corruption Value' thing… it's warping Little March's character. Readers won't buy this, they'll be up in arms! Damn system…

Even as Daziel's mental complaint finished forming, new subtitles flashed before his eyes.

[Host, are you truly unaware of your words? Is this not a fabrication of your own mind, now conveniently blamed on me?]

...

Daziel ignored the system's jab; the distressed Little March in front of him was far more pressing.

March 7th flung herself into Daziel's arms, clinging to him, her small body trembling. "Daziel… I had a nightmare… Waaah…"

"A nightmare?"

Daziel gently stroked March 7th's back, his voice soft and soothing. "Hey, don't be scared. Dreams aren't real, they vanish when you wake up. It's alright."

"But it felt so real… Waaah… In the dream… in the dream, you didn't want me anymore… You were with other women… and you were… mean to me…"

March 7th choked out the words, tears streaming down her face, soaking into Daziel's collar.

A wave of tenderness washed over Daziel. He could feel the raw fear, the deep insecurity radiating from March 7th. Beneath the usual cheerful, almost silly exterior, lay a startling fragility, a sensitivity he hadn't fully grasped before. Perhaps it hadn't always been there, but the system's Corruption Value seemed to be subtly, relentlessly, reshaping everyone.

He tenderly stroked her hair, his voice a low murmur. "Silly girl, dreams are the opposite of reality. How could I not want you? No matter what happens, I'll never leave you. Believe me."

March 7th tilted her tear-streaked face up, her voice trembling with a lingering sob. "Really? You really won't leave me?"

"Of course, really."

Daziel nodded, his gaze earnest and gentle, "I swear. I will never leave you."

Daziel's assurance seemed to soothe her, her frantic trembling easing, but she remained tightly glued to him, afraid to loosen her grip as if he might dissolve into the air. Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose, she mumbled, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "Daziel… I… could I sleep with you?"

Daziel blinked, a moment of stunned silence. He looked down at March 7th, still weeping, vulnerable in his arms, and a rush of protectiveness, a deep pity, flooded him.

Gently, he scooped March 7th into his arms, turning towards her room.

"Eh? Eh! Daziel! What are you doing!"

March 7th gasped in surprise, reflexively wrapping her arms around his neck, her cheeks instantly flaming crimson, as bright as ripe apples. She squirmed slightly in his arms, a soft protest. "Put me down! What if someone sees us!"

Daziel carried her, his stride steady towards her room, a playful curve tugging at the corner of his lips. "What are you afraid of? There's no law against dating on this train. Besides, we're not ashamed of anything."

"But…"

March 7th was still flustered, her voice fading to a whisper. "But… but that night…"

"That night?"

Daziel arched an eyebrow, feigning confusion. "That night? Didn't… nothing happen between us that night?"

"You! You still have the gall to say that!"

March 7th playfully punched his chest, her cheeks now practically incandescent, radiating heat. "It's all your fault! If it wasn't for you… if it wasn't for you taking advantage of me when I was drunk… I… I wouldn't have…"

"Okay, okay, my fault, all my fault." Daziel conceded with a smile, his tone warm, indulgent. "So, you're just shy, afraid of people knowing about that night, losing face? I thought it was fine at the time, but you kept crying and carrying on, I couldn't even explain. We didn't exactly descend into drunken orgies, what's there to be afraid of?"

March 7th was mortified by his teasing, burying her face in his chest, silence her only answer, content to simply hold him close, feeling the warmth of his embrace, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Daziel carried March 7th into her room, gently setting her on the bed, then settled down beside her, his gaze soft and tender.

March 7th looked up at him, hesitant, her eyes shadowed with a mix of anticipation and lingering unease.

"Still scared?" Daziel murmured.

March 7th shook her head, then nodded, her voice barely audible. "It's… a little better… but… still a bit…"

"Don't be afraid. I'm here."

Daziel reached for her hand, his warm palm a silent reassurance. March 7th's fingers intertwined with his, clinging tight, as if grasping a lifeline. She gazed at him, her eyes reflecting a deep dependence, a burgeoning infatuation.

"Wait just a moment! When I carried you in, the door didn't seem to close properly. Let me close it, you stay right here, obediently…"

Daziel patted March 7th's head, his voice gentle.

"Then hurry!" March 7th grumbled, a soft pout forming on her lips, as if any separation from him, however brief, was unbearable.

"Got it! Be right back!"

Daziel rose and moved to the door, just as he reached out to close it, a faint sound caught his attention. He peeked his head out into the corridor and saw Himeko leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a knowing, amused smile playing on her lips.

Himeko's been there for who knows how long, how much of their conversation overheard, but the knowing curve of her smile spoke volumes. She'd clearly witnessed everything.

Daziel offered a sheepish grin, raised a finger to his lips in a silent shhh gesture to Himeko, then quietly closed the door.

Himeko gently shook her head, a helpless, fond smile gracing her lips. "Those two…" she sighed softly.

Then, she turned and slipped away silently, leaving Daziel and March 7th alone.

The soft light filtering through the half-closed curtains painted warm shadows across Março's skin as she shifted shyly on the bed. Clutching the pillow like a shield, her fingers trembled, her legs opening and closing in a nervous rhythm. Daziel absorbed every detail: the taut nipples pushing against the thin fabric of her blouse, the quick, shallow breaths lifting her chest, her flushed face, her rosy eyes darting away from his, as if afraid he might read the storm of desire and fear swirling within them.

"You get like this every time," he murmured, his voice roughened with lust as he approached, "makes me feel like I'm the monster about to devour the innocent little princess." His smile was warm, but his dark eyes held a promise that made Março swallow hard.

She turned her face away, her cheeks burning. "S-stop talking like that… it's embarrassing, Daziel…" she whispered, but her body arched involuntarily as his hand slid up her thigh, reaching the curve of her hip.

Daziel chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the air, making her stomach clench. "Monster or not, you didn't run." Before she could respond, he grasped the waistband of her skirt, pulling her body against his. The kiss was slow, deep, his tongue exploring every corner of her mouth as if branding her, memorizing her. Março moaned, her nails digging into his shoulder, lost in the taste of mint and raw desire.

When they finally broke apart, a glistening thread of saliva still connected their lips. "Daziel…" she sighed, her mouth swollen, but his attention was already elsewhere, his lips trailing down her neck, leaving a trail of rosy marks that would serve as reminders of him tomorrow. His hands found her small, firm breasts, kneading them with almost reverent desire, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were aching and exquisitely sensitive.

He chuckled again, a sound that sent shivers racing down her spine. "Shhh… Let me translate your fears into pleasure." With deliberate slowness, he undressed her, as if unveiling a precious artifact, revealing every inch of her skin bathed in moonlight. As her rosy breasts emerged, firm and inviting, Daziel momentarily stilled, his breath catching in his throat – not just from lust, but something akin to reverence. "I've never seen anything so pure," he breathed, before closing his lips over her left nipple, drawing on it with a controlled pressure that made her legs twitch uncontrollably.

Março arched against the sheets, her hands tangling in his dark hair. "This… ah! Is this… fair?" she protested weakly, as his other hand drifted down her belly, deliberately skirting the pulsing heat between her thighs. Daziel answered with a dual assault: the fingers of his free hand playfully pinching her neglected nipple as his mouth migrated to the right one, gently biting the swollen tip until a small cry escaped her lips.

"You like this, don't you? All trembling, looking at me like I'm about to break you…" His voice was a seductive whisper, a deliberate provocation, and Março felt the dampness between her legs intensify. He noticed, he always noticed, and slid his hand beneath her panties, his fingers finding her clit, already swollen and throbbing. "Already so wet, princess. So fast…"

The air seemed to thicken, to freeze in her lungs as he parted her thighs with a possessive hand, exposing her completely to the flickering candlelight. "Daziel, please…" she gasped, covering her face with trembling hands, but he gently pulled them away, pinning them above her head.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice soft yet unyielding. "I want to see every sigh, every tremor, every tear of pleasure I draw from you." And then, without warning, his tongue plunged into her core, tracing long, deliberate strokes from her throbbing clit to her wet, aching entrance. Março cried out, a strangled sound, her hips bucking violently, but he held her firmly, one arm anchoring her thighs while the other gripped her wrists.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he rasped, his breath hot against her slick flesh. "Your virginity… melting on my tongue… Did you know I can taste your innocence? Sweet and salty, like honey mingled with tears." Before she could form a coherent thought, he returned, his tongue vibrating against her most sensitive point in a cruel, intoxicating rhythm.

Março's ability to speak dissolved. Her moans spiraled, a discordant, escalating symphony of pleasure and protest. When his fingers slid inside her, curling to massage that hidden point that ignited stars behind her eyelids, she begged, her pleas a broken language of sobs and gasps. Daziel intensified his ministrations, his gaze darkened with possessive hunger as he watched her body convulse in the throes of pre-orgasmic spasms—and then, abruptly, he stopped.

She choked, her thighs clamping around his fingers in frustrated protest. "S-stop… talking…!"

"But you love it when I talk." Two fingers slipped inside her, the rough friction eliciting a sharp cry. Daziel smiled, the rhythm of his hand quickening as his other arm snaked around her waist, preventing any escape. "Look how tight you are…"

Março was beyond words. Every muscle in her body was a stretched wire, vibrating, poised to snap. He kissed her again, swallowing her moans, until he felt the violent clenching of her muscles. She climaxed with a choked sob, tears spilling down her face as he held her, his touch softening now, his lips gentle on her nipples.

"See? You're perfect…" he murmured, but he was already stripping off his own clothes, his erection springing free, thick and heavy, slapping against his stomach. Março's eyes widened, a mixture of fascination and terror in her gaze – he was enormous, veins pulsing, the swollen head already glistening.

"Relax," he instructed, gently turning her onto her stomach and lifting her hips. "I'm going to show you just how beautiful you look, taking my cock."

The position was intensely vulnerable, shamefully exposed. She felt the cool air on her open flesh, her back arched in an instinctive, feline curve, but when the slick tip of him brushed against her clit, teasingly, slowly, she moaned, arching further into the contact. Daziel didn't prolong her anticipation. With a firm, decisive thrust, he plunged into her, burying himself to the hilt, his fingers digging into her hips for purchase.

"Fuck…" he growled, his abdominal muscles clenched and trembling. "Better than any dream…"

Março tried to answer, but the words were lost in a cascade of moans. He fucked her with a brutal, intoxicating blend of strength and tenderness, each powerful thrust finding a point that made her legs tremble and buckle. His free hand found her neck, drawing her back until her spine pressed against his chest.

"Want to come again? Touch yourself," he commanded, guiding her hand to her clit. Março obeyed, her fingers circling frantically, while his teeth grazed her shoulder, leaving a sharp, exhilarating pain. Orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave – she screamed, her body convulsing, and Daziel held her tight, his movements quickening, deepening, until he shuddered, coming inside her, hot and overflowing.

They didn't stop there. He shifted her onto her side, her leg draped over his shoulder, and entered her again, this time slow and deliberate, each inch disappearing inside her body a testament to his dominance. Março was weeping now, tears of pure, overwhelming pleasure, of relief, of something deeper, something she couldn't name.

"I love you," he repeated, the words rough, fervent, and this time, she responded, her fingers gripping his face, her voice thick with emotion. "Me too… me too…"

When exhaustion finally claimed them, the room hung heavy with the scent of sex, of salty sweat and raw desire. Março slept curled against him, her head nestled on his chest, while he traced idle circles on her spine, murmuring praises she was too deeply asleep to hear—but would feel nonetheless, in every possessive glance he gave her tomorrow, and the days after.

The Milky Way beyond the window still blazed, a million scattered diamonds, and starlight spilled across the floor, painting a mottled tapestry of light and shadow.

Like a maiden's dream, awakened in winter, shattered across the floor.

Volume One, Winter Dream Awakening, The End.

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