Unwanted desire

The Mendō estate was a place of absolute opulence, a sprawling fortress of traditional Japanese architecture and modern luxury that reflected the sheer power of the Mendō Zaibatsu. Within the master bedroom, Shūtarō Mendō, the heir to fifty-one percent of Japan, lay beneath silk sheets, his handsome features twitching in the throes of a restless slumber.

In the realm of his subconscious, the world was a void of swirling shadows. Shūtarō found himself on his knees, his expensive white suit replaced by a cold, heavy weight around his throat. He reached up, his fingers trembling as they brushed against cold metal. It was a collar.

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked up, expecting to see a demon or perhaps his sister Ryōko holding the leash. But the figure standing over him was far worse.

Ataru Moroboshi stood there, his school uniform disheveled as usual, a look of smug, unbearable triumph plastered across his face. He held the end of a golden chain connected to Shūtarō’s neck.

"Good dog," Ataru sneered, his voice echoing with a deep, authoritative resonance that Shūtarō had never heard from the lecherous loser in real life.

Shūtarō tried to scream, to draw his katana and slice this peasant into ribbons, but his throat was constricted. No sound emerged but a pathetic whimper.

Ataru gave the chain a sharp tug, pulling Shūtarō forward. "Come here, Shūtarō. I have needs that only a loyal pet can satisfy."

With a strength that defied logic, Ataru hoisted Shūtarō upward and forced him to sit upon his lap. Shūtarō’s body felt like it belonged to someone else, moving with a mind of its own. He felt a horrifying heat radiating from Ataru. To his absolute devastation, his own body began to move, grinding against Ataru’s legs in a rhythmic, desperate display of subservience.

Ataru’s laughter filled the void, a mocking cackle that seemed to vibrate through Shūtarō’s very bones. "That’s it! Show me how much you love your master!"

Shūtarō bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving, his forehead drenched in a cold sweat. The moonlight filtered through the shoji screens, illuminating the familiar surroundings of his room. He gasped for air, clutching at his throat. There was no collar. There was no Ataru.

"A dream..." he hissed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just a nightmare. A localized, mental catastrophe."

He moved to throw back the covers, intending to wash away the filth of the vision with a cold bath, but he froze. A familiar, damp warmth clung to his silk pajamas. His eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror.

The evidence in his pants was undeniable. It hadn't just been a nightmare; it had been a wet dream.

"No..." Shūtarō’s voice cracked. He fell back against his pillows, staring at the ceiling with the hollow eyes of a man who had looked into the abyss and seen a lecherous teenager staring back. "Not him. Anyone but him. I’m cursed. I’ve been hexed by a fox spirit! Or perhaps Ryōko slipped something into my tea!"

The next morning at Tomobiki High School, Shūtarō Mendō was a ghost of his former self. He didn't parachute from his private jet; he arrived via a somber black limousine, his head bowed. He didn't even draw his sword when a group of male students accidentally brushed against his shoulder. He merely drifted toward the infirmary, seeking the only person who might understand the supernatural rot eating at his soul.

Sakura was busy organizing a cabinet of various talismans and medicinal herbs when the door creaked open. Shūtarō slumped into the chair across from her desk, looking like he’d aged ten years overnight.

"Mendō?" Sakura raised an eyebrow, adjusting her glasses. "You look terrible. Did you finally run out of money, or did an octopus die?"

"Sakura-san," Shūtarō whispered, his voice trembling. "I believe I am the victim of a high-level spiritual assault. A curse of the most... intimate and degrading nature."

Sakura leaned back, crossing her long legs. "A curse? Be specific. Are you seeing spirits? Hearing voices?"

"I am having nightmares," he said, choosing his words with extreme caution. "Vivid, terrifying nightmares involving a specific individual who holds power over me in a way that... that violates my very dignity. It was so intense that it had physical... repercussions."

Before Sakura could ask for clarification, the door to the infirmary burst open.

"Hey, Sakura-chan! My heart is aching! I think I need mouth-to-mouth!" Ataru Moroboshi came charging in, pursued closely by a floating, sparking Lum.

"Darling, stop bothering Sakura-san!" Lum cried, her hair shimmering with green electricity.

Shinobu and Ryūnosuke followed close behind, the former looking worried and the latter looking annoyed. They all stopped short when they saw Shūtarō.

"Mendō? What are you doing here?" Shinobu asked, stepping forward. "You look so pale."

"Is it a stomach ache?" Ryūnosuke asked, crossing her arms. "My old man gets like that when he eats spoiled fish."

Shūtarō stiffened, his eyes darting toward Ataru. The sight of the boy’s stupid, grinning face sent a jolt of pure terror through his spine. He saw the golden collar in his mind’s eye.

"It is nothing!" Shūtarō barked, standing up abruptly. "Just a minor spiritual disturbance! Sakura-san and I were discussing... private matters!"

"He said he's having nightmares!" Ataru shouted, pointing a finger at Shūtarō. "Mendō is a scaredy-cat! Is it the dark again? Or did you dream about a giant octopus eating your bank account?"

"Silence, you peasant!" Shūtarō’s hand flew to the hilt of his katana, but his grip was weak.

Lum hovered closer, her expression turning sympathetic. "A nightmare? Oh, poor Mendō-kun! I can help with that!"

"No, Lum-san, please, it’s not necessary—"

"It’s no trouble at all!" Lum reached into the bikini top of her tiger-striped outfit and pulled out a small, circular device with a glowing antenna. "This is a Dream-Linker! We use them on my planet to help children who are afraid of the dark. We can project your dream onto this screen and then enter it to stop whatever is scaring you!"

Shūtarō’s soul nearly left his body. "You want to... project it? For everyone to see?"

"Yeah!" Ataru cheered, leaning in. "Let’s see what the great Mendō is so afraid of. I bet it’s something pathetic, like a sale at a commoner's grocery store."

"I refuse!" Shūtarō screamed, backing into a corner. "It is a matter of national security! The Mendō Zaibatsu’s secrets are stored in my subconscious!"

"Don't be silly, Mendō," Shinobu said, trying to be helpful. "If it's making you this sick, you should let Lum help you. We're all your friends."

"I'm not his friend," Ryūnosuke grumbled, though she looked curious. "But if it's a monster, I'll help kick its teeth in."

Sakura stood up, her interest piqued. "If it truly is a curse, seeing the manifestation of the dream might help me identify the source. Hold him down, Moroboshi."

"With pleasure!" Ataru lunged forward.

"Stay away from me!" Shūtarō shrieked.

The Black Glasses Squad suddenly burst through the windows and doors, sensing their master’s distress. "Young Master! We shall protect your privacy!"

"Out of the way, you goons!" Ataru yelled, dodge-rolling through their legs.

The infirmary descended into absolute chaos. The Black Glasses Squad tried to form a human wall around Shūtarō, but Lum flew over them, her device humming. Ataru was tackled by three guards, only to bite their arms and wiggle free like an eel. Ryūnosuke, annoyed by the noise, started throwing guards out the door to clear a path.

"Get back! I'll commit seppuku! I'll do it right now!" Shūtarō wailed, his back against the medicine cabinet.

"Just one little peek!" Lum laughed, pressing a button on the device.

A beam of light shot out from the Dream-Linker, hitting Shūtarō square in the forehead. He slumped over, instantly plunged into a forced sleep by the alien technology.

"Mendō!" Shinobu cried, catching him before he hit the floor.

A holographic screen shimmered into existence in the center of the room. The image was blurry at first, swirling with dark purples and greys.

"Here we go," Ataru said, rubbing his hands together. "Prepare to be embarrassed, Mendō!"

The image snapped into focus. The group gasped.

They saw the dark void. They saw the golden collar. And then, they saw the dream-version of Ataru Moroboshi, looking remarkably handsome and commanding, holding the leash.

"What in the...?" Ryūnosuke’s jaw dropped.

"Is that... Darling?" Lum asked, her head tilting in confusion.

The screen showed Shūtarō on his knees, blushing furiously, looking up at Ataru with an expression that could only be described as longing.

"Good dog," the dream-Ataru said from the screen.

The real Ataru stood frozen, his face turning a shade of pale that rivaled Shūtarō’s. "Wait a minute. That’s not... I don't... Why am I wearing a cape?"

"Look!" Shinobu pointed, her voice trembling with a mix of horror and fascination. "He’s pulling him onto his lap!"

On the screen, the dream-Shūtarō began to grind against the dream-Ataru. The sounds of heavy breathing and soft whimpers filled the infirmary.

The silence in the real room was deafening. Even the Black Glasses Squad stopped fighting, their mouths hanging open as they stared at the display of their master’s deepest, darkest subconscious desire.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ryūnosuke whispered, turning away.

Sakura cleared her throat, her face a mask of professional neutrality despite the twitch in her eye. "Well. That is... certainly a very specific type of nightmare."

Ataru looked like he wanted to jump out the window. "He... he dreamed about me? Like *that*? That pervert! That absolute creep! I’m the victim here! I’m being harassed in his head!"

Lum’s sparks began to turn a dangerous shade of red. "Mendō-kun... you want to take Darling away from me? In a collar?"

"It’s not what it looks like!" Shūtarō suddenly bellowed, waking up with a start. He saw the screen. He saw the image of himself snuggling into Ataru’s chest.

He didn't scream. He didn't fight. He simply turned toward the wall, curled into a ball, and began to sob quietly.

"It was a curse," he moaned into the floorboards. "A terrible, horrible curse."

"I don't know, Mendō," Ataru said, recovering some of his bravado though he still looked disturbed. "You looked like you were enjoying yourself. 'Good dog,' huh?"

Shūtarō whipped around, his face red with fury. "I will kill you! I will spend every yen I own to have you launched into the sun!"

"Now, now," Sakura said, stepping between them. "Clearly, Mendō’s phobias and his rivalry with Moroboshi have manifested in a... power-exchange fantasy. It’s a common psychological defense mechanism."

"There is nothing common about this!" Ryūnosuke shouted. "I’m never eating lunch with either of you again!"

Lum turned the device off, the screen vanishing. She looked at Shūtarō with a strange expression. "Mendō-kun, if you liked Darling that much, you should have just said so. I don't mind sharing a little, but the collar is a bit much."

"I DON'T LIKE HIM!" Shūtarō shrieked, his voice reaching a pitch that shattered a glass beaker on Sakura’s desk. "I HATE HIM! HE IS THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE!"

"Then why were you wagging your tail in the dream?" Ataru teased, sensing he finally had the ultimate leverage.

Shūtarō drew his sword, the blade Murasame gleaming in the infirmary lights. "Die! Moroboshi, die a thousand deaths!"

"Help! Sakura-chan, save me from my loyal pet!" Ataru yelled, darting behind the nurse.

The chase led out of the infirmary and into the hallway. Shūtarō swung wildly, his strikes fueled by a desperation to erase the memory of the dream from the minds of everyone present.

"Come back here and let me decapitate you!"

"No way! You'll just try to sit on my lap again!"

As they disappeared around the corner, Shinobu sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "You know, for two people who hate each other, they really do spend a lot of time thinking about one another."

Ryūnosuke shuddered. "Don't remind me. I need to go lift something heavy to forget what I just saw."

Back in the hallway, the Black Glasses Squad followed their master, weeping tears of confusion. "We shall buy you a golden collar if it makes you happy, Young Master!"

"SHUT UP!" Shūtarō’s voice echoed through the school. "ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP!"

High above, Ryōko Mendō sat in her ox cart, looking down at the school through a pair of binoculars. She giggled, holding a small voodoo doll that looked suspiciously like her brother, currently wearing a tiny lace collar.

"Oh, Shūtarō," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with sadistic glee. "I told you the new tea blend was experimental. I can't wait to see what you dream about tonight. Maybe something involving an octopus and a suit of armor?"

She signaled her Kuroko to move on, the sound of her laughter lost in the wind, while down below, the eternal struggle between the heir of the Mendō Zaibatsu and the unluckiest boy in the world continued, now with a brand new, horrifying layer of awkwardness that would haunt Shūtarō’s waking hours for years to come.