When the world gives you lemons, fuck making lemonade—you squeeze that shit and spray it right into people's eyes.
Now, whether I should consider myself lucky or completely fucked is still up for debate, because when I opened my eyes in this new life, I found myself reborn in the Nasuverse—and not just anywhere, but as Sajou Manaka's brother of all people.
Yes. That Manaka. The yandere girl who could flex omnipotence and omniscience like it was nothing, the one who could rewrite reality on a whim if she felt like it.
A girl so unhinged that even beings far beyond mortal comprehension would hesitate before fucking with her.
At first, I thought she had zero interest in me or Ayaka, our other sister—for those of you unfamiliar with her.
After all, just like Ayaka, I was just a completely ordinary guy in this fucked-up world. No powers, no blessings from some almighty god, no isekai cheat bullshit. Just breathing, existing, and taking up oxygen like a waste of space.
And Manaka? She always seemed... gentle. Distant. Cold. She would talk to us, interact with us, but it was like she was only going through the motions.
We weren't living in the same world.
Through my own observation and deduction, I concluded that while she was approachable, deep down, she was empty. Just going through life mechanically, as if she was acting for the sake of it rather than actually feeling anything.
And I understood that feeling all too well.
Because I was the same.
Most people would probably slap some psychiatric label on it—sociopathy, antisocial disorder, emotional detachment, blah blah blah—but let's be real.
But despite all that, the doctors never called me a psychopath. They told me I was normal. Functional.
Sure, I lacked empathy, sure, I had little to no emotional attachment to others, and yes, I was vindictive as fuck—borderline psychopathic, even.
But unlike some rabid dog, I wasn't out here randomly stabbing people in the streets. Most of the time, I was a perfectly peaceful person. Chill, even. I only became a problem when people thought they could step on me and get away with it.
So, instead of blaming my "issues" on childhood trauma or some environmental bullshit, I looked at the real cause—genetics.
My grandfather was a cutthroat capitalist. My grandmother worked for the government. Both of them were cold, ruthless, and calculating as hell.
That shit ran in the family. I didn't become this way because of my environment—I was just fucking born better.
Better genes. Better looks. Smarter than most people.
That's why I didn't call myself a sociopath. That was a term for lesser minds—for people who were broken or damaged.
I wasn't broken. I was just built different.
So, I gave my own condition a name.
High-Functioning Sociopath.
It's not just me who understands this—others have a vague understanding of high-functioning sociopaths, though they often mistake them for just regular sociopaths.
And honestly? They're not entirely wrong.
Unlike fake sociopaths, the ones who turned out that way because of shitty environments or bad upbringings, high-functioning sociopaths are different. We're born this way.
Colder. Calmer. More analytical. Ruthless in ways that normal people can't even comprehend.
We don't waste sympathy or empathy on just anyone. No, those things are earned. You don't need to be our friend. You don't need to be family. All you need to do is stay on our good side, and you'll be in our good graces. That's how it works. That's what being a high-functioning sociopath is about.
But step out of line? Try to point fingers at us? We don't take kindly to that shit. Strangers who act like they know us, who think they can call us out—they're nothing. But those who actually understand us, those who know how to stay on our good side—we listen to them. We take them seriously.
Most people don't even realize what's wrong with us. Or if they do, they don't see us as bad. Because truth be told, we're not inherently bad. We don't go out of our way to fuck with people. We don't ruin lives for no reason. But when someone crosses us? When someone pushes? We fucking crush them.
That's the difference.
We hide our emotions better. We blend in, appear normal, charismatic, even charming. Sure, we might lose our shit sometimes—lash out when provoked, let that menace slip through the cracks—but society forgives us. Because what we do is justified.
That's just how it is.
That's just how we are.
Even in fiction, we see this play out. Look at Manaka Sajyou from Fate. She's a sociopath by any standard, yet she's loved by so many fans.
Why? Because she's not just "evil"—she's built different. She doesn't just act like a villain—she owns it, radiating an aura of charisma, intelligence, and terrifying beauty. We don't love evil people—but we do love high-functioning sociopaths.
The ones who command respect, who dominate their world, who make you fear them and admire them at the same time.
This is us.
Where were we again?
Ah, right—my analysis of myself and Sajyou Manaka's personality so far.
Now that we're done discussing why Manaka acts the way she does, why she's so different from normal people, and why so many Fate fans are still obsessed with her despite everything—let's move on to something else.
At first, I thought Manaka was just uncaring. And to be fair, she was. She didn't actually see me, my sister, or even our father as family. She was just playing the part—putting on the act of a dutiful daughter, a loving sister, a normal human being. But deep down, she didn't give a single fuck about any of it. She'd keep up the facade until she got bored, until she decided she no longer needed to play dress-up as a human.
This is how things were supposed to go—until I made the mistake of confessing to a girl in high school.
Let's be real—I wasn't looking for romance or love. I just wanted a good fuck. She was hot, had a fuckable body, and was wild as hell in bed. I still remember the way she looked, pinned beneath me, moaning as I fucked her into oblivion.
Then the next day, when I was planning to ask her out on a date—fuck her again later that night—she was gone.
Vanished.
Her father had gotten a job in America, and just like that, they moved the fuck out of Tokyo. No warning, no goodbye.
But it made sense.
This was the Bubble Era, and Japan's economy was a mess. People were going bankrupt left and right, depression was spreading like a disease, and suicide rates were skyrocketing. If her old man saw a chance to escape, he took it.
Fine. Whatever.
I shrugged it off. It was convenient in a way. No emotional baggage, no awkward breakups. I wanted to fuck multiple women without getting a scumbag reputation, and if the girl happened to move away after I was done? That just made things easier.
This is what they call moving on, right?
Girls love a man with a story—as long as he's handsome. If you're ugly as fuck, no one gives a shit about your story.
So, I moved on.
This time, I set my sights on another pretty girl in my class. The first one had big tits, but now? I wanted to taste a petite girl for a change.
I smirked to myself, already planning how I was gonna hunt her down and wreck her pussy.
But then—just like before—she disappeared.
That's when I got suspicious.
It was too blatant. Too fucking obvious. Every single girl I'd slept with had vanished—their families suddenly moving overseas, all with the same bullshit excuse.
I didn't waste time investigating. I didn't sit around analyzing the why of it all.
I already knew.
So I walked straight up to Manaka's table, looked her dead in the eyes, and said—
"We need to talk, sister."
After that, we headed to the rooftop—a place isolated enough for a real conversation between brother and sister. If you could even call it that.
"What did you want to talk about, brother?" Manaka asked me calmly, her voice soft, gentle as ever.
That same serene, almost angelic smile rested on her lips, completely unwavering.
Everything about her screamed innocence. No guilt. No hesitation. No flicker of remorse. Just the calm, composed demeanor of a girl who had done nothing wrong.
And that was what made her so much more terrifying.
"Did they really move overseas? Their fathers just happened to get job offers in another country?" I asked, getting straight to the point.
"They did." Manaka's expression didn't change in the slightest, her voice still as sweet as ever. "They'll be happier there than they ever could be here."
Her smile remained utterly pure, as if she was a saint who had granted them salvation. As if she had done them a favor.
If you didn't know better, you'd think she was some benevolent goddess, handing out miracles to those in need.
"So, what's the point of all this?" I shot back, my voice laced with open disdain. "You don't even care about your own family, and now suddenly, you're playing savior for a bunch of strangers? If you're so generous, why not extend your generosity to the rest of our classmates? Since you're such an angel, Manaka?"
Sarcasm dripped from my words.
She might be powerful, she might be able to crush me like an ant, but I was not some spineless dog trained to submit to authority just because it was powerful.
I wasn't a Chinese citizen bowing down to its government out of fear—I would never live my life as a submissive weakling.
I'd rather die and be erased from existence than let someone else dictate my fate.
"I care about you, about our sister and father," Manaka replied softly, her voice carrying an unsettling warmth. "But those girls… they were a bad influence on you. They needed to disappear."
I chuckled, shaking my head. There was no point arguing logic with an unhinged girl.
Instead, I let my gaze roam over her, my eyes dragging down her body without the slightest attempt to hide my thoughts. Then, without hesitation, I reached forward and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet my stare.
"You're going to replace them," I said, my voice steady, unwavering. "Or you're going to erase me from existence. Make your choice, sister."
A small chuckle escaped her lips before she answered.
"I'll take a better role than them, brother," she whispered. "I'll cook for you. I'll be by your side, always. I'll be there whenever you need me—physically, emotionally, in every way you can imagine."
"Prove it," I challenged, my voice low.
There was no turning back now. I knew exactly what I was doing, what kind of line I was crossing. But when you've already done crazy shit, why not take it even further?
Manaka simply closed her eyes, giving me silent permission. Inviting me.
I didn't hesitate.
I leaned in, pressing my lips against hers, claiming her mouth without mercy. My arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, my hands gripping the soft curve of her back as I pulled her closer.
The kiss was anything but innocent.
It was aggressive. Dangerous. Lewd.
My tongue forced its way into her mouth, deep and demanding, staking my claim as we kissed under the burning hues of the setting sun.
And she… didn't resist.
But a mere kiss wasn't enough. Fuck that—I wanted more.
I wanted her pussy, her body, her very existence to be mine.
Without hesitation, I grabbed her and bent her over, pressing her against the cold rooftop pole.
My hands tore up her skirt, flipping it over her hips, revealing her soft, round ass, barely covered by a thin pair of panties.
With a sharp tug, I yanked them down, exposing her glistening, needy slit.
My cock was already rock hard, straining against my pants. I wasted no time—I freed it, the cool air hitting my length for only a second before I lined myself up and shoved it deep inside her in one brutal thrust.
Manaka gasped, her body jerking forward, but there was no resistance—no hesitation. She didn't need foreplay. She didn't need lubrication. She was already soaking wet, ready for me.
"Ahhn~!" She moaned, her voice pure sin, her body clenching down around me, milking my cock as I drove into her mercilessly.
I didn't hold back—I couldn't.
I fucked her like a beast, pounding into her tight, velvety walls, each thrust making her juice gush out, coating my shaft in her slick arousal.
The wet, obscene sounds of our fucking echoed across the rooftop, her cries of pleasure rising higher with every stroke.
And then—it happened.
Every magus's dream—the forbidden knowledge of the Root, the ultimate power, the truth of existence itself—I was entering it through her pussy.
Something inside me shifted, changed forever, but I didn't give a single fuck.
All that mattered was the heat, the tightness, the way her body swallowed every inch of me like it was made for me.
I pressed her down harder, bending her even further, her spine arching as I plunged deeper.
Her juices kept gushing, splattering against my cock and thighs as I relentlessly pumped my seed inside her, filling her over and over again.
"A-Ahhh! Brother—!!" Manaka screamed my name, her moans shattering into the sunset as I claimed her completely, our bodies slamming together, fucking like animals with no restraint, no shame, just raw, filthy desire.
...
Author Note:
Alright, my fellow degenerate readers!
Welcome to my new fanfic, written by yours truly after I finished Incest Pendragon. And now, it's time for me to drop some good shit for you all to waste your time on—because let's be real, if you had anything better to do, you wouldn't be here reading fanfics.
This project has been stuck in my head for a long time. I wanted to write it back when I first started posting stories on this site, but yeah... skill issue.
I went through so many drafts, only to end up trashing them because none of them felt right. My original MC wasn't even a sociopath like the one I have now—he was actually decent, maybe even likable.
And the story? Nowhere near as fucked-up as this version.
But you know what? I like this version way more. So here we are.
Now, let's get to the real talk.
I like Manaka Sajyou—more than any other girl in Fate, except for Saber and Morgan. She's underrated, and I rarely see her as a main love interest in fanfics.
Sure, she gets thrown into harems sometimes—especially in Chinese novels—but outside of that? Almost nonexistent.
Well, not anymore.
Now, before anyone tries to start some dumbass drama, let me make this explicitly clear: The characters in this story are high school seniors in their third year, about to go to college, meaning they are of legal age.
That said—no, I'm not changing her appearance. She's still a petite, fully legal loli. That's it. That's the most important point. Age doesn't matter as long as the aesthetic is right.
So yeah. Enjoy the ride. Or don't. Either way, I'm writing this.
Farewell and enjoy!