I Died and Was Reincarnated as a Goth Femboy

The Panopticon was a temple to excess. The air thrummed with a low, bass-heavy beat that felt more like a physical vibration than a sound, and the perpetual twilight of the city below was refracted into a thousand glittering shards by the club's crystal fixtures. Kenjiro walked towards the raised dais, the synthetic leather of his combat boots making no sound on the plush, black carpet. He felt the eyes of the club's patrons on him, a mixture of curiosity, lust, and cold, calculating appraisal. This was a city of sharks, and he had just walked into the main feeding ground.

He and his party took the offered seats at the low, chrome table in front of Nexus's throne-like chair. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken questions. DragonSlayer sat stiffly, his gaze fixed on the holographic cityscape visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows, his posture a fortress of wounded pride. Lyrielle fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, her usual shyness amplified by the club's intimidating atmosphere. Only Kaito seemed at ease, a foxy, predatory grin on his face as he scanned the room, his amber eyes drinking in the sights.

"So," Nexus began, their synthesized voice a smooth, flat monotone that betrayed no emotion. "Elara sent you. He does so love his little games."

Bombom's fists clenched under the table. So this was it. Another one of Elara's carefully constructed hoops for him to jump through. "We need to know where he is," he said, his own voice cold and hard, a mirror of the broker's.

Nexus let out a soft, synthesized chuckle. "Information is the most valuable commodity in this city, dear Lily. It is the blood that flows through the neon veins of this spire. And it is never, ever free." They leaned forward, the mirrored lenses of their sunglasses reflecting Bombom's own furious, blushing face. "You want to know Elara's location? His plans? The key to winning his little game? I can provide all of that. But my price is… steep."

"How much?" Bombom asked, his mind already calculating the Femboy Coins he had amassed. He was rich, but he had a feeling that no amount of money would be enough.

"I have no need for your digital currency," Nexus said with a dismissive wave of their hand. "I own the servers it runs on. No, I require a payment of a more… personal nature." They paused, letting the words hang in the air, a silent, tantalizing threat. "I sell not just information, but experiences. And you, Bombom, the S-Tier Lily who saved a kingdom and commands an army of adoring fans… you are the most valuable experience on the market."

A cold knot of dread tightened in Kenjiro's stomach. He knew where this was going.

"I host a private, weekly auction for my most exclusive clients," Nexus continued, their voice dripping with a smug, business-like glee. "They bid for access to unique opportunities, rare artifacts, and… private consultations. Tonight's main event, as it happens, has just opened up." They smiled, a cold, predatory expression that was all teeth. "You will be my main attraction. A one-hour, private 'consultation' with the famous Bombom. The bidding will be fierce. The winner gets you, all to themselves, for a full sixty minutes. That is my price."

The words hit the table like a physical blow. DragonSlayer's head snapped around, his cold, empty expression shattering, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated fury. "You want to what?!" he snarled, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword.

"This is unacceptable!" Gluteus boomed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that made the glasses on their table vibrate.

Kaito's playful smirk vanished, his foxy eyes narrowing into two, sharp points of pure, possessive anger. "He's not for sale," he hissed.

But Bombom just held up a hand, a silent command for them to stand down. He looked at Nexus, his own face a mask of calm, cold calculation. He had to do this. For his friends. For the future he had to save. He remembered his shadow's words, the cold, hard question that was now the guiding principle of his new life. Who's the monster? He would be the monster. He would endure this humiliation, this degradation, and he would use it.

"Fine," he said, the single word a shard of ice in the tense silence. "I'll do it."

"Bombom, no!" Lyrielle whispered, her voice full of a desperate, pleading urgency.

He didn't look at her. He couldn't. "But," he continued, his gaze locked on Nexus's mirrored sunglasses, "I have one condition. This 'consultation'… it's just talking. No touching. And I stream the whole thing."

Nexus let out another soft, synthesized chuckle. "Of course," they said. "The illusion of unavailability only drives up the price. Consider it a deal."

The next hour was a blur of pure, unadulterated cringe. Bombom was led to a small, circular stage at the center of the club, a single, plush armchair placed under a harsh, white spotlight. The rest of the club was plunged into darkness. Nexus's voice echoed from hidden speakers, a smooth, professional auctioneer's patter that was a chilling counterpoint to the sheer, humiliating absurdity of the situation.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen," Nexus announced, "the moment you have all been waiting for. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. One hour of undivided attention from the hero of our time, the S-Tier Lily, the one and only… Bombom!"

A wave of polite, but distinctly predatory, applause echoed from the darkness. Bombom just sat there, his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap, his face a mask of cold, forced indifference. He could feel the eyes of the bidders on him, a hundred unseen predators sizing up their prey. His hover-drone was active, its silent, unblinking eye broadcasting his shame to the world. The chat was a chaotic, unreadable torrent of pure, unadulterated pandemonium.

"The bidding will start at one hundred thousand Femboy Coins," Nexus declared.

A series of paddles, glowing with a soft, neon light, immediately shot up from the darkness. The bidding was fast, furious, and utterly insane. The numbers climbed at a dizzying rate, reaching astronomical figures that made Kenjiro's own considerable fortune look like pocket change.

"Five hundred thousand from the distinguished gentleman from the HozyHoo Elite!" Nexus announced. "Do I hear six hundred?"

Another paddle went up. "Six hundred thousand from the ever-dashing Valerius!"

Bombom's blood ran cold. Valerius. Seraphina's pathetic, cheating ex-husband. He was here. He could feel the man's greedy, possessive gaze on him from the darkness.

"Seven hundred thousand from the esteemed representative of the Lily Fighting Club, the one, the only, Hikaru Aoi!"

Hikaru. His pink-clad, condescending rival. Of course. This was turning into a parade of his least favorite people.

The bidding war continued, a three-way battle between a corrupt corporate stooge, a jilted crypto-bro, and a narcissistic rival Lily. The price climbed to a million. Then two. Then five. It was an obscene display of wealth and ego, and he was the prize pig at the center of it all. He just sat there, his expression a perfect, blank mask, his mind a million miles away, his soul slowly shriveling with every new, astronomical bid.

He could feel his friends watching from a dark corner of the club. He could feel their collective, impotent rage, their desperate, protective fury. He could feel DragonSlayer's stare, a burning, intense heat on the back of his neck. He was doing this for them. He had to remember that.

The bidding finally stalled at a staggering nine and a half million. "Nine million, five hundred thousand Femboy Coins, going once," Nexus's voice echoed, full of a triumphant, final glee. "Going twice…"

"Ten million."

The voice was new. It was calm, confident, and full of a familiar, musical amusement. A new paddle, this one a brilliant, ice-blue, shot up from a VIP booth overlooking the stage.

"Sold!" Nexus declared, the sound of the synthesized gavel a final, definitive crack in the tense silence. "To the esteemed CEO of the Femboy Adventuring Guild, Ryo!"

A single spotlight flared to life, illuminating the VIP booth. Ryo was sitting there, a wide, triumphant, and utterly infuriating smirk on his face. He raised his glass in a mock toast to Bombom, his eyes twinkling with a pure, unadulterated mischief.

Bombom just stared, his mind a screaming vortex of pure, unadulterated rage. He had been played. He had been humiliated. And he had just been bought and paid for by his own, ridiculously smug boss.

The hour that followed was the longest, and most awkward, of his entire life. Ryo sat opposite him in the small, private consultation room, a smug, self-satisfied look on his face, asking a series of increasingly personal and deeply embarrassing questions for the entertainment of the livestream chat. Bombom answered in clipped, monosyllabic grunts, his face a mask of pure, tsundere fury.

When the final, agonizing second had ticked away, Nexus reappeared, a sleek data slate held in their hand. "A deal is a deal," the broker said, their synthesized voice full of a grudging respect. They handed the slate to Bombom.

On the screen was a single address: AuraGen Labs, a high-tech genetic research facility located in a remote, industrial sector on the outskirts of Neon Spire. And below it, a single, chilling line of text: Project Chimera. Phase 2: Vessel Activation. Scheduled for two days from now.

He was starting. Elara wasn't just gathering ingredients anymore. He was ready to cook.

They left the club, the throbbing beat of the music a faint, distant memory. The silence in the elevator as they descended the colossal spire was a heavy, suffocating thing. When they finally stepped out into the neon-drenched streets of the city below, the cool, night air was a welcome relief.

DragonSlayer was the first to speak, his voice a low, rough grumble. He didn't look at Bombom. He just stared at the shimmering, holographic advertisements that flickered across the buildings around them. "That was…" he began, then faltered, the words catching in his throat.

"I know," Bombom said, his own voice quiet, weary.

"No, you don't," DragonSlayer said, finally turning to look at him. The anger was gone from his eyes, replaced by something else. Something that looked a lot like… respect. "What you did back there… that was… brave. And really, really stupid."

A small, genuine smile touched Bombom's lips. "Thanks," he said. "I think."

It wasn't a reconciliation. It wasn't an apology. But it was a start. A small, fragile crack in the wall of ice that had formed between them.

They walked back to their rented apartment, the weight of their new knowledge a heavy burden. They had a location. They had a deadline. And they had a god to stop from being born. The game was far from over. But now, at least, they knew where the next move had to be made.