Lust System: Conquering the World Beauties

The little boy moved quickly through the narrow gaps between makeshift shacks, motioning for the girls to follow. His bare feet barely made a sound against the dusty ground, his small frame slipping easily through spaces most grown men would have to turn sideways to pass. He stopped in front of a worn but surprisingly sturdy-looking tent, its faded canvas patched in several places but kept tight and clean.

"This way," he said quietly, pulling the flap aside.

Lilith's eyes swept the area first. Unlike most of the tents they had passed—where trash was scattered, and the smell of stale food and waste lingered—this little corner was different. The ground around the tent had been swept clear of dirt and debris. They could see glimpse of the inside a few stacked crates served as shelves, holding neatly folded clothes. There was even a small tin basin of water sitting to one side, covered to keep the dust out.

For a place like this, it was shockingly well kept.

Lilith was about to comment when the boy spoke up, his voice calm but carrying a hint of something heavier.

"My sister… she always gets sick," he said without looking at them. "So the best I can do is keep this place clean, make sure she's fed… but even that's getting harder these days."

Ann glanced around, her eyes softening. She could tell that the boy had put a lot of effort into keeping things in order, especially in a place where survival often left no time for tidiness.

Lilith looked at him a little differently now. This wasn't just some street kid trying to get sympathy. He was holding his home together with what little he had. She felt a rare twinge of pity.

"What about—" Ann began, but the boy cut her off sharply.

"My parents are dead," he said flatly, not even flinching. "Killed in a gang commotion."

The air went still for a moment. As if on cue, all the girls turned toward Lilith, their eyes narrowing slightly.

Lilith threw up her hands. "What?! It's not my gang."

Her voice carried a bit more defensiveness than she intended. She stepped closer to the boy. "Do you know the name of the gang that killed your parents?"

The boy finally looked up at her. For someone so young, his eyes carried a weight far beyond his years—burning, focused hatred.

"Crimson Hand," he said, each word dripping with venom.

A sigh seemed to pass through the group all at once. Even a kid from the slums carried the same grudge they did. It wasn't just their fight anymore; Crimson Hand had left scars everywhere.

The boy turned back to the tent and pulled the flap wider. "Come in," he said simply.

They stepped inside one by one. In the far corner, on a low mat, lay a girl curled up under a patched blanket. Her skin was pale, her frame alarmingly thin.

She looked like she could have been seven or eight at most, the way her limbs looked so frail… but the boy had already told them she was twelve. The malnutrition and constant illness had stunted her, making her look years younger than she was.

Lilith knelt down beside her and reached out, tapping the girl gently on the shoulder.

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly, revealing eyes that were soft but curious. She studied Lilith for a moment, then pushed herself up into a sitting position, moving with the sluggishness of someone whose body had been tired for too long.

"Who are you?" she asked weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lilith opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak, the boy appeared behind her.

"Lillie, it's alright," he said quickly. "She's here to give us food."

Lilith's brows rose slightly in surprise.

Lillie?

She glanced at the small girl again, taking in the name, the sound of it. It wasn't often she met someone else who shared it. In her world, names were rare enough to feel personal, almost like part of your identity's armor. For a second, she wondered what kind of life this girl could have had if she'd been born somewhere else, somewhere far from the filth and danger of the slums.

The little girl looked at her brother, then back to Lilith, as if trying to decide whether or not to trust her.

Vanessa, who had been standing at the entrance, crossed her arms, her gaze flicking between the two siblings. Ann shifted her weight slightly, still processing the boy's earlier words.

Lilith stayed crouched, her voice softening. "Well… seems we have something in common, Lillie."

The girl tilted her head, confused.

"You said your sister gets sick often," Lilith said, still watching the girl. "How long has it been like this?"

"Since our parents died," the boy answered before the girl could speak. "Food's not enough. She needs medicine, and I can't afford it."

The way he said it wasn't a plea for help—it was just a fact.

Lilith straightened, her mind ticking over. Crimson Hand had caused this. And as much as she wanted to stay focused on the job at hand, she couldn't ignore the reality in front of her. These weren't just random slum kids—they were casualties of the same war she was in.

The girl Lillie gave a small cough and leaned against her chest. Her eyes lingered on Lilith for a moment longer before closing halfway again.

Lilith's voice cut through the silence in the cramped tent. "Get what's important," she said firmly.

The boy's eyes widened slightly, his expression caught between confusion and suspicion. "What?" he asked, his voice low.

Lilith didn't blink. "You're coming with us."

The air in the tent seemed to tighten. The boy stared at her as if trying to gauge if she was serious. His gaze darted between her face and his sister , then back to her eyes. "We don't even know you," he muttered.

"You know enough," Lilith replied, not breaking eye contact. "And staying here will get you both killed or worse."

He shifted on his feet, his fingers curling into small fists. "We can't just leave—"

"You can," Lilith cut him off. "Grab whatever you can carry. We leave in five minutes."

The boy hesitated for only a moment before moving quickly, grabbing a worn backpack from the corner of the tent. He shoved in a few shirts, a small blanket, and an old tin box that rattled as it went in. The girl stirred faintly against Lilith's chest, her small hand clutching the fabric of Lilith's coat.

—

Back at the factory, the main room was quiet except for the faint hum of the computer setup. Multiple screens glowed in the dim light, each filled with scrolling data and muted news feeds. Liam sat in the middle of it all, leaning back in his chair, his eyes locked on one of the screens. His expression was tense, his jaw set. He had been trying to download everything that had happened for the past three days into his brain.

A sudden metallic click broke his focus. He turned his head toward it, his brows drawing together when he saw who was coming in.

Lilith walked in first, her pace steady, eyes scanning the room. Ann and the others followed close behind. But it wasn't just them. A boy, maybe seven or eight, stepped in after them, his frame thin, his clothes worn and stained. Lilith carried a small girl in her arms, her head resting limply against Lilith's chest. The girl's skin looked pale, almost sickly, her breathing light.

Liam sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. "What is going on?" he asked, his tone more curious.

No one answered immediately. Ann glanced at Lilith, but Lilith ignored the question for now and walked further into the room.

Across the way, Dickson was lounging in one of the chairs, a half-empty bag of chips in his hand. He'd been casually talking to Liam before they came in, but the sight of them made him pause mid-chew. His eyes flicked from Lilith to the kids, and then to the bag of chips in his own hand.

The boy's gaze locked on the chips almost instantly. He didn't say anything, but it was obvious he hadn't eaten well in a long time. His eyes lingered on the bag like it was gold.

Lilith caught it. She looked over at Dickson and jerked her chin. "Come here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Just move," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

With a sigh, Dickson pushed himself up and walked over. When he got close enough, Lilith shifted her hold on the little girl and, without warning, placed her in his arms. He instinctively steadied her, though he looked completely out of place holding a child. "And what exactly am I supposed to do with her?" he asked.

The look Lilith gave him was sharp enough to make him stop talking. For a moment, they just stared at each other, and then Dickson looked down at the girl. Her eyes were half-open now, weak but focused on him. Slowly, he lifted the bag of chips. "You want some?" he asked.

She gave a faint nod.

With a small shrug, he crouched down on the floor, setting her gently beside him. He tore the bag open wider and handed her a few chips. She took them with both hands, eating slowly, her movements weak but precise. Dickson didn't rush her. He just sat there, letting her eat at her own pace.

The boy lingered nearby, still holding his backpack, his eyes flicking between Dickson and the chips. Dickson glanced up at him, then down at the bag, and sighed again. "Here," he said, handing a small handful to the boy.

The boy took them carefully. "Thanks," he said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Liam watched the whole thing silently, leaning back in his chair.