LIGHTNOVELWORLD Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Angela
Yami had just turned seven when Angela—and the Japanese government—finally decided it was time for him to start elementary school.
Up until now, Angela homeschooled him, and honestly, it wasn't that bad. Although her "lessons" were more like anecdote-telling sessions while she worked in the garden or cooked.
But society wasn't about to let her keep him locked away forever. So, off to school he would go.
Weirdly enough, home life had gotten a little better—not because his dad magically stopped being a complete bastard, but because Akio spent even less time at home.
The man was barely more than a ghost now, only showing up to flaunt his latest barely-legal side piece.
And they were getting younger. Every time he brought one home, Yami felt like he needed a shower just from breathing the same air; at one point, Yami thought his father had brought a girl barely older than his own age.
But whatever. At least the house was quieter when the old man wasn't around, and Yami really wanted to get rid of that old man.
Angela, though? Damn. She had somehow managed to get hotter as time went on. She didn't look like she'd aged a day since he first woke up in this world, and if anything, she was like a fine wine—better with every year.
Her blonde hair still fell in those perfect waves, and her green eyes had that same soft, dreamy look. Her figure? Let's just say the black-and-gold kimonos she liked didn't exactly leave much to the imagination; sometimes, while working, she would flash a nipple to Yami.
And she wasn't just a walking wet dream; she was still the same sweet, doting woman she'd always been, treating Yami like he was the center of her world. It made Akio's "conducts" easier to ignore.
Still, he had something that made it all tolerable: his quirk.
He'd officially named it Pillar Man when the time came to register it. His dad's quirk was a JoJo reference, so he figured he'd one-up him.
Plus, his quirk felt like it was a JoJo reference, too.
Regarding his quirk, Angela had spent the last few years quietly dedicating herself to solving his "condition"—the bizarre side effect of his quirk that burned his skin whenever he was exposed to sunlight.
She read medical journals, scoured obscure forums, and consulted with quirk specialists, often travelling long distances to meet with researchers.
No one had a clear answer, but Angela wasn't deterred. Slowly, she pieced together her solution, treating Yami like a puzzle she was determined to solve.
Her breakthrough came about six months ago when she discovered a specialized cream made from a rare combination of reflective compounds.
It was initially designed for people with quirks, which left their skin with severe UV sensitivity.
Angela spent months tweaking and improving the formula, experimenting tirelessly to make it work for Yami's quirk.
The first time she applied it, they both held their breath. Angela slathered it across Yami's skin with trembling hands as she worked the cream into his arms, legs, and face.
"Ready?" she asked, her green eyes searching his.
Yami didn't flinch. He nodded, stepping onto the porch where the sun bathed the yard in light.
At first, his body tensed, the familiar burning sensation threatening to come back over his skin. But then—nothing. No burning, no turning to stone, no cracking, just… sunlight.
He turned to Angela, his golden eyes wide with disbelief.
"You did it," he said softly, barely able to contain his excitement. And then his system came out to ruin the moment.
[Yami, due to how your quirk works, while using the cream, you won't be able to use it to its full potential; not only that, but continued usage of the cream may affect your cells and only make your skin more sensitive.]
Angela smiled, her hands flying to cover her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "I told you I would, didn't I?"
Yami saw her so happy he didn't even curse the system; only a faint "Fuck you" was more than enough for now as he hugged Angela.
From that day forward, Yami could step into the sun like a normal kid—as long as he kept the cream on.
Angela made it part of their routine, rubbing it into his skin every morning before they started their day.
She did it with such care, like she was polishing a precious jewel. Yami could tell it made her feel proud, so he didn't have the heart to tell her it would make his skin more sensitive.
Instead, every day after putting the cream on, he would shower it off since they almost never left the house anyway.
But as time passed, Angela also spent more and more time lost in her own thoughts—thoughts she didn't dare voice aloud.
Late at night, when the house was quiet, and Akio was off doing Snail-knows-what with some barely-legal or not-even-legal mistress, Angela found herself unable to sleep.
Her room felt too big and too empty, and her body betrayed her with a heat she couldn't ignore. Before she was a mother, she was a woman.
It had started innocently enough, or so she told herself. A hand brushed her thigh and a soft sigh as she shifted under the sheets.
But it didn't take long before she was tangled in the blankets, her bra slipping off as her fingers dipped lower.
Angela tried to suppress the guilt that accompanied these moments. Still, she wasn't doing anything wrong, not really, but the intensity of her fantasies made her cheeks burn.
Sometimes, she pictured herself younger before Akio's coldness had worn her down. Other times, her thoughts wandered to a vague, shadowy figure with golden eyes who treated her with the tenderness she craved and fucked her with the roughness she thought she deserved.
She always finished quickly, biting her lip to stifle her gasps as she collapsed back into the bed.
And then she would lie there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how the rest of her life would feel—quiet, lonely, and full of moments she couldn't share with anyone.
That was 2 years ago, and her lust only grew more by the day; at some point, it was no longer her fingers, and she didn't do it just in her room.
Back to Yami, Yami spent his nights buried in books—pirated ones—because there was no way he was asking Akio to buy him anything with money from Snail knows where.
He downloaded everything he could about technology, finance, and corporate strategy. It wasn't just for fun.
He had a plan, and it was simple: destroy his father. The fire of hatred he had for him was as strong as ever.
Akio ran a large-sized company that looked great on paper but was really just a cesspool of corruption and ego-stroking.
Yami didn't just want to ruin him; he wanted to take everything Akio had built and make it his own. He wanted to steal the company, crush his reputation, and leave the man with nothing but regret, and maybe, if there was time, kill him... not yet.
Angela would check in on him sometimes while he read, always with a warm smile and something sweet to say.
Tonight, she brought him a plate of snacks—homemade rice crackers and fruit, because of course, she was perfect like that.
She sat beside him, her kimono slipping just enough to reveal the soft curve of her shoulder, and looked at Yami with half-lidded eyes.
"You've been reading a lot lately," she said, her voice light and teasing. "Aren't you a little young for this kind of heavy stuff?"
Yami glanced up at her, unimpressed. "Better than wasting time playing freeze tag with idiots."
Angela laughed softly, her hair falling into her face as she brushed it back. "You're so serious, Yami. Sometimes I wonder if you're growing up too fast."
"Maybe someone has to," he muttered, looking back at the tablet. "Dad sure isn't."
That made her pause. Her smile faltered just for a second before she leaned in to kiss the top of his head.
"You're too smart for your own good," she whispered, her voice a mix of pride and probably sadness. Then she stood, her kimono swaying as she walked away, leaving Yami alone with his thoughts.
He stared at the screen, his fingers tightening around the tablet's edges. He was going to take Akio down, no matter what it took. And when he did? He'd make sure Angela never had to deal with that bastard again.
The following day was supposed to be his first day of elementary school, Yami woke up way earlier than he wanted, groaning as he glanced at the clock. 3:00 AM.
"What the hell..." he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon, so he figured he'd grab some water and maybe read until Angela woke up.
Dragging himself down the hall toward the kitchen, he caught a whiff of something weird.
It was sharp and unmistakably... fishy.
He stopped in his tracks, frowning as the smell from the living room got stronger.
Curiosity got the better of him, so he stepped closer, already half-regretting it.
What he saw almost made him choke.
Angela was passed out on the couch—completely naked. Her legs were splayed open, and in one hand, she was clutching a pair of his underwear.
His fucking underwear.
It was obvious she'd been sniffing and licking them. In her other hand was a dildo, and not just any dildo—this thing was massive, about the same size as Yami's cock when he had morning wood, and it was coated with her juices.
The whole couch was soaked. It wasn't just damp—it was dripping wet with squirt.
The mess was everywhere: on the cushions, on the floor, and even splattered up the walls. Her tits were glistening, milk dripping from her rock-hard nipples like she'd been milking herself while going rough on her pussy.
The smell in the room was overpowering, a mix of sweat, milk, and pussy that clung to the air.
Yami just stood there for a second, staring like an idiot. The sight should've fucked him up completely, but all he could do was shake his head in disbelief.
"Snail, Mom..." he whispered under his breath, backing away slowly.
Angela was out cold, breathing softly like she hadn't just turned the living room into a porn set.
Not wanting to risk waking her up, Yami crept back to his room, closed the door, and flopped onto his bed.
He stared at the ceiling; the image of her naked body burned into his brain and threw an arm over his eyes, groaning. "This family's so goddamn fucked up."
He knew sleep wasn't happening after that.