Chapter 34: [Mission Available: Liberate Your Teacher]

Chapter 34: [Mission Available: Liberate Your Teacher]System, this is cheating, I thought as I breezed through another impossibly complex programming algorithm. If this was a novel, readers would complain about the protagonist becoming overpowered too quickly. I was planning for slow character development, not instantly becoming a god at learning. But there’s no response from the system, probably because it’s too busy making me smarter than everyone else in the building. By third period, I was operating at what felt like ten times Lea’s level, and Lea Martinez has the highest IQ in the school. She’s been the undisputed academic champion since freshman year, and I’m suddenly making her look like she’s struggling with basic concepts. This might actually work in my favor with Lea. If I can demonstrate that I’m now intellectually superior to her, curiosity might overcome her disappointment. Smart people can’t resist intellectual challenges, and suddenly being outperformed by someone she previously dismissed might intrigue her enough to actually talk to me. I watched Lea frantically taking notes while I was just sitting there absorbing information like a supernatural sponge, and I could see confusion starting to replace her usual confidence. Sorry, Lea. Turns out cosmic forces decided to level the intellectual playing field, and apparently, I’m the new champion. Then, just as our third period teacher—Mrs. Rodriguez—walked into the classroom, something unexpected happened. [DING! Frustration Alert: Target Detected] What the hell? The system interface suddenly appeared in my vision, displaying information I definitely didn’t ask for. [Target: Isabella Rodriguez, Age 34, AP Biology Teacher] [Frustration Level: CRITICAL] [Backstory: Four years of sexual dissatisfaction due to husband’s premature ejaculation (average duration: 4 minutes) For the sex that they only sadly have one a month. Subject maintains high libido but relies exclusively on self-stimulation for relief. Psychological profile indicates severe romantic and physical neglect.] [System Note: Poor woman hasn’t had a proper orgasm since 2020. This is basically a humanitarian crisis requiring immediate intervention.] [Mission Available: Liberate Your Teacher] [Rewards: 100 SP, $1000 bonus] [Accept Mission? Y/N] The system is seriously suggesting I seduce my fucking teacher? And it’s showing actual sympathy for her situation? But as the mission prompt appeared, something else activated—my Eyes ability kicked in like switching on high-definition vision. Mrs. Rodriguez was standing at the front of the classroom, and overlaid on her body were glowing pink indicators showing her erogenous zones, stress points, and areas of sexual frustration. It’s like having x-ray vision specifically designed for identifying someone’s intimate needs. Holy shit, I can literally see her sexual frustration mapped out in real time. And she’s almost offensively sexy for a woman in her thirties—like someone took the concept of "hot teacher" and dialed it past the legal limit. Isabella Rodriguez doesn’t just have a sophisticated educator vibe—she weaponizes it. About 5’6", with curves that clearly refused to be hidden beneath her fitted blouse and unfairly tight pencil skirt, her entire silhouette feels like a deliberate challenge to the concept of professionalism. Her dark hair was pinned up in a bun so tight and proper that it practically begged to be ruined, like it’s daring someone to unravel it and find out how wild it really gets. Her face carried that refined, mature beauty that isn’t just noticed—it’s respected. Sharp cheekbones, smooth caramel skin, and dark eyes framed by those sinfully stylish glasses that ride the line between discipline and temptation. And those lips—full, soft, and naturally parted in a way that makes them look like they’ve never said the word "platonic" in their entire life. She doesn’t walk—she glides with a quiet, confident grace that turns heads and tightens throats. You suddenly understand why entire genres of adult fantasy revolve around women like her. Honestly, there should be a warning sign taped to her ID badge. That blouse? White. Slightly sheer. Just enough to hint at the black lace underneath if the light hits right—and it always seems to. She has the kind of bosoms, ample, firm and stood in confidence in her bra, that made blouses beg for mercy. Her full breasts pressed against silk fabric that clung like it knew it wasn’t worthy. Her waist dipped in tight, only to flare out into hips that swayed with every step—slow, deliberate, devastating. That skirt? Painted on. It hugged her ass like a second skin, every stride pulling the fabric taut across flesh that seemed sculpted to challenge self-control. Eyes? Activated to full mode as if driven by spoiled cultured bro thought I was having right now for her. Only for her. She deserved that kind of undivided attention. Suddenly, the pink indicators became incredibly detailed. I could see more stress markers around her neck and shoulders from years of tension, but more importantly, I could see the concentrated frustration zones around her breasts, which are clearly more impressive than her professional wardrobe suggests. And there—glowing with particular intensity—were the indicators around her p*ssy. The system is literally showing me that she’s been neglected and unsatisfied for years, her body practically aching for proper attention. Of course, I can’t see the real deal, but I can see the spots. Such a shame... I mean such a relief. Right? This is either the most useful superpower ever or the most invasive violation of privacy imaginable. But damn, the intel is comprehensive. The indicators are showing me exactly where she’s most sensitive, where she needs the most attention, and how responsive her body would be to the right touch. It’s like having a detailed instruction manual for driving Isabella Rodriguez absolutely wild. How many times have me and Tommy talked about Mrs. Rodriguez during lunch? She’s been the subject of approximately half the male student body’s inappropriate fantasies since she started teaching here. I remember using her as "inspiration" for my own private moments more times than I care to admit. Turns out she’s been just as sexually frustrated as her oh, smart student Peter Carter, has been fantasizing about her. Four years without proper satisfaction. That’s basically a humanitarian crisis that requires immediate intervention. The system prompt was still floating in my vision, waiting for my response. Well, well, well. Isn’t this an interesting opportunity presenting itself? I focused on the floating text and mentally selected "Y" for accept. Your nightmare is over, Isabella. Your liberation has arrived, and it’s wearing the face of your most unremarkable student. Time to see exactly how effective these new abilities really are.