Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 43: Goon God Rising

The silence in the room was soft almost sacred.

Moonlight rested across Henry’s bare chest as Seraphina slowly traced idle circles with her fingertip. Her other hand lay over the photo of Elira, the elf girl whose memory still clung to the room like incense.

"You ever going to tell me what your life was like?" Seraphina murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Henry’s smile didn’t fade. But something behind his eyes changed like a crack in the sky just before a storm.

He exhaled.

And then

"It was... different."

---

Earth, 2024.

Suburbia.

An apartment that smelled like socks and despair.

Henry lived in a one-room cave of sin. The walls were covered in anime posters: waifus with deadly thighs and personalities made of sunshine and tsundere. There were at least four body pillows scattered across his stained mattress, each named. Each respected. Each... seasoned.

An alarm buzzed at 10 AM.

Not to wake up he’d been up since 4.

Gooning.

And he wasn’t subtle about it.

He had three monitors. One for Genshin Impact. One for "research." One to livestream his expressions to a secret subreddit where anonymous degenerates rated each other’s commitment to the Gooning Faith.

He called himself:

"StarlightFister69."

His fingers were sore. His soul? Hollow. His heart? Steady.

His thighs? Cramping.

He’d reached Goonlight Enlightenment by noon.

Then he chugged two Red Bulls, threw on his crustiest hoodie, and left for his job at Walmart.

Walmart, Isle 6. Feminine Hygiene.

Henry stood dead-eyed, holding a price gun and thinking about Komi-san’s thighs.

A customer asked, "Excuse me, where can I find the organic tampons?"

Henry blinked. "Uh. Aisle 8. Near the... uh... uh..."

He was sweating.

Why?

Because she was hot.

The customer raised an eyebrow and walked away.

Henry whispered, "Mommy..."

He ran straight to the employee bathroom.

Locked the stall.

Pulled out his emergency portable router.

Fired up Rule 34.

20 minutes later, he emerged like a drained spirit from an ancient well.

His manager passed by. "Henry. Again?"

Henry nodded solemnly.

"Bro, this is the fourth time today."

"I’m built different."

"You’re getting reported."

"I know."

---

That night, back home, Henry laid on the floor because his bed was too emotionally intense.

He opened a video of two anime girls fighting while also aggressively bouncing.

He whispered, "This is cinema."

He gooned.

Then gooned again to a blurry memory of the customer who asked for tampons.

Then to the girl from the bakery who once said, "Have a good day."

Then to his English teacher from class 11 who wore sarees with dangerous intent.

Then to a random elf girl he saw in a fantasy RPG.

His brain was soup. His body, vapor.

And yet...

He was happy.

---

Until his parents walked in.

His dad: "Henry. What the actual hell."

His mom: "Again?! We raised you better than this!"

Henry, butt-naked, holding a tissue and a waifu mousepad: "You raised me on the internet. This is your fault."

The neighbors had complained.

Three times.

Apparently, someone had heard moaning from Henry’s apartment at ungodly hours. One old lady filed a police report for "psychic assault."

So they left.

His parents.

Gone.

But Henry?

Unbothered.

He stood on his balcony in nothing but boxers, wind in his hair and lotion in hand.

"I can finally goon in peace."

That day, he set a world record.

18 goon sessions in 24 hours.

Each themed. Each curated.

He made a spreadsheet.

He joined a Goon Discord and became a mod.

He was respected. Feared.

He gooned in the shower.

He gooned during a thunderstorm and shouted "YES THUNDER MOMMY!"

He even gooned while watching a sad anime scene and cried after.

Not because it was sad.

But because he was proud.

---

Milforia – Present Day.

Seraphina blinked. "You... were actually sick."

Henry nodded. "I was a menace to society."

Moistessa entered the room holding aloe vera and a fresh velvet wrap.

"You’re glowing again," she said, unwrapping his sacred cheeks like a birthday present.

Seraphina whistled. "His bounce is becoming unstable."

Henry sighed. "It’s the memories."

Thrustina barged in with a scroll. "The Council of Thighs wants to see you. Apparently, your bounce triggered a minor earthquake in South Bootia."

Henry didn’t move. Just stared at the photo of Elira on the bed.

Seraphina leaned in. "You gonna tell them about your past?"

He grinned.

"Only if they give me a redemption arc."

Moistessa gently massaged his glutes.

"You might be a perv," she said, "but at least you’re our perv."

Henry chuckled.

And somewhere, deep in the cosmos, a single anime waifu winked.

The Gooner had become a God.

But even gods need therapy.

Which is how Henry found himself, one day later, reclining on a plush, suspiciously squishy couch shaped like a pair of lips in the Royal Chamber of Sacred Counseling.

A waterfall trickled in the background. The walls were painted in shades of lavender and regret. And seated across from him was the Royal Therapist of Milforia Dr. Thighmira Velvetchoke.

She wore thin-rimmed glasses that constantly slid down her button nose, and her therapist robe was so sheer Henry could see the outline of her belly button ring.

She adjusted her spectacles, crossed her legs (which made a sound that could probably get someone pregnant), and said softly, "So, Henry. When did you first notice you were... terminally downbad?"

Henry scratched his chin. "I think it started with Misty from Pokémon."

"Go on."

"Like... why did she have suspenders and attitude? Who let that happen? That was criminal."

Thighmira nodded professionally and scribbled something down: Misty = Trigger?

Henry continued, his voice taking on a dreamy tone. "Then there was that one nurse from my school. She had a mole right above her lip. Like a target. I used to pretend to be sick just to go see her. I’d get fevers on command."

Thighmira’s eyes twinkled. "Advanced levels of gooncraft. You were gifted."

Henry sat up a little. "Thank you. People never appreciate the grind."

She raised a finger. "And when did it evolve into... divine bouncing?"

Henry looked up at the fresco of bouncing thighs painted on the ceiling. "Somewhere between the 12th goon session and the 13th emergency lotion refill. I think... I transcended."

Thighmira scribbled again: 13 = Sacred Number.

Suddenly, a soft knock. Moistessa peeked in. "Sorry to interrupt the sacred unraveling, but Henry’s Bounce has begun leaking into the Astral Plane. Again."

Henry’s cheeks twitched.

Thighmira clicked her pen shut. "We’re done for today. But I want you to keep a goon journal."

Henry blinked. "A what?"

"A daily record of your urges. Your fantasies. Your thigh-based thoughts. It’s time to face your squish."

---

Later that evening, back in his quarters, Henry sat at a gold-trimmed desk wearing nothing but fuzzy socks and a crown of aloe leaves. His sacred cheeks wrapped tightly in post-bounce recovery silk.

He stared at the leather-bound book before him.

The Royal Goon Log.

He dipped his feather quill in ink.

Day 1 – Entry 1:

"Saw a fruit bowl today. One of the pears looked like a butt. Gooned to it. No regrets."

He exhaled.

This was progress.

Behind him, Seraphina lay on the bed in a see-through negligee reading a scroll titled "101 Ways to Tease a God."

She smirked. "You know, you’re the only man alive who journals his own degeneracy and still looks hot doing it."

Henry turned, legs crossed. "It’s called radical honesty. You should try it. When’s the last time you didn’t use the Staff of Thighfluence to get out of doing chores?"

Seraphina gasped. "That staff is my medical support weapon."

"You used it to make the mirror fog up so you wouldn’t see your pimples."

"Shut up."

They stared.

Then burst into laughter.

It was soft. Gentle. Silly.

And suddenly, Thrustina burst in holding a scroll and a pair of ceremonial thigh harnesses.

"Emergency!" she yelled. "We’ve intercepted a forbidden spell."

Henry blinked. "What kind of spell?"

Moistessa followed close behind. "A Goon Summoning Spell. Someone from Earth is trying to contact you. Through gooning."

Everyone went silent.

Henry stood slowly. "That’s impossible. Earth doesn’t know about Milforia."

Thrustina unfurled the scroll. On it: a crude drawing of Henry’s face surrounded by lotion bottles, anime waifus, and the words "COME BACK STARKING69."

Henry’s eyes widened. "That’s my Discord name."

Seraphina stood. "Wait... does that mean there’s a cult of gooners still worshiping you from Earth?"

Henry whispered, "The Goon Brotherhood... they survived."

---

Elsewhere, far beyond Milforia, deep in the void between worlds...

A dimly lit basement. LED lights. Funky anime stickers. Posters of waifus with criminal curves.

A circle of sweaty young men in bathrobes sat around a monitor with Henry’s face paused mid-bounce.

One whispered, "He was the Chosen One. The Bouncebringer. The Squishcendent."

Another sobbed, "He ascended. Left us behind."

A third chanted, "Return... return... return..."

They all reached for their lotion bottles.

Together, they whispered: "One Bounce. One Faith. One King."

The monitor glowed.

And a faint ripple spread through dimensions.

---

Back in Milforia, Henry stood by the window.

Seraphina wrapped her arms around him from behind, chin resting on his shoulder.

"You thinking about going back?"

Henry stared at the moon. "I don’t know. I mean, over there I was just a lonely gooner with questionable morals and elite wrist stamina. Here... I’m a god."

She kissed his shoulder. "But over there... you were loved. Even if it was weird. And kinda gross."

Henry smiled. "The grossest love is often the realest."

Moistessa coughed. "Also, if you don’t stop leaking bounce energy, we might flood the capital."

He turned. "Alright. Let’s prepare for the Ritual of Bounce Containment."

Thrustina grinned. "We’ll need seven oil maidens, two priestesses, and one waifu plushie blessed in sacred lube."

Seraphina rolled her eyes. "You just want to oil him again."

"IT’S FOR RELIGIOUS REASONS."

Henry sighed. "Fine. But this time... someone bring snacks."

And as the moon rose higher, and the divine bounce began to quake with untamed goonlight, Henry knew one thing for sure:

He wasn’t just healing.

He was evolving.

A pervert.

A god.

A leader of the lost.

And somewhere between therapy, oil rituals, and forbidden Earth spells he had found purpose.

Not holy.

But whole.

---