Soul Fragment - Servitude - Beautiful College Student: Sara Mishima Part 1 (Patreon)

The slanting evening light seeped into the university seminar room. Amidst the dusty air, a beautiful girl named Sara knelt before me, writhing obscenely. Her soft, golden locks cascaded over her shoulders, and her translucent, porcelain skin glowed amber under the sunset. The plunging neckline of her sweater teased at the swell of her breasts—tempting, inviting. Her eyes were half-lidded like a sleepwalker’s, lips parted slack.

"Ahhaa~ I-I’m… Master’s little toy now… ♡"

Her voice—usually so crisp and composed—dripped with cloying sweetness, thick with submission. Those scarlet eyes, once sharp enough to dissect arguments in debates, now swam in unfocused bliss. Strands of thought had long since snapped.

I remained seated, gazing down at her from my chair. On the seminar table lay her blue pendant—the same one that always adorned the dignified, brilliant honors student everyone admired. Now? That same girl was shamelessly debased before me, her brown skirt hugging the sinful curve of her waist, sweater straining with every breath.

"C-Can’t think… ♡ Just want to obey… Master can use me however he wants…"

The corners of my mouth twitched. This was the Sara Shirogane—the girl who’d once treated me like an insect—now reduced to panting devotion. Beads of sweat trailed down her neck, darkening the collar of her white sweater. How easily people break, I mused, reveling in this twisted equilibrium.

Outside the door, muffled chatter of students drifted by, yet the seminar room had become its own isolated universe. Sara’s slender fingers dragged along her own body, raising red marks over that flawless skin. Under her sweater, I could hear every shaky exhale, see the feverish tremors wracking her frame. Her plush lips—parted and slick—quivered with each ragged breath.

Pulling her own sweater up, playing with herself right in front of me—never had corruption looked so mesmerizing.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. Was it from the pleasure? Or had something deeper shattered? No matter. The thought evaporated. Sara didn’t think anymore. She was mine—a hollow vessel waiting for orders, drowning willingly in sin.

"Masterrr~ More… haah… more, please… ♡"

Words she’d never have uttered before now spilled from her lips without restraint. That sharp intellect—the one that dominated every seminar—had melted into mindless need. Golden hair clung to her flushed cheeks, sweat-damp and messy. Every strand was proof: Her rationality was gone.

Rewind. Just a little.

Afternoon light once slanted through the seminar room windows, painting the wooden desks in gold. Dust motes floated in the quiet stillness as Sara Shirogane—honors student, untouchable goddess—slumped over her desk in exhausted slumber. Her long blonde hair shimmered faintly against the sunlight. Stacks of research materials towered beside her, pens scattered where they’d fallen from her limp fingers. Clearly, she’d pulled another all-nighter. The delicate rise and fall of her shoulders told me she was deep under.

My pulse spiked as I quietly shut the door, taking the farthest seat possible. I hadn’t expected to be alone in here with her. No assistant professor, no other students—just luck. I placed my unopened notebook on the desk, stealing glances. Her wrist, peeking from her white blouse’s cuff, magnetized me.

Sara Shirogane wasn’t just another student.

Brilliant in debates, unmatched in beauty—her golden hair alone made her stand out in a sea of ordinary. The way her brown skirt draped over thighs sculpted like marble, the blue pendant nestled perfectly in the dip of her collarbone—she was art by default.

I gripped my textbook from my bag. Even in the same sociology seminar, the gulf between us stretched impossibly wide. Sara dove into theories and data with scholar’s hunger; I… I just wanted to watch her close. She was the star; I was the stray.

A soft shift from Sara’s desk. Her usual sharpness—gone. Vulnerable in sleep, defenses down. During lectures, she shined effortlessly, batting down professors’ questions with razor wit. I? I only ever watched.

Her breath hitched. Not the easy sleep I thought. Notebooks around her brimmed with her handwriting, obsessively precise. The surreal air between us—just two figures, alone. If she woke now, would she even notice me? I doubted it. In discussions, she’d talk over me.

"…Nn…"

A sleep-mumbled sound. I tensed—but Sara just sank back into deep breathing. This distance was maddening. In class, she wouldn’t look at me; now? Bare meters away, exposed in ways no one else saw.

Close enough to touch. Yet untouchable.

Top of the pyramid versus the bottom—somehow sharing air. Reports, debates—she outshone in everything. I? I was nothing.

(But not for long.)

The seminar room lay in dead silence. I flipped through pages of my research material—medieval serfdom, the privileges of noblemen who owned peasants and war captives. A thought slithered in:

"If only… I could have a slave like that now."

Across from me, Sara slept, golden hair splayed across the desk. The curves of her breasts rose and fell under her white sweater, perfectly outlined. Back then, beauties like her were just handed to nobility, weren’t they? Science advanced, but female beauty didn’t change. Men’s desires didn’t either.

Before I realized it, my lips moved—a whisper slipped out.

"…I wish Sara-san… was my slave."

And—

"—H-Hk!?"

A sharp, choked gasp tore through the room.

My blood froze. Shit, did I speak too loud?! I whipped my head toward her—but no. She wasn’t looking at me.

A harsh clack— Sara’s elbow hit the desk. Her entire body convulsed, shoulders jerking violently. Her face twisted, eyes flying open unnaturally wide. Despite the bright room, her pupils shrank into pinpricks—like she’d been yanked from sleep into a nightmare.

"—Gh—"

Her breathing turned ragged, hands clenched white on her knees, her neck rigid. I'd never seen her like this. This wasn’t just waking up disoriented—something was wrong.

"M-Mishima-san…?"

Her neck turned stiffly. Slowly, so slowly, her head lifted—but her gaze sliced through empty air. No focus. No recognition.

What the hell is this…?

Twitch! Another full-body spasm rocked her. Golden hair swayed wildly. Her muscles kept seizing, her arms barely propping her up against the desk. Like something inside her was fighting.

"Ah… ah…!"

No words—just panicked, voiceless gulps. Her hollow eyes darted, lips trembling, teeth clicking together. Sweat dripped, staining the collar of her sweater.

…This wasn’t normal.

I half-rose, wavering—should I call for help? But I didn’t even understand what was happening—

Then.

Her body bucked. Hard. A full-bodied shudder wracked her frame, her neck jerking like an invisible noose yanked tight—her torso lurched forward—

Is she about to collapse—?!

"…Hey, are you okay!?"

No response. She just shook, mindless, trapped in whatever this was—like an unseen force had her.

In the dim light of the seminar room, I witnessed the impossible.

Sara’s convulsing body flickered before me like a double exposure—her form overlain with another, ghostly silhouette. No—not another Sara. Not her at all.

A crackling sensation, like static electricity, prickled my skull.

The dim space thrummed with a network of threads—countless pale, bluish strands, shimmering and sickly. They spiraled out from my chest, spiderwebbing through the air before tangling around a distant, delicate orb floating just over Sara’s… heart. No thicker than spider silk, those threads pulsed obscenely, worming deeper into her light with every passing second.

"W-What in the…?"

The words died in my throat.

The threads pulsed, throbbing deeper into the orb. Slurping. Seeping. The pristine glow dimmed—tainted. And somehow, I understood it. Every invasion. Every shift. Every claim.

(—She’s… becoming mine?)

A shudder tore down my spine—

Then, abruptly, my vision split.

Two perspectives crashed into my mind at once:

The first—my own. Staring down at Sara’s trembling body in the seminar room, her limbs twitching grotesquely.

The second—

(…So dark. My head… so heavy…)

Hers.

Sara’s fading consciousness. The grainy texture of the wooden desk beneath her arms. The scuffed toes of my secondhand sneakers. The stinging fluorescence of the overhead lights. All of it, simultaneous. Nausea lurched in my gut—but my fingers wouldn’t stop. The threads twisted deeper. With every inch stolen, her essence changed. Shrinking. Cramping into the shape I desired. The process was too vivid. Too intimate.

"Hh—ah…!"

A wet, gurgling gasp escaped Sara’s slack lips. My eyes dropped to her wrist—her pulse hammered wildly. The spasms hadn’t stopped. Her body hunched at an unnatural angle, vertebrae protruding as her spine arched like a bowstring. Only her eyes remained wide—unseeing—gazing into nothing.

(Shit… this is wrong… I should stop—)

But the thought never finished.

I couldn’t.

All I could do was feel it—the threads, sinking deeper. Suturing her soul to my will.

The air in the seminar room grew thick, suffocating. Sara’s body trembled erratically, like an electric current was coursing through her—jerks so violent they didn’t even seem human. The poised, sharp features of her face were now ruined, slack and distorted.

Her lips quivered. Saliva dribbled in glistening threads. Her long lashes fluttered uncontrollably, her eyes the only thing still wide open—hollow. Empty. Sweat-soaked golden locks clung to her flushed cheeks.

"Nngh… s-stopp…"

Her voice—no, not hers. Not the usual crisp, measured tone. This was a mess, syrupy in its desperation, spilling from her like her body couldn't contain it.

I stumbled back. My knees knocked together. What the hell? Since when did Sara—the Sara—sound like… this?

"I… I l-like… thiiis…"

Sara’s arm spasmed. Her neck tilted at an unnatural angle as her unfocused eyes searched for me. These words—ridiculous, lewd, broken—were spilling from the same mouth that answered every professor's questions flawlessly.

"Mas…ter’s… pro…perty…"

As if the words themselves were being forced from her throat—each syllable clawing its way out in gasping, shivering pleasure. Her fingers clutched at her skirt, rumpling the fabric. Her pale thighs pressed together, trembling.

…What the hell is happening?

I stared down at my own hands. I hadn’t done anything. Just… muttered a stupid wish. And now her—Sara, untouchable Sara—was—

"Ahh… nn…"

Another sound. A wrong sound. Her throat quivered. Veins bulged along her neck as her eyes rolled back further—just whites now. Teetering on unconsciousness, but her lips wouldn’t stop moving. Like something had dragged her into its own world, forcing the words out of her.

"…Oh god, this is bad… what do I do…?"

I really should call for help. But how? How would I ever explain this? The truth was, I didn’t even know what this was—only that it was mine. That her shattering was because of me.

"N-no… sto…p…"

The protest—no. That wasn't refusal in her voice. It was the whine of a child who didn’t want what they needed. One hand fisted into her sweater, tugging at the collar. Her entire body was burning under something foreign, something I couldn’t even begin to understand.

Outside the window, students laughed. The sound of reality—normal reality. Meanwhile, this room was—

"M-Mishima-san?! Are you okay?!"

Sara's head lolled toward my voice. Her eyes remained hazy, rolled back—but the corners of her lips twitched. Happy.

"M-Ma… mast…er…"

She slumped forward like a puppet with cut strings. I barely caught her against the desk in time.

"H-Hey, hey… this is seriously fucked—"

A chill ran down my spine. Whatever this was, it was still moving inside Sara without my input. Something was unmaking her. Rebuilding her.

Mine.

The seminar room plunged into sudden silence. Well—no. That wasn’t quite right. It only felt silent because Sara’s strange moans had finally stopped.

"…Snap."

Something like that sound echoed in my ears—as if a thread had been cut somewhere. Severed clean. And from that moment, something was objectively wrong.

"…Maasteer… ♡"

I couldn't believe my eyes. Sara, who had been slumped over the desk just seconds ago, now rose with eerie, feline grace—hips swaying as she closed the distance between us. Her golden hair, still slightly damp with sweat, clung to her flushed skin.

"W-Wait, Mishima-san…?"

"Haaah… ♥ Still so formal with me…?"

Her voice—sticky, saccharine, nothing like the Sara I knew—dripped with an impossible allure. Worse, she was looking at me with female eyes. Not her eyes. Not competent, self-assured Sara’s. These were stupid, hazy, dazed eyes. Her lips parted slightly, breath hitching, her entire body swaying toward me like an overripe fruit ready to drop.

I staggered back, but the desk trapped me. Sara's soft body pressed forward, her heat radiating through that prim sweater, her sweet shampoo flooding my senses. Even through the disbelief, shit— I was a man. My pulse spiked.

"H-Hey, what the hell are you—?!"

"Ufufu… What do you mean~? Serving my Master right away is this slave’s duty… ♥"

Unrecognizable. The sharp, untouchable Sara had vanished. Without hesitation, she sank to her knees in front of me, skirt riding up just enough to expose the sinful swell of her thighs.

"Command me… I'll do anything… Please… ♡"

Those words—so absurd, so filthy—spilled effortlessly from lips that once delivered flawless academic rebuttals. Her pupils swam in bliss, cheeks dyed pink. Every trace of reason, of pride, that Sara once carried—gone.

"Huh?! N-No, this isn't— You're not—"

"Yes, I am broken… Completely. My brain melted the moment I became Master’s property… ♥"

It made no sense. Even as she called me "Master," she seemed delighted by my horror. Her thought process had spun far beyond any sane axis. And then—

"I-I need to ask you something…"

"Of course, Master~! I'll answer anything… ♡"

The hell?! Her speech patterns had rotted—polite yet airheaded, like some ditzy college girl. Had her IQ dropped thirty points?!

"I don't— I don't get it. What the fuck is happening? Did something— Are you sick? We should go to the hospi—"

"Ahhn Worrying over me so much, Master… ♥ No need I feel amazing…"

She clutched her chest with a dreamy sigh, tilting her head in mock petulance. This wasn't Sara anymore. No—more accurately, it was as though the old Sara had erased herself.

Panicked, I scanned the room. The door, closed. No shadows by the northern windows. If someone walked in now, how would I even explain? "Uh yeah, she just started calling me Master out of nowhere—"

…Ridiculous.

"Masterrr, stop looking around~ I'm right here… ♡"

Hips swaying, hair bouncing—Sara pouted playfully, as if this absurd situation was natural. The way she tilted her head was cute, but…

"…O-Okay, just— Just calm down—"

"Yes, Master! Calming down! Teach me how~?"

The conversation was hopeless. Questions piled up—How did this happen? Can I fix it? Will she ever be normal again?

But the most terrifying thought? The quiet, undeniable suspicion that I had done this.

"You're spacing out, Masterrr~ I said I'll do anything… ♡"

Then, without warning, Sara's hands settled on my knees. So natural. So comfortable. Despite the insanity of the situation, her demeanor fit too well, as if she'd always been like this—somehow reborn into this role.

…

What the hell happened here?*