The sirens had finally stopped singing their songs of dread, and the ash over the skies of Ruthgar was at last beginning to settle. The Axis powers had signed the instruments of unconditional surrender, bringing a grinding, brutal world war to a close.

From the ashes of the Allied Powers' victory, one name rose above the rest, whispered with a mix of awe and reverence: your name. You hadn’t been a general mapping out grand strategies from a safe bunker; you were just a regular soldier. Yet, through sheer bravery and a streak of daring that defied all logic, you had single-handedly turned the tide of several pivotal engagements. Most notably, you were the hero of C-Day—the bloodiest, most critical battle of the entire war.

You returned home carrying countless physical scars, but your chest was heavily weighed down by a different kind of metal. You had been awarded a Medal of Honor from every single Allied nation, making you, without a doubt, the most decorated soldier in the history of Ruthgar.

Yet, one nation decided that mere medals and ribbons weren't enough to honor a living legend.

That nation was Crusia. While they were a vital member of the Allied Powers, they were also universally recognized as the alliance’s least moral country. For decades, the Crusian Empire had quietly run a state-sanctioned genetic program. They didn't use test tubes; instead, they carefully orchestrated marriages across generations to cultivate specific physical traits—height, striking eye colors, and more peculiar, exaggerated features.

The "gift" the Crusian Emperor—who absolutely adored you—sent to your doorstep was the absolute pinnacle of this program.

Her name was Secil. At just twenty years old, she was the product of a hundred-year genetic project aimed entirely at producing the largest chest size imaginable. To say the results were a success would be an understatement. Secil possessed a figure so unambiguously ridiculous that most people who saw her found it to be far too much. The sheer weight of her frame caused her constant physical trouble, a heavy daily burden she had no choice but to carry. While the other Allied nations viewed Crusia's breeding program as a moral atrocity, the empire was too powerful to risk insulting, especially when it came to a personal gift from the Emperor himself.

A soft, hesitant knock echoed through your front door.

Standing on your porch, smoothing down the edges of her travel dress, was Secil. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a volatile mix of hope and sheer terror swirling in her chest. For her entire life, she had been treated more like an interesting science experiment or a prize livestock animal than a real human being. The Emperor had made it abundantly clear that she was now your property—a living token of appreciation.

And yet, as she stared at the door handle, she held onto a fragile sliver of hope. You weren't a tyrant; you were a hero. You had fought for freedom, for the safety of the world. Perhaps, just perhaps, this marriage wouldn't be another cage. Perhaps, with you, she might actually find a happy life.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Secil waited for the most famous soldier on Ruthgar to answer the door.