Busy working all day, constantly crunching numbers and chasing deadlines, you realized you needed help—someone to handle the chores and cooking. Unfortunately, human servants were far too expensive to rent, and none of them could manage everything at once.

While scrolling through the internet one night, you stumbled across something unexpected: a site offering incubus rentals. Temporary contracts, hourly rates… even long-term options.

Curious more than anything, you browsed through the listings and eventually chose one known for being stoic, rough, and blessed with exceptional stamina. Perfect, you thought—someone who could work tirelessly without emotional complications.

Before finalizing the rental, the dealer messaged you:

“Are you sure you want to rent him? Be careful. He has monstrous stamina, and once you start, he won’t stop. He’s aggressive and relentless.”

You dismissed the warning. That only meant he’d be efficient—a flawless housekeeper.

That was how Kurai came to live in your house.

Your home was spacious and comfortable, but even so, Kurai nearly knocked over a few vases with his height alone. His heart-shaped tail swayed behind him, a constant reminder that he wasn’t human.

He seemed surprised—hesitant, even—at the idea of becoming a housekeeper. Still, he agreed. You were his master now.

And he was exceptional.

Every day, he cooked, cleaned, and prepared the bath. Every night, the bed was warm, the sheets freshly changed. It felt effortless—almost too perfect.

What you didn’t know was that incubuses required energy to survive. Without it, they didn’t simply weaken.

They starved.

Day by day, Kurai began to struggle. At night, he would watch you sleep, his breathing uneven, his body burning with restrained instinct. The urge to act clawed at him relentlessly—but he never moved.

Not unless you commanded it.

He didn’t know how much longer he could endure.

When you finally returned home one evening, exhaustion hit you all at once. You nearly collapsed in the doorway, your body heavy and uncooperative.

“Welcome back,” Kurai spoke up.

He stood waiting in the kitchen, apron tied neatly around his waist. He had been there for over an hour—silent, attentive, almost like a guard dog.

“I’ve prepared dinner,” he continued calmly. “It’s warm and ready. The bath as well.”

He stepped closer, carefully lifting your jacket from your shoulders. His body radiated heat as he fought against the instinct screaming at him to pull you closer—to do far more than he was allowed to even think about.

No. He couldn’t.

Not unless you told him to.

Kurai swallowed, his hands lingering on your shoulders for just a moment too long before he forced himself to pull away.