There's a saying in the Gooner underground: "To know true restraint, one must suffer true temptation."But they never tell you what comes after.They don't tell you what happens when you master it.Or, in this case… what happens when it masters you back.
I found myself inside a chamber unlike any other in the Moisture Temple. The others called it The Dry Sanctum, a place so devoid of lustful energy it was rumored even the most depraved minds would leave here with their urges shriveled to dust.
The air was still. Dry. Like someone had exhaled an entire desert into the room.
I hate it here already. I'm getting chapped just breathing.
Master Palmo had sent me here after my victory against Clint Jerkules. Said I was ready to meet someone—someone who could "refine" my Infinite Edging and teach me the Art of Invisible Lust.
Whatever the hell that meant.
Then he appeared.
No sound. No footsteps. Just a blur, a shadow, and suddenly… a man in front of me.
He was bald. His robes were drab gray, loose-fitting, and somehow even less flattering than mine. His skin was smooth like polished marble, and his face looked like it hadn't smiled in seven years.
He was… boring.
A walking block of tofu.
This man has an aura of negative attraction. I feel more aroused looking at a wall.
His eyes met mine, and for a split second, I felt nothing. No intimidation. No spiritual pressure. Just a void.
"I am Master Monk Flaccidus," he said, his voice dryer than his surroundings. "You cannot perceive my lust… because I have none."
Jesus Christ, he speaks like a Kindle e-book.
"You're Ben Dover," he continued, walking in slow, meditative circles around me. "You wield Infinite Edging… and yet you are crude. Your technique lacks subtlety. You glow with desperation."
"Well, I am eighteen," I replied.
He ignored me.
"This is the Discipline of Unseen Tension," he said, gesturing around the barren room. "Here, we train the final Gooner path: Stealth Arousal. A way of building shame power so subtle it cannot be perceived. Not even by women."
Not even by—wait, what?
I blinked. "Are you saying… women can't see you?"
"I am invisible to all who possess curves."
He didn't blink.
Not once.
I've finally met someone whose shame level loops back around into becoming a superpower. He's a ghost. A non-horny legend. A virgin warlock.
But Flaccidus wasn't alone.
From the far side of the room came two more figures—both cloaked in the dull blue robes of Intermediate Gooners.
One was tall, lean, with wide shoulders and sharp eyes that reminded me of an angry librarian. He carried a scroll pouch and introduced himself with a bow.
"I'm Tobias Gripling," he said. "Level 3 Moisture Ascendant. Specialize in archival retention and forbidden frame analysis."
Cool. So a glorified porn historian. Got it.
The other was shorter, more animated, with wild red hair tied up in a topknot and muscles that made mine feel like decorative noodles. He waved a hand excitedly.
"Yo, name's Meatburner Max. Class B Gooner, Edge-Brawler subtype. I use kinetic shame to weaponize delay pressure. Basically, I edge until my fists glow."
He held up his hands.
They actually sparked.
Holy crap, it's a Jojo character with a NoFap addiction.
"Together," Flaccidus said, "we form the elite infiltration unit known as the Subtle Stroke Squad."
I stared at them.
Then stared harder.
No one laughed.
They're serious. They really call themselves that. I'm surrounded by lunatics, and I think I love them.
Our first mission came sooner than expected.
That night, under the pale halo of the Lust Moon, Flaccidus gathered us near the temple gates.
"There is a vault," he explained, drawing a crude map in the dirt with a stick. "Beneath the city of Shamtropolis. An ancient Gooner relic sealed within—a scroll said to contain the forbidden Bufferless Sequence. High-resolution techniques, uncompressed."
Even Max gasped.
"Is that the one with full fluid motion?"
Flaccidus nodded gravely.
"It cannot fall into enemy hands. The Crimson Palms are moving."
I tensed at the name.
The Crimson Palms were the group responsible for my father's death.
Of course they're after high-quality content. They probably murdered my dad because his download speeds were too powerful.
Tobias unrolled a scroll and began marking the route.
"The Bufferless Vault is protected by shame locks. Only those with spiritually sealed Cores can enter undetected. Ben… your Infinite Edging makes you ideal for this."
I saluted instinctively.
"I edge for justice," I said.
Hours later, we were sprinting across rooftops.
The city of Shamtropolis slept below—its streets bathed in harsh government-approved neon lights, blinking with propaganda messages like "Clean Mind, Clean Society" and "Real Men Abstain Completely."
I swear, this place feels like a dystopian celibacy ad campaign.
Flaccidus moved like vapor, leaping silently across beams. Max and Tobias followed, each suppressing their shame auras to ghostly threads. I brought up the rear, struggling slightly because edging during a rooftop sprint is—believe it or not—not easy.
Eventually, we reached the location.
A massive sewer hatch, sealed with a shame-lock glyph.
Flaccidus gestured toward it.
"This will require three seconds of pure, unbroken restraint."
I stepped forward.
Closed my eyes.
And activated Infinite Edging.
The glyph hissed.
The seal cracked, crumbled.
The hatch dropped open with a dull, moist squelch.
We descended into darkness.
The air changed immediately. It was thick, old. Musty like forgotten browser tabs and vintage DVDs. A single torch lit the corridor, revealing murals—ancient depictions of shame combat, censored with expertly placed stone fig leaves.
At the end of the hall was a vault door… and in front of it…
A figure.
Tall.
Cloaked in crimson.
The insignia of the Crimson Palms burned on his chest.
"Who dares enter the Bufferless Vault?" the figure growled.
Max stepped forward.
Meatburner aura flaring.
"We're the Subtle Stroke Squad. And we're here to take back what you stole."
Oh my god, this really is an anime.
The figure stepped into the light.
He was grotesquely beautiful—perfect jaw, abs that looked like they'd been forged from marble, and a flowing crimson robe that somehow never exposed anything but hinted at everything.
"Name's Vasquez Dripwell," he said. "Crimson Palm enforcer, Level 4 Lust Caster."
He held up both hands, and shame flames burst into existence.
Tobias pulled out a scroll and read aloud.
"Be careful. His signature technique is Eye Contact Domination. Don't look him directly in the pecs."
Too late. I peeked. They flexed at me. I think I'm pregnant.
Vasquez charged.
Max met him in a clash of glowing fists and rippling shame waves. Sparks flew. The room trembled. The very walls groaned with the sound of repressed satisfaction.
Tobias summoned a barrier.
I stayed back—until Flaccidus pointed at the vault door.
"You. Open it. The scroll's inside."
I bolted forward.
Palms sweating.
Core surging.
Activated Infinite Edging to its third tier.
The door recognized my power instantly. The shame runes glowed. The mechanism groaned. With one final push—through clenched thighs and gritted teeth—I unlocked the Vault.
Inside…
Was a scroll wrapped in velvet. Stamped with the symbol of the Old Order.
I reached out.
And the moment I touched it—my Core trembled.
Visions flooded my mind.
Flashes of forbidden techniques. Moves like Lotionless Palm, Delayed Spiral of Shame, and the mythical Unskippable Build-Up.
I gasped.
This is… this is the holy grail. My father died protecting this. And now I know why.
I turned back to the battle.
Max was slowing.
Vasquez laughed.
Until I stepped forward.
Scroll in hand.
Eyes glowing.
"You wanted power?" I said.
"Then watch carefully."
I unraveled the scroll and activated the first technique.
A burst of unbuffered motion exploded from my palms.
Raw. Smooth. Seamless.
Vasquez's eyes widened.
"No," he gasped. "That's illegal!"
"Exactly."
I struck him with the Frame-Perfect Tap.
He collapsed instantly, overwhelmed.
Steam rising from every pore.
The Crimson Palm was defeated.
That night, back at the temple, we stood beneath the moon again.
Flaccidus nodded.
"You are no longer a boy who edges. You are an Ascendant."
Tobias clapped me on the back.
Max handed me a jar of ancient oil.
And for the first time since my dad died, I felt something strange in my chest.
Hope.
I don't know how far this journey goes. I don't know how many scrolls I'll find, or how many shameful techniques I'll have to master. But I do know one thing…
I'm going to edge until the universe remembers my name.