Defending My Wife As The Wimpy Protagonist In a Cliché NTR Manga!!!

If you guys have spent any significant amount of time in the online dating sphere, then you might be familiar with a certain rating system. This rating system has always existed in human society to some degree or form. Under this rating system, men and women alike are demarated into 10 vast camps. It ruthlessly encompasses all adults — whether young or old, able bodied or disabled, fat or thin, Japanese or Chinese or Korean or Thai or Zimbabwean. None can escape it's judgement. What is this mysterious unnamed system that I refer to? It is the infamous system of rating via numbers. Or in other words,

The terrifying system of rating a person's attractiveness from 1 to 10!

The intricacies of the system are simple. You are rated on this scale and the higher your number, the higher your attractiveness is, and vice versa. Just so you know, this rating system concerns physical attractiveness only! Nothing more, nothing less. So I don't want to hear any fatasses talking about how their 'personality' and their funko pop collection makes up for their hairy, chubby bodies and how their hairlines were evacuated by helicopter from their heads.

In my former body, before I awakened in this .. place... I was an unremarkable and boring 5, though sometimes I wondered if I was kind of androgynous. I wasn't really handsome, but I certainly wasn't ugly, either. Himiko was a 10 to me, no discussion, but now that the veil of first love has been lifted by her horrific betrayal, I now think she's actually a 7. Her ass was her best feature.

But right now, in this horrible body, it goes without saying that I was a 2, at best. I was so hideous.

But this woman standing Infront of me, my god.... It goes without saying, hell, it goes without thinking, that this woman... She was the easist 10 I have ever met, with her pouty glossy lips and diamond shaped face and pale skin and flowing blonde locks and oh my god, what the fuck was this supermodel doing here with a cave troll like me?! Did she say that she was my wife?!

These thoughts were all irrelevant. You're probably wondering why I suddenly went on this tangent and you're right to be annoyed. When I'm panicking and adrenaline courses through me, my critical thought goes out of the window and I become fixated on the most random shit. All this nonsensical rambling wa to distract myself from the woman infront of me. My entire body was frozen up, my eyes wide, my mouth agape, and my cheeks were clenched tight enough to compress coal into diamonds. My throat was dry. I swallowed, which did nothing to parch my nerves. "S-So, uhm..." I began. "W-What's your name?" I asked softly, breaking the silence.

The woman tilted her head.

"Excuse me?"

A smile played at her full, perfect lips.

"I, uh, uhm, uh."

The woman giggled at me, soft and alluring with a hint of classy playfulness. "I don't know what you're up to, my love, but I'll play along." She said, took a step forward and I watched, frozen to the spot, as her daintly manicured hand danced close to mine, roved up my arm. I shivered. Her touch was electric. "My name is Sylvie Hifumi. You're Makoto Hifumi..." Her gorgeous blue eyes met mine, and her smile widened. "My darling husband." She crooned.

Sylvie. Sylvie. Syl-vie. My knees felt weak. I was swooning. Oh, my god... Her eyes, her touch... Her amazing tits, barely contained in her purple camisole... How did I score this supermodel?! What THE HELL was this blonde goddess doing with a fat, short, balding Japanese ugly bastard?!

"Hold your arms out."

She suddenly said, interrupting my musings.

I was snapped out of my thoughts. "Whuh?" I said gently, my mouth still agape. It was all I could say. My mind was still mush.

"I said hold your arms out." She gently grabbed my arms and lifted them up. "Now keep them up." I met her gaze. She was taller by a few inches than me, so I had to look up slightly. She grabbed a white dress shirt off the desk and tucked me into it. Keep your eyes on her face, keep your eyes on her face, don't look at her tits, don't look at her tits, don't look at her tits.

"My darling husband is a very busy man, with lots of responsibilities." Sylvie spoke in her soft, alluring voice as she buttons up the shirt, concealing my belly and man-boobs behind luxurious white cotton. She produced a tie, wrapping it around my collar. "A lot of people, me included, depend on him, and he needs to get ready for work." Sylvie punctuated her words by suddenly tightening my tie. I gasped, a little strangled "Ack!" leaving me.

I dimly registered the word 'work'. Work?

Are you kidding me? Work?

....

...

OHHHH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!

FUCK WORK!!

I NEED TO HAVE SEX WITH HER NOW!!!!