From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem-Chapter 50: Better Man!

"Oh—oh my god! Little Rae, are you—hello?! Breathe, damn it!"

Melissa gasped, her chest still heaving from all the laughing and squirming.

She’d finally managed to peel herself off the poor gremlin after that ticklish war, collapsing onto the tent floor like a defeated queen.

Her lungs were screaming, her legs jelly, and her face—oh, it was flushed like a ripe tomato.

But when she glanced back—bam—her smile vanished.

Rae wasn’t moving. At all

His green skin had gone full grape mode.

Eyes closed. Mouth wide open like he’d just seen heaven—and then died from it.

"Oh fuck no."

She dropped to her knees like gravity sucker-punched her.

Slapped his cheeks. Nothing.

Shook his shoulders. Nada.

The little goblin gremlin was out cold, and his heartbeat was slowing down like he was peacefully drifting off to death.

"Don’t you fucking dare die on me..."

She sprang up—nearly tripping over her skirt—and dove for the nearest potion.

Glass clinked. Cork flew.

She cracked his mouth open and dumped it in—and the red liquid just pooled in his mouth and spilled right out like a leaky faucet.

"WHAT?! No—no no no no, dammit!"

Her fingers flew to his throat. Blocked. His airway was blocked.

Her mind raced—Alice! Alice had taught her this!

That boring first aid session with fake dolls and too many awkward diagrams!

Without even blinking, Melissa dove in—lips to lips, mouth pressed against his like she was kissing life back into him.

But first, with practiced hands, she tilted his head to the side, letting the leftover potion dribble out like drool from a drunk.

Then—deep breath—she breathed into him.

One, two, three—mwah.

Her soft lips locked on his, chest rising as she pushed air into his tiny gremlin lungs.

That’s when she felt it.

A twitch. A slither.

His long tongue flicked against hers like it was saying "thanks, mommy."

Melissa’s eyes widened.

She pulled back with a gasp and went straight into chest compressions, hands pumping hard and fast, sweat dripping down her forehead.

And then, miracle of miracles—he gagged, coughed, and came back from the dead like a horny little goblin Lazarus.

"Ara ara~ you were really gone there for a second, little Rae."

She cooed, brushing back his hair and cradling his head like a worried MILF from heaven.

"What on earth would I have told Alice and the others? That you died of face-suffocation under my ass?"

She giggled, teasing, and popped the vial into his trembling little hands.

He drank it like a man lost in the desert for days—eyes locked on her, but not with fear.

No no. There was no "kissed death" look on his face.

It was worse.

It was the look of a man who had just tasted goddamn paradise.

"Are you alright?"

Rae just smiled.

Wide.

Dumb.

Grateful.

And nodded like a man who’d just seen heaven—and wouldn’t mind dying again for another taste.

It was perfect.

A moment he never thought he’d get—but somehow, he did.

And now, he wanted more.

Not just the thrill, but her. Her angle. Her tells.

He already knew Alice’s buttons, Lyra’s triggers—but her? She was still a mystery.

There had to be something she couldn’t resist.

And in the back of his mind, gears were already turning.

He had to find it.

...

After that whole whirlwind of an incident, the crew finally got around to prepping for today’s venture.

Everyone was scrambling a bit—they needed to find something.

Anything.

Some clue about that weird, oily darkness Celeste claimed to have sniffed out like some kind of cursed bloodhound.

Lyra stepped out of her tent like a storm in slow motion—fully strapped in her leather ensemble.

Snug in all the right places, and already rolling a length of cloth around her fists with that casual, bone-crunching grace only a battle-worn brawler could pull off.

To the untrained eye, she might’ve looked normal. Just another tight-bodied adventurer stretching before a beatdown.

But for Rae, even if it was his first real venture with her, he could already read her tells like a cursed romance novel.

The darting eyes.

The slight twitch in her fingers.

That tiny, sharp inhale every time someone passed too close.

Yeah, she was nervous.

And watching it all like a hawk pretending to be a helpful kitchen gremlin—was Rae.

He was standing next to Maya at the firepit, carefully pouring hot water into a second pan.

Maya fanned the fire with focused intensity, while Rae kept an eye on Lyra like a cat spying a dog with a guilty tail.

Then came the oily voice of Adrian, sliding into the morning air like an unwanted hand on your lower back.

"Oh my~ I’m telling you, Bryce was a mistake. You should’ve gone for someone else. Anyone else, really."

Lyra froze mid-wrap, cloth half-twisted around her palm.

Her eyes slowly turned toward Adrian, and one brow arched like it had just received an insult of its own.

"Like who?"

She asked with a smile so mocking it could’ve curdled wine.

Rae’s hands paused, eyes narrowing, as if he was measuring how fast he could throw boiling water across camp.

He went back to pouring with extra care, like the pan was Adrian’s skull.

Maya, meanwhile, didn’t even flinch—clearly used to Rae’s simmering kitchen side plots.

"Well, someone who’s well-versed in magic... and the only person in this world with even a sliver of hope to cure your curse."

Adrian said it with the kind of smugness that could cause spontaneous eye-rolls in a five-mile radius.

He was ugly.

Not just ugly—boss-fight ugly.

And somehow, leveling up only made it worse.

Like all others became beauty and handsome but somehow, he became more and more ugly.

Lyra snorted.

"You. You’re talking about yourself?"

Adrian nodded, lips puckered like a man who thought he was in a romance novel.

Rae’s knuckles went white around the pot he was holding—grip tightening like he was about to wring a chicken’s neck instead of just pouring soup.

The water was now missing the pot entirely, soaking the dirt.

Maya was struggling beside him, fanning the fire with the desperation of someone trying to keep the entire scene from combusting.

"Yes... I am indeed."

Adrian double-nodded like an idiot bobblehead. Lyra just stared. Blank. Then smiled.

Without a word, she extended a single finger—light as a feather—and tapped him right on the shoulder.

Adrian flinched like he’d been slapped by Thor.

He stumbled back, clutching the spot like it had been branded with a hot iron.

"WOMAN! What the hell!?"

Just like that, 2% of his health bar dipped.

"You’re gonna cure me? Pff—don’t make me drain myself from laughing! Ha ha ha!"

Adrian’s face turned beet red. He spun around and shuffled off with the defeated air of a man who just got rejected by a mailbox.

Meanwhile, Rae finally cracked.

He laughed.

Hard.

And just like karma had been waiting—his pot jolted in his hands from the fit of laughter, splashing the boiling water straight onto Maya’s back.

"GAAAH! HOT!"

"Oops."

Rae looked down at the vase. Then at Maya.

"...That was Adrian’s fault."

Maya hissed at him and began to grab a big rock from the ground.

Seeing it, Rae just dropped the entire port and ran like hell.

Not even looking back.