Lust Harem: Emperor Of Two World

[Ding! Congratulations, Host. Dimensional energy recharge complete. The Gate of Realms is now open. Your personal items will be stored in the Dimensional Cube. You may use the cube to transport objects between worlds, but doing so requires expending corresponding wealth resources.]

[First-time dimensional travel reward: Host is granted a free transfer quota of $100,000 USD in supplies.]

[To facilitate your integration into the second world, the system will forge a new identity for you and apply a visual perception filter.]

[To all outsiders, you now appear as a 12-year-old Caucasian boy. However, your own reflection and physical body remain unchanged.]

A sweet, almost saccharine voice echoed in Yasin's mind. Suddenly, his body lurched violently—as if sucked into a whirlpool. Dizziness and suffocation overwhelmed him, his vision blacking out.

It might have been seconds. It might have been hours.

When Yasin finally opened his eyes again, blinding sunlight forced him to squint.

Honk… honk honk… Car horns blared nearby.

"Sir, this is a hospital, you can't—"

"Doctor, my child—please, you have to save him!"

The sterile stench of antiseptic and the cacophony of voices made Yasin feel like he'd been thrown into another lifetime.

Where am I? Did I… return to the normal world?

As his vision adjusted, his pulse spiked with excitement.

The pristine hospital room. The doctors murmuring nearby.

This wasn't his old world.

The system had transported him to a new one.

"Oh! My sweet Yasin! You're awake! You scared Mommy half to death! How are you feeling, darling?"

Before Yasin could process anything, a stunning woman rushed forward, crushing him in a tearful embrace. Her lips peppered his face with kisses, her cheeks wet.

She was gorgeous—early 30s, around 5'10", with porcelain skin, cascading chestnut waves, and hypnotic teal-blue eyes. Her black fitted tee clung to a jaw-dropping figure, her full breasts visibly braless beneath the fabric, nipples faintly outlined. Tight denim shorts showcased endless legs and a round, perky backside.

Yasin's jaw nearly dropped.

He recognized her instantly.

Vivian Sinclair.

Supermodel. Ranked the second most beautiful woman in the world by a famous French magazine. A face that had graced countless high-fashion covers.

And now—his "mother."

As Vivian hugged him, a flood of information surged into Yasin's mind.

This was a parallel world.

The year: 2006.

To everyone here, he was Yasin Brant, a 12-year-old American boy.

His "mother" was Vivian Sinclair.

His stepfather? Harry Brant—media mogul, polo enthusiast, and multimillionaire.

Recently, after a vicious argument with Harry and his stepbrothers, the rebellious Yasin had stolen his stepfather's Mercedes and fled.

No license. Barely any driving experience.

Predictably, he'd crashed.

The real Yasin had died in that wreck.

And something about his death felt… off.

The things Harry and his stepbrother Jerry had said before the accident—their words dripped with malice.

To Yasin, with decades of life experience and a sharp eye for deception, the whole situation reeked of foul play.

[Ding! Host has successfully arrived in the second world. Current stored neural energy allows for a 5-hour stay. After this period, you will be returned to the apocalyptic world.]

Only five hours?!

Yasin's excitement dimmed.

He wasn't back in his original world, but 2006 America—with a supermodel mother and a wealthy stepfather—was infinitely better than a zombie wasteland.

In the U.S., money was power. And in 2006? The land of endless opportunity.

With his future knowledge, Yasin could thrive here.

But five hours wasn't enough.

Which meant he had to move fast.

Gather supplies. Secure weapons. Ensure his survival in the apocalypse.

And maybe—just maybe—

Uncover the truth behind Yasin's death.

Before time ran out.

After completing Yasin's discharge procedures, Vivian Sinclair personally drove the newly purchased Lincoln Navigator SUV, bringing the now fully recovered Yasin back to their luxurious mansion in Beverly Hills, Los Angeles.

Beverly Hills, known as one of the most prestigious residential areas in the world, is regarded as a symbol of wealth and status.

Nestled along the refreshing Pacific coastline and at the foot of the Beverly Hills mountains, this globally renowned enclave is a dream destination for the ultra-rich.

As the most famous district within Los Angeles, it boasts the world's most upscale shopping streets and is home to countless mansions owned by Hollywood celebrities. It is also revered as a sacred ground in the film industry.

Among the many estates owned by Vivian Sinclair and her husband, Harry Brant, this Beverly Hills property was where they spent most of their time.

As the grand, intricately carved marble gate was slowly pushed open by the servants, Yasin followed Vivian into the lavish European-style hall.

A dazzling crystal chandelier bathed the entire room in radiant light, illuminating its golden grandeur.

At that moment, Harry Brant's ten-year-old son, Jerry Brant, was playing in the living room with his eight-year-old sister, Helen Brant.

Something had apparently upset Helen, as she suddenly burst into tears.

Jerry, who had just been smirking at her, frowned upon seeing Yasin return unharmed. With the rebellious tone typical of a young Western boy, he scoffed, "So, you didn't die in that crash? What a stroke of luck!"

"Jerry! How can you speak to your brother that way?"

Vivian Sinclair glared at Jerry in frustration. Yet, despite her anger, she could only reprimand him lightly—after all, Jerry was her and Harry's legitimate son, their only heir.

Among the three children, Jerry was undoubtedly the most favored. He was Harry Brant's true successor, the sole heir to the Brant family fortune.

Yasin, on the other hand, was her son from a previous relationship, born before her marriage to Harry. He had no claim to Harry's wealth or assets.

Harry had always harbored resentment over her past, never openly expressing it but making his disdain for Yasin clear. Vivian could sense it in the way he treated him.

"He is not my brother! He is not a Brant!" Jerry sneered, his words laced with malice.

"Enough!"

Harry Brant, clad in a custom Armani suit and a black fedora, entered with a grim expression.

"Jerry, I don't want to hear you speaking to your mother like that again!"

Then, with a cold glance at Yasin, he added, "It's good that you've recovered. Don't do anything reckless again."

"Yes, Father," Yasin responded respectfully, carefully observing the interactions within this family. Drawing from the memories of his body's original owner, he began strategizing his next steps.

Right now, he was still just a twelve-year-old boy. Aside from his mother, Vivian, he had nothing.

Confronting his stepfather would bring him no benefits.

"Brother! You're finally back!" Helen Brant ran up to him excitedly, scanning him up and down. "Are you okay? Please don't be so reckless next time!"

Helen had inherited Vivian's tall, elegant figure and striking beauty. Even at such a young age, she already showed signs of growing into a breathtaking woman. Yasin was certain that, in the future, Helen would become a true heartbreaker.

"Thank you, Helen. I'm just a little tired. I need to rest for a bit," Yasin said, gently ruffling her soft, chestnut-colored hair before turning away in silence.

He had a little over three hours left. He wasn't about to waste time bickering with a child.

Jerry was Harry's biological son—arguing with him would only put Yasin at a disadvantage.

Just like with the car accident.

The original Yasin had been too young to understand the intricacies of human nature. But Yasin, having navigated the ruthless corporate world of this Country for thirty years, was no fool.

Watching Yasin walk upstairs with a dejected posture, Harry Brant's expression darkened slightly. However, he quickly masked it with a faint smile and wrapped an arm around Vivian.

"Darling, Trent Schaefer, the vice president of Saks Fifth Avenue, is hosting an event tonight. I want you and Jerry to come with me."

…

As a black Cadillac Escalade slowly pulled out of the driveway, Yasin gently closed the curtains in his room, immersing himself in darkness.

He glanced at the clock.

March 15, 2006 – 5:37 PM.

Three hours and three minutes left until his return to the apocalypse.

Yasin closed his eyes, scanning Yasin's memories for useful information.

Harry Brant was a publishing tycoon, the owner of Interview magazine and Art & Antiques. Not only was he extraordinarily wealthy, but his home also housed an extensive collection of priceless antiques and artwork.

Most importantly, Yasin's memories revealed that Harry had a passion for collecting rare weapons—firearms and blades included.

That meant Harry not only loved guns but also had a legal firearm license.

Which meant there were definitely guns in the house.

Three hours.

Yasin had to find weapons—guns, crossbows, anything he could use.

He also needed to get his hands on some money to buy a chainsaw.

Everything else was secondary for now.