Only I love Milfs: Transmigrated to a World Where Milfs are Hated

Eren dropped the heavy sling of chopped wood into a small chamber beside the kitchen furnace, then headed straight for the bedroom. He slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him—but not before glancing back to make sure Mira wasn't following.

Once alone, he scanned the room and spotted the chunk of lye soap resting atop a wooden stool. With a deep breath, he pulled off his top—still damp with sweat and stained with blood—and laid it flat on the slatted wooden floor, spreading it out with care.

Now... let's get this going.

Grabbing the lye soap, he began scrubbing the bloodied fabric.

Rub…

Rub…

Schhh… schhh…

The gritty sound of cloth grinding against cloth filled the small space. Eren's jaw tightened—if Aunt Mira hears this and comes to check...

He picked up the pace, driven by urgency and a strange energy humming beneath his skin. The system's unknown pills were still kicking, and his arms moved faster than he meant them to—every scrub packed with unconscious force.

Rub…

Rub…

Ruuu—schhkk—tear.

He froze.

Oh sht.*

Meanwhile, back at the tavern:

A party of five sat gathered around a round wooden table while Mira worked in the kitchen, taking their orders through the netted window as she prepared their food.

"Two big plates of wild meer," said a broad-shouldered man. "And… hey Chib, you want some beer? Liquor?"

"It's only noon, Maed," the younger man—Chib—replied flatly. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather stay away from liquor until we reach the South Front."

Maed groaned, already annoyed. "Ugh, why'd you have to bring that place up? Just say you don't want a drink. Don't ruin the mood with foul omens."

He turned back to the window. "Keep it four liquor, lady."

While the banter echoed across the tavern, the other three members of the group remained relaxed, lounging in their chairs as if time wasn't real.

One of them—a young woman—stood out. Elegant posture, calm expression. Her hair was a soft shade of green, her eyes a stark, unreadable black. She sat there quietly, almost regal, observing the tavern with a look that said: This place already belongs to me.

Seated next to the green-haired girl was a young boy named Chib. Though still in his teens and notably short, Chib carried himself with quiet confidence. A hefty axe rested at his side—too large for someone his size, yet it felt right on him. He had firmly voiced his decision not to drink today, his tone final but calm.

On Cline's other side sat a brown-haired girl named Tera, her eyes closed as she melted into the curve of her chair. Her back arched comfortably against the polished wood, clearly savoring the rest and the feel of the tavern's warm atmosphere.

To Tera's left was Ark, a fellow magic user. Like Cline and Tera, he carried a magical focus—but while Cline wielded a slender white staff attuned to wind magic, and Tera gripped a rugged earth-toned wand pulsing with earthen energy, Ark was different. His magic crackled.

He sat casually, snapping his fingers, again and again—each snap sending a flicker of fire from the world beyond.

Snap.

"Can you hurry it up already, lady? We've got to cross the southern stretch by nightfall—gah!" Maed grumbled, shifting in his seat.

Snap.

"I'm getting impatient here."

Snap.

"Agh, this is driving me insane. Why the hell do we have to head toward the Southern Front? Damn it. Damn it all!" he shouted, clawing at his scalp and nearly ripping out what little remained of his already thinning hair.

Then came the usual—the rehearsed—the one thing Ark loved more than anything.

Snap.

"Stop it! You freak-head! Would you stop doing that ALREADY?! "

"AGHHHH!"

Silence fell.

Cline opened her eyes at the outburst. Tera stirred in her seat. Chib glanced over, frowning but saying nothing.

They all carried the weight of the same grim reality: soon, they'd face the monsters of the Southern Front. The last thing any of them needed was a constant reminder of it.

But then—

Snap.

Another flick of Ark's fingers. Another fire flicker.

To everyone's surprise, Ark didn't seem the least bit affected. Not a hint of fear showed in his face. No tension, no hesitation—just casual rhythm, like he wasn't even going to the Front.

Maybe he really didn't have that part of his brain that processed fear.

Or maybe… maybe he had mastered the art of muting it, drowning it under absurd rituals like this. Finger snaps. Fire sparks. Some kind of mental override. And somehow—it worked.

"Arghhh, you fire-head," Maed snapped, rising from his chair and grabbing Ark by the collar. "Can you stop doing that?! It's itching my ears. And I swear—it's not in a good way."

His face was red, eyes bloodshot, breath heavy—Maed was boiling over.

Ark, meanwhile—just stared.He just stared at Maed.

Then, his gaze slowly shifted… to his hand.

Maed, followed his gaze, boiling over.

"I swear to god! One more—just one more snap and I'm going to crush you with my boulders."

That's right—Maed wielded stone magic. A branch of Earth magic that dealt in raw, brutal force: stones and boulders.

Ark didn't blink.He just looked at Maed—dead-eyed, calm.Then slowly raised his left hand… right next to Maed's ear.

"I swear. Do that again, and you'll see the last of it."

They stared—locked in a dead-eyed standoff.

Then—

Snap.

Maed's eyes went bloodshot—rage flooding his face.

Ark leapt back.

All hell—about to break loose.

"The gods above and beyond this world. The Water that creates the world. The Sun that beseeches it. And the Gods that look over it. This humble—"

Crash.

Suddenly, Maed's head was slammed into the floorboards--mid-incantation.

Ark looked casually to his side.

Chib—the one Maed had been lecturing just seconds ago—stood with his hands raised above Maed's head.

Cline stared dead-eyed in Maed's direction.

"Why you little..." Maed muttered—not to Ark, not to Cline, but to Chib. His hands were still up, evidence enough that he was the one who'd brought Maed down.

"Sorry, Maed," Chib said, his head slightly bowed, but without any hint of guilt or hesitation. "Boss ordered so."

"Maed," Cline said, lifting one leg over the table as she sat casually atop the wooden chair.

"Don't dare forget who's in charge here." As she said it, there was the faintest trace of a smile—of pride—but she didn't let it show. Her face now held a look of anger. A warning sent directly to Maed.

And Maed understood.

Chib rose from his knees and sat back in his chair.

"Tch," Maed hissed, returning to his own seat with a scowl.

Snap.

The sound came from Ark's side as he dropped lazily into his chair.

"And you, Ark!" Cline said, turning toward him.

"Stop that."

"As you say, m'lady," Ark replied, a calm smirk on his face as he finally let the snapping rest.

Meanwhile,

From the other side of the window, Mira hesitated.

"When will that child come..." she mumbled, eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in the tavern.

She wasn't the kind of woman to push her nephew toward danger. But somehow, just his presence here gave her strength.

Even doing nothing—Eren was a support she clung to.

Not just physically. Something more. Something deeper. Over the past five years, she'd grown so attached to him that nothing else could quite compare.

As the food neared readiness, she debated whether to step out and intervene herself.

And then, from behind her—a voice.

Bold? Maybe.

Reassuring? Forever.

"Aunt Mira. Is something the problem here?" Eren's voice came soft but steady as he stepped inside, noticing the slight furrow in her brow as she stared out the window.

Mira startled, turning around—only to find her one and only beloved nephew standing there.

A gentle smile bloomed across her face.

"Oh Eren! You're finally here. What took you so long?" Mira said, the calm slowly returning to her face as she smiled at him, visibly relieved.

"Oh, it's nothing," Eren replied with a hesitant smile. "I thought... while I was at it, I might as well wash some clothes."

Mira, puzzled but still warm, gave him a soft smile."You didn't have to do that. I usually get to it all at once in the morning. You just leave your clothes there—I'll take care of it."

Eren opened his mouth to speak—to clarify something. To confess, even.But he didn't.

He knew Mira wouldn't be upset. She wouldn't scold him. But he still kept it in.

"I'm alright, Aunt Mira. Sometimes... washing your own clothes teaches you a bit of humility. Not that I'd admit it out loud too often," he said with a small laugh. "It's not that bad. If you want, I could wash yours too from tomorrow."

His eyes flicked briefly to the apron she wore—drenched in sweat."And that sarashi... it's soaked through. You might want to switch it out. I can take care of it, if you'd like."

There was something else beneath his words.A quiet thought.'Maybe I just want to see how that sarashi—holding back the most formidable thing across both worlds—handles the pressure. Or maybe I don't. Depends on her answer.'

Mira gave him a puzzled look.

And then, a smile. The kind that hinted she understood more than she let on.She stepped forward and gently patted his shoulder.

"Haha, Eren, I didn't know you were so good at jokes," Mira said, smiling as she turned toward the wooden slab where the prepared, garnished food rested. "But thank you for caring. Still, it doesn't matter much when you already take care of the big things—and most of the small ones too. Let me at least handle the rest, won't you?"

Eren simply watched her, smiling faintly.

Though I wish you'd understand faster... it's fine. If you want to take it slow, Aunt Mira—then so be it. Because at the end of the day... I'll be the one who takes you.

His eyes dropped to her figure as she moved forward to grab the plates.

And that ass... the way it jiggles with every step, barely hidden behind a thin cloth—that too will be mine, Eren thought, pulse quickening.

His hand drifted forward, slowly reaching—intending to slap it low and play it off as an accident. A mistake. Something innocent. Something she'd never suspect from someone who'd never even glanced at her that way before.

But just as the air between them narrowed—

Mira turned around abruptly.

Eren jolted back slightly, caught off guard.

"Umm… Aunt Mira… this…" he stammered, trying to collect himself.

Mira blinked at him for a moment, puzzled, then—without skipping a beat—handed him two plates.

"Eren, please take these to the table with the five seated," she said gently. Then, with a faint pause, recalling his earlier words, she added, "We'll talk later. Customers first, okay?"

She walked beside him toward the narrow gate.

"Take these plates too on your next run," Mira said as she leaned forward, reaching beneath the slab to pick up the cleaned serving trays.

Her ass jiggled with the motion—full, shapely, barely restrained by the tied cloth that hugged her hips. The view completely filled Eren's vision, teasing the line between temptation and restraint.

I swear I can't take it anymore. Tonight... either this ass, or me, in bed, Eren vowed, his thoughts blazing as he turned on his heel and rushed toward the customers, forcing himself back into focus.

He served the remaining plates in smooth sequence, placing them on the table with practiced ease.

As he did, a boy—probably a little younger than him—leaned forward and asked, "Hey bro."

Eren turned to him, curious.

"If you're taking this much time just to serve one table, how are you gonna handle it when the battalions come through? You know, when all the adventurer parties heading to the Southern Front pass by?"

Eren blinked, tilting his head slightly, confused.

"The battalions? Adventurers? What are you talking about?"

It made no sense.

According to what he'd pieced together from this body's memories of the past five years, this tavern rarely saw more than a hundred people—even on its best day. The town was rural, quiet, mostly used as a connection point between the cities and the southern front. Nothing much ever happened there.

At least… not until now.

Only the clergy or southern recruits—mostly the rich kids—were sent to the front. Not because it was glorious. No, the opposite.

There wasn't much of a threat down there.

The wilderness beyond the southern edge was tame at best—low-level monsters, easily handled. That's why it became the go-to dumping ground for nobles who had no influence left, or rich families whose children couldn't escape the kingdom's mandatory two-year military service.

If you had enough political weight, you could get your kid into the capital's safer zones or even behind a desk. But if you didn't?

You sent them south.

So, hearing this—that entire battalions and waves of adventurers were heading there?

It felt like overkill.

Something was off.

Eren's eyes narrowed. "Is the kingdom trying to push back the wilderness again? Expand its territory?"

Again.

The word left his mouth instinctively.

Because the last time the kingdom had tried that—pushing into the deeper wilds—they'd paid a heavy price. But that was a tale buried in the past. A different time. A different king.

Chib, hearing Eren, stuffed another bite of meat into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed hard, and spoke through a full mouth.

"Again? What do you mean again? The king might be a moron, but even he isn't in a position to try something like that. Forget expanding—the wilderness is already pushing in on us. It's all the soldiers can do to hold the line."

He licked the grease from his fingers, shaking his head.

"The king's hands are tied so tight, even the Overlord's legions might be called in."

That word.

Overlord's Legions.

It echoed in Eren's ears like a chime struck too hard.