Chapter 201: Correct Usage of an Onahole 1. Raise the Fist (2)[R-18]
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 201: Correct Usage of an Onahole 1. Raise the Fist (2)[R-18]
“...Director?”
“....”
“Director?”
Slide—
As Laplace blankly turned her gaze toward the voice, Anya was looking at her with a worried expression.
“...Anya?”
“Yes, Director... Um... are you alright? I’ve called you several times, but you didn’t answer...”
Laplace let out a short, silent sigh.
She had tried her best to hide it, but it seemed her condition was poor enough for even Anya to notice.
“I am fine. I was merely lost in thought for a moment,” Laplace said, her expression turning cold and composed once more. “Anya, more importantly, have you found all the materials that need to be organized before the semester starts?”
“Ah, yes... I’ve done it for now. I’m not sure if I did it right, though... Hehe.”
Anya rubbed the ends of her blue bobbed hair sheepishly, subtly avoiding Laplace’s gaze.
“Usually, Gaur is the one in charge of organizing these kinds of materials. I’m sorry.”
“....”
It wasn’t a particularly satisfying answer...
However, for the current Laplace, Anya’s mere presence was more helpful than her actual work performance.
She felt that if she were left alone in this Disciplinary Committee office, ‘That Thing’ would come to mind again.
“No, there is no need to apologize. I should be grateful that you came out during the break to help with documents I would have had to handle alone.”
“O-oh, no!! If you call, Director, I’ll come out anytime!!”
Anya replied brightly, waving her hands.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she glanced around the room.
“Anya, did you lose something?”
“Ye-yes? Ah, no!! Just... well, it’s just...”
Anya hesitated for a moment before speaking cautiously.
“Well... while I was organizing the documents, I noticed that bastard... I mean, the ‘Special Inspector’ worked a lot even while we were resting... and looking at the cycle, I thought he might show up today... A-ah, no!! It’s not like I want to see a man who wears such strange perfume or anything!!”
“Perfume...? Does the Special Inspector wear such a thing?”
「 Special Inspector 」
One of the many masks used by the Dominator, just like 8WanksADay◆.
Of course, all the activities of the ‘Special Inspector’ in the documents Anya checked were actually handled by Laplace and reported under the Dominator’s name.
She couldn't bother someone who would one day place the Empire—no, this entire world—under his feet with such trivial matters.
“Huh? He wears it quite often... Every time he’s in the office, there’s this... flower...? Scent... like... Ah! No! Really, I don’t care at all!! In the first place, I prefer gir—Hyaaa?!”
Letting out a strange shriek, Anya fanned herself with her hands as if trying to cool down her flushed face.
“A-ah! By the way, Director. How is Brother Terras doing? He’s been staying only in the Imperial Palace, so I haven’t seen his face in quite a while!”
“....”
It was an incredibly awkward change of subject, but for Laplace, it was a topic difficult to refuse.
“...Of course, he is doing well,” Laplace replied, her lips curling slightly. “Along with Sister Valentine, they are getting along ‘quite well.’”
“Well, I suppose so. Those two have been close since they were young.”
It wasn't a lie.
It was true that Sister Valentine and Terras were getting along ‘quite well’ in the Imperial Palace, exactly as the Dominator had commanded.
However, that ‘getting along well’ was in a completely different direction than what Anya was imagining.
Perhaps interpreting Laplace’s faint smile as a positive sign, Anya continued.
“This break, I was dragged along to Sister Salome’s performance and did nothing but clap... What did you do during the break, Director?”
It was a casual question, but for Laplace, even a glancing blow was a critical hit.
‘What... did I... do?’
Laplace recalled her daily routine.
Waking up in the morning and piously performing Morning Belly Punch Masturbation while thinking of the Dominator’s face, Gallery management, Gallery management, Gallery management, Afternoon Worship Masturbation, and then Gallery management again...
Excluding essential activities as an Imperial Princess, she spent most of her time on masturbation and Gallery management.
“Di-Director! You don’t have to answer if it’s difficult! Of course, someone like you, Director, must have done something incredible for the future of the Empire!”
Noticing she had made a mistake, Anya hurriedly nodded and returned to organizing the documents.
‘....Anya, you will never know.’
Just what kind of terrible battle the Dominator is fighting in places unseen.
And that I am the only being capable of understanding even a fragment of the Dominator.
Thump— Thump—
As she looked at Anya’s oblivious face, a secret sense of superiority bloomed from deep within Laplace’s lower abdomen.
But that rising superiority was immediately replaced by self-loathing.
‘Yes... even though I am the only one... who understands... the Dominator’s... pain....’
Clench!
As Laplace tightly balled her fists, her nails dug into her skin.
It was loathing toward herself for failing to properly carry out the duty of sub-manager bestowed upon her by the Dominator himself.
Just thinking about the state of the Gallery, which she hadn't managed for three days, made her stomach churn.
‘I am...’
Magical Girl of Justice◇
The blue tag next to her nickname was the symbol of a sub-manager personally granted by the Dominator.
When she first received that blue tag, her brain trembled at the fact that the Dominator had personally bestowed a ‘status’ upon an onahole like herself.
In fact, before the ‘Manager’ appeared in the Gallery, she had taken the lead in maintaining order, and before she knew the Dominator was the manager ‘8WanksADay◆’, she had even secretly envied that role.
But...
The Gallery was cold.
The weight of a manager was far heavier than Laplace had ever imagined.
────────
[Author: UseNiceWordsOnly■]
[There are still bastards who think admins work for free lol][6]
fck, logically speaking, it’s not like someone’s holding a gun to their head. Isn’t it weird to be an unpaid eraser for disgusting images while staring at the posters' shtposts until your eyes bleed? You don't even get paid, and if you make one mistake, you get cursed out by the Gallery and have to run the ladder. Who would volunteer for that? lololol
ㅇㅇ(118.42): Fr fr lol. I heard these guys get 3.7 million Elis a month after taxes.
ILoveTenantFarmers■: But what if they were forced to do it at gunpoint?
ㄴUseNiceWordsOnly■: Then just die.
────────
Compensation?
Naturally, no such thing existed.
Even if she spent over sixteen hours a day looking at the Gallery, deleting disgusting images and posts about deviant fetishes like Childhood Pure Love or Salvation Pure Love, nothing came back to her.
Of course, Laplace had never desired compensation.
As an onahole, serving the Dominator was a natural duty.
...Then, as a manager, did she at least have honor or power within the Gallery?
────────
ㅇㅇ(176.28): Hey!! You fcking btch!!
ㄴMagical Girl of Justice◇: ?
ㄴㅇㅇ(176.28): Since when did we start banning for lewd pics in the Gallery?
ㄴMagical Girl of Justice◇: ...The ‘Comic about getting a REWARD for completing a MISSION’ from a moment ago was not a lewd pic ban, but a disgusting image ban.
ㄴㅇㅇ(176.28): Ah, I fully understand.
ㄴㅇㅇ(176.28): Now f*ck off.
ㄴMagical Girl of Justice◇: [Gallery-con of a Magical Girl giving a thumbs up]
ㄴMagical Girl of Justice◇: [Gallery-con of a Magical Girl looking depressed after half-turning into a frog]
────────
Not at all.
Far from honor or power, she didn't even receive the bare minimum of respect.
Rather, the title of sub-manager was merely an object of ridicule and criticism.
“Kuh...!”
Recalling the Gallery, Laplace bit her lower lip.
The disgusting images that appeared incessantly from God-knows-where, and the spam posts that went up whenever people were bored.
The countless Gallery users who fought for hours over irrelevant topics like whether mint chocolate is delicious or if pineapple pizza is blasphemy.
‘...Dominator, just what kind of battle have you been fighting until now?’
She knew that with her dull brain, she could not dare to see the Dominator’s grand design.
Nevertheless, she couldn't help but question what meaning this chaotic mess of a Gallery held.
Since the Dominator couldn't possibly enjoy the role of a manager, it was certain that even the chaos unfolding in the Gallery was part of a great plan...
But at least as a ‘human,’ Laplace found it utterly incomprehensible.
“...Haa.”
Of course, it was true that Laplace had a desire for ‘Self-Destruction.’
However, that was strictly about wanting to be forcibly violated, used, and broken by the Dominator’s overwhelming ‘Power’ no matter how much she resisted or begged for forgiveness; she didn't want to be ‘consumed’ in this manner.
Despite this, Laplace endured.
Under any circumstances, the Dominator’s command was absolute.
She was merely an onahole to be broken if the Dominator wished to break her, and used if he wished to use her.
However...
‘Ugh...! My head...!’
‘That Thing’ she had seen a few days ago was not something Laplace could handle.
At first, she thought it was just an urban legend floating around the Gallery, like ‘Uncapped Grape-flavored Cola.’
Even Laplace, who spent nearly sixteen hours a day lurking in the Gallery, had never witnessed it personally.
And she figured that even if she did see it, she was used to all sorts of disgusting images in the Gallery, so it wouldn't move her much.
But ‘That Thing’ was something that far transcended Laplace’s expectations, understanding, and common sense.
“....”
Was it said that the ‘Dragons’ that existed in the Dark Age received love and blessings from the world?
If so, ‘That Thing’ must be the exact opposite of a ‘Dragon.’
A form seemingly crafted by gathering only malice and curses from the world.
A horrific something that made one’s very foundation of existence feel denied and one’s mind feel scorched just by looking at it.
Rustle—
Laplace unconsciously stroked her silver hair.
She couldn't remember its shape or appearance other than the fact that it was simply horrific, but one thing was branded into her mind like a stigma.
It was a color so bright that even the silver hair of a Mapleflower felt dark in comparison...
It was ‘Pure White (純白).’
