Ero Renaissance (3)
Out of nowhere, users who'd volunteered to handle the sorting for free weren't content with just that — they went and formed a temporary clan of their own.
I still wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but under the banner of fairness and impartiality(?), an entire deranged collective had decided to park themselves right next to my base…
And the result of that was this.
Watching what had started as a casual skin-collecting hobby balloon into a full-blown mega-event with over twenty thousand participants, I felt the weight of it all pressing down. The whole thing had gotten way too big.
On top of no longer needing people to mail submissions directly to me, I decided to hand the host role over to this "Vermouth" guy who'd gone and made a temporary clan for the occasion.
However…
Tragically, since absolutely nobody was willing to take the job even if it killed them, my attempt to dump the host role failed completely.
Ero Renaissance. (3)
And so, forcibly stuck as the event host, I spent a full week that way.
Sorting everything by myself was impossible, so I drafted not only Pashtura the lewd nun, but also—
"Marianne. What kind of outfit do you think would turn me on if you wore it?"
"What?!"
"Go pick some out."
"What?!"
"My, my."
—Marianne, who had long since blown past "friendly" into full-blown lovesick deredere mode; Griyanaar, THE reverse-bunny professor who'd created the original thirst-trap reverse bunny suit, plus Jessica… and finally Tiamat, who for some reason put a surprising amount of thought into costume design.
The end result of mobilizing all of them:
"Commander, we've finally finished picking them all."
"Mm. Good work, everyone."
Here I was, possessed into a game about fleet battles and base expansion, forced to grind my ass off screening dirty costumes — and the sheer absurdity of that fact left me feeling deeply unhinged. At the same time, there was this weird sense of satisfaction and accomplishment, like I'd actually achieved something. All in all, it was a thoroughly complicated mood.
But complicated feelings or not, as the semi-forced host I still had to announce the contest(?) results. So I sent the final selections — sorted with our superhumans — over to Vermouth, and had him post the results to the gallery.
And after that? Nothing particularly unusual happened.
No enraged users ramming their fleets into me or the temp clan, screaming about why they didn't win the grand prize or best-in-show. Nothing like that.
If anything… the whole atmosphere felt more "gentlemanly" than any event or contest I'd ever seen.