The Judddak Admiration Society (2)

Do you believe in the Head Mod?

One day, a post bearing that exact title appeared on the gallery.

It was phrased like the sleaziest cult pamphlet imaginable.

Yet before long, it garnered an explosive amount of attention, boldly staking its claim right at the top of the Hall of Fame.

Naturally, the initial reception was freezing cold.

In a crumbling world on the brink of annihilation, the term “cult” brought to mind nothing more than avarice, predatory opportunism, and rampant criminality. Shady sects had already sprouted like weeds across the wasteland, inciting revulsion wherever they went.

The community's chilly response was only natural. Yet oddly enough, the more users engaged in conversation with them, the more they realized these people operated on a completely different wavelength.

They didn't collect tithes by force.

Offerings were purely voluntary.

Those words stirred ripples of confusion across the forum, but talk, of course, was cheap.

Most dismissed it as just another run-of-the-mill racket. Surely they financed their organization through underground illegal trades and extortion.

Yet everyone’s expectations were shattered in the most unexpected way.

The members of Jusamo—the Head Mod Admiration Society—covered their entire operational budget through honest labor and craftsmanship.

And they were extraordinarily diligent.

Their artistic department, in particular, was on another level: custom commissions, lifelike sculptures, serialized web novels, and more.

Voluntary offerings, zero coercion, and an impeccable work ethic? The general gallery populace began warming up to them considerably.

“I can’t even find a valid reason to ban these guys...”

The only real grievance was that they poured all that boundless talent into drawing and carving statues of me. Yet, irritatingly, they walked the razor's edge without crossing any explicit rules. Just as I was agonizing over whether to step in or let them be, a familiar adversary charged into the arena.

It was none other than the Church—whose veins bulged with primal fury whenever religious topics were brought up on the board.

As always, the Church fired the opening salvo.

Having served as the central pillar of faith for the majority of the continent throughout history, the Church had plenty of experience suppressing heretical sects. Once again, they moved to crush the nascent movement with sheer numbers and practiced media control.

The fatal flaw, however, was that this world was no longer an ordinary medieval society.

They might be labeled a cult, but they had yet to commit a single crime against society.

“...Except against my mental sanity, that is.”

Regardless, the Church found itself completely backed into a corner with nothing to say. In truth, their track record was thoroughly tainted by corruption, forced tithing, and the exploitation of vulnerable believers—crimes grand enough to fill an entire library.

Having decisively lost the war of words in full view of the public, the Church resorted to its oldest, simplest recourse.

The Church had launched an inquisition—a literal witch hunt.

When the Adrian Empire fractured, more than eighty percent of the ecclesiastical leadership had elected to remain within the imperial capital of Adrian. Still clinging tightly to their established privileges, the clergy unleashed their enforcers to seize and terrorize any cultists operating within the city.

Retaliation was swift. In Kellierton, where the Jusamo presence was thickest, an explosive counter-reaction erupted.

The online flame war had spilled out into real-world bloodshed.

What had begun as a petty dispute between religious sects was now dragging uninvolved bystanders into the fray, fanning the flames of discord across cities. It didn't take long for the disturbance to knock on the doors of the moderation team.

The entire board was teetering on the precipice of absolute mayhem, and my sub-moderators were eagerly awaiting my decree.

As the collateral damage began creeping into the lives of ordinary citizens, anxiety and panic rippled through the general populace.

“Well, putting a stop to this isn't that hard.”

Fortunately, I possessed an infallible disciplinary tool passed down through generations in a certain compulsory organization back in South Korea: collective punishment.

And as always, that method delivered immediate results.

The solution had presented itself.

The sudden disappearance of Cola from the marketplace sent shockwaves through the community. The gallery plunged straight into howling hysteria.

The damage was most severe among the Jusamo cultists, who drew their peace of mind and inspiration from the crisp carbonation and refreshing kick of modern soda.

Yet even in the midst of their despair, the finger-pointing raged on. The Church and the cultists merely redoubled their mutual hatred, exchanging bitter recriminations.

Naturally, there was a simple remedy for that as well.

I stripped another item from the shelves.

And when it came ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to Castella cake, the Church could no longer afford to sit proudly on its high horse.

Indeed, that very Castella sponge cake had been serving as the Church’s sacred consecrated bread.

The atmosphere reached an absolute fever pitch.

“Well, this should be enough to make them reflect on their behavior, right?”

The Church, having suffered at my hands before, was exceptionally swift to tuck its tail and submit. Now, all that remained was for the self-proclaimed Head Mod Admiration Society to show some remorse.

...Yet they were quiet.

Far too quiet.

“What's going on?”

Could they really have gone silent this abruptly?

Right on cue, a user whom I presumed to be from Jusamo out of the blue sent me a direct trade request.

“Hmm. Out of nowhere?”

Curiosity piqued, I accepted and opened the barter chatroom.

“Are you trying to solicit personal favors so openly?”

This was the most audacious attempt at nepotistic networking I had witnessed since the World Tree incident. Before slapping him with a ban, I paused to see what nonsense had compelled him to use a system trading window as a direct chat line.

The question he typed out, however, was truly a sight to behold.

The bastard was attempting to doxx me right to my face.