Chapter 24
Chapter 24
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Bourgeoisie
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But no matter how precious a luxury item it might be, I do not accept tribute.
Simply reliving that glorious feeling from the past was enough.
"My heart is grateful, but you eat it. I do not accept tribute."
When I was in the Demon Realm, as its lord, I rejected every single tribute that came my way.
Because the quality of the tribute was poor?
No.
Among those tributes were all sorts of luxurious and mysterious treasures that even I couldn't hide my astonishment at.
It was because I judged that accepting them would prevent me from carrying out my duties impartially.
Having ascended to the throne as the lord of the Demon Realm—the pinnacle existence overlooking all below—
my gaze had to remain perfectly fair and equitable.
I feared that accepting tribute would breed favoritism in my eyes.
I prided myself as the greatest being in the Demon Realm, but I was not a flawless existence.
Even I could err, and there were surely some areas—however minor—where I fell short of others.
Thus, I constantly strove to perfect myself.
And that was another reason I refused tribute.
A sudden curse flew in at my refusal, but even left alone, it didn't get blocked.
It happened because Madness, who had been handling manager duties, was out.
I casually clicked the mouse a few times to block it, then hazily recalled Madness.
If there had been no manager from the start, that would be one thing.
But having one and then losing her definitely created inconveniences.
If Madness landed a new job and completely quit managing my streams, I'd need a new manager.
Lunch...
Yeah, my stomach does feel hungry.
No real appetite, but to keep my energy up, I should eat something.
I smacked my lips a few times, then tossed a casual question to the viewers.
"What do you think about mukbang?"
"Doesn't seem like you hate it all that much, so I'll eat while streaming."
Viewer count hit 30. On a weekday afternoon with no prior announcement, that's about right.
No sense of disappointment over the low numbers.
It's only natural.
"Then wait just a moment. I'll go grab some food."
With that, I stood from my seat and scooped rice from the cooker.
Stale rice—no real flavor—but its nutrition wasn't much different from fresh stuff, so whatever.
Habitually reached for the salt to sprinkle on top, then flinched.
I'm showing my meals on stream—surely plain rice with salt wouldn't fly.
Even for appearances, I should pair it with at least one side dish.
Conveniently, there was something I'd been saving in the fridge for a special occasion.
With footsteps a touch heavier from my condition, I approached the fridge, opened it, and pulled out a single egg.
A roasted egg.
I had no idea if it paired well with rice, but it was a precious score—something Madness had slyly nabbed last time, claiming it was past expiration.
Now that I knew the humiliation Madness endured scavenging discarded food, it felt even more valuable.
I brought over the salted stale rice and roasted egg, placing them below the cam.
"Is raw egg over rice actually a thing?"
One day, if the chance came—and if I made bank, upgraded the stream setup, and stabilized my life—I'd give it a try.
Without a second thought, I cracked the egg hard against my head! then slowly peeled the shell.
The brownish interior emerged, carrying a faint off smell.
Maybe from being past expiration and then sitting in the fridge for over a week.
But hey.
If it tastes decent, no big deal.
"Does it matter? This is already a feast."
What I usually eat...
"I sprinkle salt on plain rice."
"Plain rice with salt."
They're making a fuss over something so trivial—maybe that's why they freaked out over the slap incident last time, which wasn't a big deal. A reasonable suspicion began to form.
"It doesn't fill me up, so I occasionally drink sugar water and scrounge whatever else."
The human body needs so damn much—it's a headache.
Furrowing my brow, I shoved a huge mouthful of rice into my mouth.
Cheeks puffed out, followed by a bite of roasted egg as a side.
The faint funky smell had me worried, but thankfully, it wasn't too weird.
Still,
I forced it down my throat and pulled a pained expression.
"Doesn't it just... stick in your throat too much...?"
"...This body's true streaming talent is mukbang, without a doubt."
Just sitting here doing nothing but eating, and donation bombs start pouring in.
I might actually have a knack for mukbang.
"Even with donations, cashing out isn't instant—it takes at least five days, and mine haven't cleared yet."
If I could withdraw donations right away, I'd have ordered chicken instead of this slop and shared it with Madness.
They're speaking without knowing, but I'm plenty frustrated too.
I swung my dangling legs in the air to vent, but my complaints went unseen and were lightly ignored.
Letting out a sigh, I finished the rice without dragging it out.
"All done."
"I'm full."
Forcing down more food when stuffed is just self-torture.
I lifted my shirt slightly and patted my belly—pat-pat—to show my satisfaction, but for some reason, the chat lit up again over nothing.
"Height...? 140cm, but anyway—I'm grateful you're worried, but isn't this a bit much fuss?"
I'd thought it odd for a while now.
At first, I figured my common sense was warped—but apparently not.
These guys were the ones overreacting.
My reasonable suspicion hardened into conviction.
I wasn't the weird one—they were.
Or...
A more plausible theory flashed through my mind.
"Are you all bourgeois?"
Yeah—if you're rich, of course this life would shock you. You'd have no clue.
And come to think of it, donating money to a stranger without any real bond? That's peak bourgeois behavior.
"No matter how I look at it, you're all bourgeois."
It was a snap judgment at first, but the more I said it, the truer it rang.
Yeah—these guys were definitely bourgeois.
"You've been making a huge deal out of perfectly normal stuff since last time."
"I feared I might be mistaken or messing up somehow—but no need."
I'd been worried.
Worried I'd screwed up again.
But no.
It wasn't me being weird—they were just suspiciously wealthy.
Hmph. I snorted, crossed my arms, and looked up at the cam.
This is why sheltered bourgeois kids are hopeless.
They get shocked by everything I do—how will they survive this wicked, loathsome world?
Even though they're clearly just as wicked as the rest.
Wonder why we're so different.
Something about having superior survival instincts made me feel a bit smug.
"You all need to live a little rougher."
Living in luxury your whole life sounds blissful,
but life can plunge you from the peak to this—like it did me.
So prepare for the worst-case fall, even if slim odds.
I'd learned that the hard way myself.
This was advice etched into my bones as a survivor.
That said,
a new question arose.
Why were there so many bourgeois in my stream?
The mystery resolved instantly.
It was simple, really.
Folks like me—"commoners"—don't have the leisure to watch streams.
So most viewers must be bourgeois with time on their hands.
It felt like I'd cracked some grand puzzle—pride welled up.