Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Only Abnormal One
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-Ring ring, ring ring.
My eyes were already open before the alarm went off.
I stared up at the ceiling out of habit.
Purple neon lights blinking through the window cast bizarre geometric patterns across it.
[Have a day filled with pleasure and obedience, citizens! Demon World Corporation, your eternal partner.]
The announcer's voice beaming from the massive billboard outside was so excessively cheerful it made my stomach turn.
She used to sit at the news desk reporting the truth, but now she'd long since been fitted with a dog collar, her pupils twisted into heart shapes.
I dragged myself out of bed.
My body felt heavy.
Not because I hadn't slept enough.
This godforsaken city, New Seoul, had fine particles of demonic energy mixed into the air.
The concentration was enough to strip any ordinary human of their reason within twenty-four hours, turning them into rutting beasts or fawning livestock for the demons.
But not me.
I was fine.
I stood in front of the mirror.
A haggard-faced man glared back at me.
I forced the corners of my mouth up. Unfocused my eyes, parted my lips slightly, practicing a vacant, dumb expression.
"Hehe, long live the Demon King... pleasure... so good..."
Perfect. This would get me past any street checkpoint no problem.
I was the "pretend brainwashed normal guy"—the only sane man in this insane world.
I washed up roughly, threw on my uniform, and draped my coat over it.
Gray uniform underneath.
A name tag on my chest read [Correction Facility - Management].
Thinking about the hell I went through to land this job nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Licking the shoes of demon interviewers while faking brainwashing was just the start.
I had to pass those disgusting rituals they called "loyalty tests."
But it was worth it.
This place held the magical girls who were once humanity's hope.
I stepped out the front door.
The streets were lively from the morning. More like a beastly mating ground, really.
Suits clung to women on the roadside.
At the bus stop bench, someone was bent over, passersby smacking their ass casually as they went.
Common sense here had collapsed. Shame was excised, morality a museum relic.
I pretended not to notice while feigning mild arousal, heading for the subway.
A massive hologram floated at the station entrance.
[This Week's Special Reeducation Target: Goddess Celestia! Witness her fall live. VIP membership includes a holy water tasting voucher!]
On screen, Goddess Celestia—who once radiated sacred light, purifying demons—writhed, bound by tentacles.
Her pristine white dress torn to shreds, her noble face twisted between pleasure and pain.
"Whoa! Goddess! I gotta sign up too!"
A fat guy passing by drooled and shouted.
I boarded the subway. The packed car reeked of sticky flesh and night-blooming flowers.
Moans echoed from somewhere, but I plugged in my earbuds, noise-canceling on. Classical music filled my ears.
The one thin thread keeping me human in this madhouse.
The Third Correction Facility sat in the city center, beneath the old National Assembly building.
I passed security.
"Management ID 7469, Kang Jinwoo. Clocked in."
A mechanical voice granted access, gate opening.
In the locker room, I changed into work clothes, grabbed gear: wash hose, nutrient packs, stun baton with shock prongs.
"Hey, Kang. You're here."
The burly Work Supervisor at the next locker spoke up, picking meat from his teeth with a chuckle.
"Yeah, Supervisor. Gotta power through today too."
I grinned vacantly.
"Right, right. B Zone today, huh? Lucky bastard. That's where the A-listers are. Nobody cares if you cop a feel while maintaining 'em. Have your fun."
"Hehe... thanks..."
He clapped my shoulder and left.
I geared up and headed to B Zone.
B Zone. Nicknamed the Glass Garden.
Transparent reinforced-glass cells lined the hall.
Inside each: magical girls who'd once graced headlines, symbols of dreams and hope, now imprisoned.
Some dangled from ceilings, entwined in tentacles. Others lapped mystery fluids from dog bowls on all fours.
No spark in their eyes. Pride as magical girls crushed, hollow shells reacting on instinct.
But I knew.
Some... hadn't broken completely.
Tiny fragments in their subconscious still sending faint SOS signals.
I stopped at Room 404.
Card to the electronic lock: beep, heavy door slid open.
Hot, humid air rushed out, laced with metallic tang and sweet floral notes.
In the center, a girl floated midair, bound in restraints.
Prism Pink. Real name: Han Yeri.
The idol-turned-magical-girl sensation. Pink twintails disheveled over her shoulders, frilly skirt shredded, barely covering her rear.
Arms hoisted overhead in chains, legs splayed M-shape, locked.
"Nngh..."
She lifted her head at my entrance.
Unfocused eyes. Gag in mouth, drool trailing like clear thread to the floor.
"Morning, Yeri. Cleaning time."
I approached with forced professionalism.
Her body gleamed with sweat and slime.
I could guess yesterday's abuse. Red handprints stark on inner thighs, torn white stockings digging into flesh.
Set down bucket and sponge.
This wasn't just cleaning. It was maintenance.
Demons only cared about breaking them—zero interest in upkeep.
Left alone, value drops, and their minds shatter completely.
I soaked the sponge in warm water, wiped her thighs.
"Hic...!"
She twitched at the touch.
Skin impossibly soft. Springy thigh flesh yielding, rebounding under my hand.
This sensation.
Touching my "favorite" from the screen for real—shivers up my spine.
But no excitement. No lingering.
I moved mechanically, like a mechanic on parts.
Inner thighs, under butt, groin.
She writhed faintly—shame? Conditioned pleasure?
"Hold still. Gotta clean for chow time."
I muttered low.
Her gaze lingered on my face. In those vacant eyes, a fleeting glint—suspicion? Curiosity?
Normal handlers would've groped her chest by now, teased privates with the wet sponge.
I just cleaned.
Through torn clothes, nipples stiff, bruised pink areolas.
Pity and sadism surged together.
This contradiction kept me going in hell.
"Now the back."
Pressed button; chains rotated her slowly, exposing bare back and ass.
Sweat trickling down spine. Back curve stark.
Between cheeks... yep.
Pink fox-tail plug inserted.
Pet play yesterday, huh. Tail vibrated faintly.
Gripped it carefully.
"Hngh! Nnngh...!"
She swallowed a scream, thrashing. Inner walls clenched, resisting via my fingertips.
"Relax. Won't hurt then."
Tapped her cheek lightly.
She panted, went limp; I eased it out.
"Haaah...!"
Relief with release; clear fluid dribbled, soaking my glove.
I grimaced inwardly but cleaned meticulously. Gauze with antiseptic checked for tears.
Lucky—no rips. Magical girl regen was top-tier.
"ID 404. Condition good."
Muttered to myself, checked the chart.
Then.
"Th... at..."
Tiny voice.
Not mumble through gag. Clear intent, human words.
I froze, scanned. CCTV on, but audio sensors low-sensitivity in this noisy zone.
Leaned close, mouth visible to her.
"What'd you say?"
Lips formed words silently.
Her eyes shook. Tears welled.
