50. Victory of the Plan — [Quest Achievement Rate: 85%]

I stared fixedly at the number. 85 percent. The visual shock of the costume change. And the physical constraints and forced spread-leg pose created by that sexy succubus outfit. Up to this point, it had all been tension passively emanating from the subject in an environment I had thoroughly controlled.

But to complete the debut that the system demanded, to fill that final percentage, I needed to take one step further. Domination beyond mere voyeurism. The pinnacle of that depraved thrill where the perverts of the shadows manipulate the broadcasts of the light with money, luring that little brat straight into the abyss of her own shame.

I pulled up a chair, sat down, and placed my hands on the keyboard. On one side of the monitor was Sol's underbelly stream, the Lucy channel, with about a hundred viewers. I logged out of the account that was signed in as "store manager oppa." Then I logged into the anonymous sub-account I'd prepared in advance.

The physiology of underground forums is predictable. Especially for a budget-conscious underbelly streamer like Sol, who knows the terror of money, nothing is a more reliable trigger than the iron hammer of capitalism.

Beyond the glass window, Sol had just finished a game round. Her legs were spread wide apart because of the tail wedged into her ass crack, and she was panting roughly. The insides of her thighs were red and inflamed from chafing against the garter belt.

I opened my wallet and topped up the streaming cash generously. Then I fired the first blow at her above-ground stream screen.

"I've been gaming too much and the tension's dropping. Let's do a proper Zero-Two dance for Lucy, eyes on zero! I'm a pro streamer—if I've raked in this much on underbelly, I gotta react. Can't do it?"

The electronic girl's clear voice rang through the booth. Sol's hand, reaching for her tumbler to take a sip of water, froze in mid-air. Her gaze locked onto the 200,000 won figure in the corner of the monitor.

What would normal Sol have done? In her baggy training pants and hoodie, she would've cheered inwardly, humming a tune. Fuck yeah, sweet deal!! The screen would show her big-titted Lucy character, so in reality, she'd just wiggle her ass a bit in mock dance and call it done. It wouldn't be embarrassing at all. Just a safe capitalist reaction hiding behind 2D puppetry.

But her reality now was completely different. What she was wearing was a pervert cosplay look consisting only of barely-there leather scraps covering her chest and a thong panty with zero defense. And in this studio was her kind oppa who'd praised her as a cute girl—me. I was standing beyond the transparent glass window, arms crossed, filming her every move under the guise of a photoshoot.

Embarrassment slowly spread across Sol's youthful face. She bit her lip hard and sneakily turned her head toward the control room. Our eyes met. Her pupils shook wildly.

Dance by shaking her hips in this near-naked state right in front of oppa? That blatant shame was etched plainly on her face.

But 200,000 won. A pretty big mission amount for underbelly Sol. And I'd scratched her pride as a pro streamer. With her tomboyish, competitive personality, there was no way she'd ignore the provocation and skip the mission.

In the end, Sol set down the mouse with trembling hands.

"Ugh! Oppa gave 200,000 won, so Lucy's gotta dance for him, of course!"

Her voice, forcing tension through the mic, came over the speakers. She wobbled up from the chair. The demon wings ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on her back quivered, and the tail on her ass shook.

Like a creaky robot, Sol started clumsily snapping her hips. The above-ground chat exploded in cheers. The 2D character on screen was nailing the Zero-Two dance seductively.

But the reality my camera lens captured was stark naked. Her face flushed beet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠red. Tears welled in her eyes from humiliation. The ultimate shame of stripping and doing a cheap dance in front of her close oppa crushed her body.

The VVIP chat spewed text like a riot.

Up 5 percent. Okay. Hypothesis confirmed.

As soon as Sol finished dancing and flopped back into the chair, I prepped the second blow.

"Zero-Two form was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠insane. Next, wink at the monitor and say 'Oppa, satisfied with my body?' Can't do that? Gotta escape underbelly."

The electronic voice boomed through the speakers, and Sol's panting body stiffened. Her mouth gaped open reading the 300,000 won and mission on screen. I could clearly see her swallowing a curse through the transparent glass.

That kind of blatant, lewd line was overkill even for her usual Lucy concept. Let alone in this getup, right in front of me watching.

Sol clutched her burning cheeks with both hands and slammed her head into the monitor. Ah, not gonna do it? Too spicy? But this shouldn't be that bad...

But the survival instincts of a 29-year-old gamer girl tamed by capitalism exceeded my expectations. She forced her head up, squinted her eyes awkwardly, and winked at the monitor. Leaning forward deeply, her meager tits gathered inside the thin bra top.

"O-oppa... satisfied... with Lucy's... body...?"

A crawling voice. Forced nasal tone trembling at the end. Right after the line, she collapsed face-first onto the desk, clawing at her head. Her whole body screaming she wanted to die of embarrassment.

Up again. Just 8 percent left. I held my breath and immediately paid 500,000 won. Time to hit the extreme of shame forged by capitalism's hammer—the final peak.

"Finisher incoming. Climb on the chair, kneel on all fours. Shake your ass and meow 'nyaaang~' once. You're a pro, right? 500k shot."

The massive amount on screen. But Sol's face drained of color far worse than before upon reading the mission. Kneel on the chair on all fours?

She couldn't even glance my way, her trembling hands frantically typing on the keyboard. A notification popped in the messenger window in the corner of my monitor.

Even in text, I could picture her tearful pout perfectly. She couldn't give up the huge 500,000 won from AnonymousBigShot. But showing her near-naked succubus ass shaking on all fours live to her close oppa? She'd lose her mind from shame.

I cheered inwardly and typed a firm reply.

Sol confirmed the message and thunked her forehead on the desk. The air in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠booth grew heavy. The above-ground chat was urging her—why no reaction, scamming 500k?

Finally, she bit her lip until it bled, then cautiously lifted one knee onto the chair. The garter belt's leather straps stretched taut, digging into her white thigh. With the other knee up, she gripped the armrests with both hands. All fours like a crawling beast. Head bowed in shame, her upturned ass line stabbed straight at the VVIP camera angle more obscenely than ever.

The demon tail between her cheeks shot up, displaying the soft flesh and secret curves inside the black thong without restraint. The ultimate lewd, pornographic pose born from the zero-defense succubus look.

"Ny... nyaaang..."

A crawling voice. On the verge of sobbing from shame, her cute hips twitched side to side with a trembling nasal whine.

The dopamine-soaked perverts went berserk, dumping cash and flooding the chat.

Just 2 percent. Fuck... why tease like this and stop? Damn... can't push a spicier mission now—she obviously won't do it. This is the limit. Yeah. Pure words won't cut it anymore. Fine. If reason's the issue, I'll sever it myself.

I reached out to the translucent system window floating in the air, manipulated the menu, and called up the app's power.

Without a moment's hesitation, I pressed the confirmation button floating in the air. A notification that 4 billion won had left my account, and an invisible force enveloped Sol beyond the glass.

Her shoulders, shuddering on all fours, twitched rigidly for an instant. Through the screen, her pupils looked subtly unfocused.

The app's power to paralyze rational judgment in extreme stress and surrender to primal impulses. The perfect seasoning to maximize gaslighting efficiency.

I immediately dropped the final bomb on the above-ground stream.

"Real finisher now. Let's see Lucy's mamacita milkers. Climb on the chair, spread legs in M-pose. Gather your tits soul-deep with both hands and say 'Oppa, wanna eat Lucy's titties?' 1 mil shot."

1 million won exploded in underbelly. A blatant pervert mission aimed squarely at the voluptuous mamacita Lucy character. To above-ground viewers, just common spicy text. The 2D puppet just strikes a pose.

But reality? To perform, Sol had to spread her legs wide in this near-naked succubus getup and grope her own tiny tits. Right here in this studio with me watching blatantly.

Impossible normally. She'd spit money to escape that madness.

But now her reason was perfectly clouded by one button press. Her lips quivered. Only the massive 1 mil and the huge impulse to end this quick dominated her brain.

Sol wobbled on the chair, adjusting her position. Unable to sit properly because of the tail on her ass, she perched precariously on the edge and pulled both knees up. M-shaped wide spread. The garter belt dug into her thighs, and the secret valley inside the black thong lay defenseless toward the camera.

She raised her trembling hands to her meager tits barely covered by the thin leather scrap. To look like the busty Lucy in viewers' imaginations, she dug her fingers hard into her pale flesh, desperately squeezing out cleavage.

That pathetic, shameful writhing to gather nonexistent tits. The ultimate gap only the shadow perverts could savor—unknown to above-ground.

"Haaang... O-oppa... Wanna... eat... Lucy's... titties...?"

A sticky nasal whine blending shame and unwanted pleasure, beyond even her control, flowed through the speakers. The app's power and capitalism birthed the subject's perfect submission—flawless.

The VVIP chat went haywire, text unreadable, screen plastered in cash rain.

The crystalline system message window floated in the air. I grinned ear to ear. My perfect planned victory.