Chapter 167

Chapter 167

I Became a Gallery Manager in Another World.

Episode 201: The Correct Way To Use An Onahole (2)

“…Madam?”

“….”

“…Club President?”

Sseud-

As Laplace dazedly turned her gaze towards the direction of the voice, Anya was looking at her with a worried expression.

“…Anya?”

“Yes, Club President… um… are you alright? I’ve called you several times since earlier, but you haven’t responded…”

Laplace inwardly let out a short sigh.

She thought she was hiding it quite well, but it seemed her condition was bad enough for Anya to notice.

“It’s nothing. I was just lost in thought for a moment.”

Laplace, having regained her cold expression, spoke.

“Anya, more importantly, have you found all the materials that need to be organized before the school reopening?”

“Ah, yes… I’ve done it for now. But I’m not sure if I did it properly… hehe.”

Anya rubbed the ends of her blue bobbed hair, looking awkward, and subtly avoided Laplace’s gaze.

“Gaur is usually in charge of organizing these materials anyway. I’m sorry.”

“….”

It wasn’t a completely satisfactory answer, but…

For the current Laplace, Anya’s very presence was more helpful than her work skills.

If she were alone in this disciplinary committee room, ‘that’ would likely come to mind again.

“No, there’s no need to apologize. I should be grateful that you came out during the break to help with the documents I had to handle alone.”

“Ah, no!! If the Club President calls, I should come out anytime!!”

Anya replied brightly, waving her hand.

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she glanced around the disciplinary committee room.

“Anya, did you lose something?”

“Y-yes? Ah, no!! Just… no, that’s…”

Anya hesitated for a moment before carefully opening her mouth.

“That… while organizing the documents, that bastard… I mean! The ‘Special Inspector’ seemed to have worked a lot even during his break… and looking at the cycle, I was thinking he might come today… ah, no!! It’s not like I want to see a guy who wears such strange perfume!!”

“Perfume…? Does the Special Inspector wear something like that?”

One of the many masks the Master uses, -EightTimesaDay◆.

Of course, all the activities of the ‘Special Inspector’ in the documents Anya checked were processed by Laplace and reported under the Master’s name.

She couldn’t bother the one who would someday rule the empire, no, the entire world, with such trivial matters.

“Yes? He wears it very often… every time I see him in the office, there’s some… flower…? scent… like that… ah! No! I really don’t care at all!! In the first place, I prefer women over m… hyaaah!!”

Anya, letting out a strange scream, fanned herself with her hand as if to cool her flushed face.

“Ah! But, Club President. How is Brother Terrace doing? It’s been quite a while since I last saw him, as he’s always in the Imperial Palace!”

“….”

It was a topic change that was awkward to anyone, but it was a fire that Laplace couldn’t refuse.

“…Of course, he’s doing well.”

Laplace replied, slightly twisting the corner of her lips.

“He’s getting along ‘well’ with Sister Valentine.”

“Well, I guess so. The two of them have been close since they were very young.”

It wasn’t a lie.

It was true that Valentine and Terrace were getting along ‘well’ in the Imperial Palace as ordered by the Master.

However, the direction of that ‘getting along’ was completely different from what Anya imagined.

Anya continued, perhaps interpreting Laplace’s faint smile as a positive sign.

“I was dragged to Salome’s performance during this vacation and just ended up clapping… what did you do during the vacation, Club President?”

It was a casually thrown question, but it was a critical hit for Laplace just by brushing against it.

‘What… did I… do?’

Laplace recalled her daily routine.

Waking up in the morning, reverently morning “belly punch” self-pleasure while thinking of the Master’s noble face, Gallery management, Gallery management, Gallery management, afternoon worship self-pleasure, and then more Gallery management…

Aside from essential activities as a princess, most of her time was spent on self-pleasure and Gallery management.

“Club President! You don’t have to answer if it’s difficult! Of course, as the Club President, you must have done something tremendous for the future of the empire!”

Noticing her mistake, Anya hurriedly nodded and returned to organizing the documents.

‘….Anya, you will never know.’

How terrible a fight the Master was waging in a place she could not see.

And that she was the only existence who could understand even a fragment of the Master.

Thump- Thump-

As she looked at Anya’s face, which knew nothing, a secret sense of superiority bloomed from deep within Laplace’s lower abdomen.

However, the rising sense of superiority soon turned into self-loathing.

‘Yes… only I… while understanding the Master’s… pain…’

Clench-!

As Laplace tightly clenched her fist, her fingernails dug into her skin.

It was self-loathing for not properly fulfilling the duty of sub-administrator that the Master had personally bestowed upon her.

Just imagining what the Gallery, which she hadn’t managed for three days, would be like made her stomach churn.

‘I am…’

Justice’sMagicalGirl◇

The blue tag attached to her nickname was the mark of a sub-administrator personally bestowed by the Master.

When she first received that blue tag, her brain trembled at the fact that the Master had directly granted ‘status’ to an onahole like herself.

In fact, before the ‘administrator’ appeared in the Gallery, she had taken the initiative to maintain order, and when she didn’t know that the Master was the administrator EightTimesaDay◆, she had even secretly envied that role.

But…

The Gallery was cold.

The weight of the administrator was much heavier than Laplace had imagined.

[Writer: JustSayNiceThings■]

[There’s still some bastard who thinks the administrators work for freeㅋㅋㅋ][6]

F, logically, it’s not like someone held a knife to their throat, so isn’t it weird to be a free trap picture eraser while staring intently at the Gallery users’ sposts? They even live as unpaid slaves and get cursed at in the Gallery and have to do the ladder (likely referring to some form of apology or subservience) for even small mistakes, so why would they do that voluntarily?ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

ㅇㅇ(118.42): ㄹㅇ ㅋㅋ I heard these bastards get 3.7 million Ellis after tax.

Tenant Farmer Fan■: But what if they did it because someone threatened them with a knife?

ㄴJustSayNiceThings■: Then they die.

Compensation?

Of course, such a thing did not exist.

For more than sixteen hours a day, looking into the Gallery and deleting abnormally sexual content posts like childhood sweet love or salvation sweet love and disgusting images, she received nothing in return.

Of course, Laplace had never wanted compensation.

As an onahole, serving the Master was a natural duty.

…Then, as an administrator, did she at least have honor or power within the Gallery?

ㅇㅇ(176.28): Hey!! You fing b* over there!!

ㄴJustice’s Magical Girl◇: ?

ㄴㅇㅇ(176.28): Since when is blocking pornographic pictures decided in the Gallery?

ㄴJustice’s Magical Girl◇: …A moment ago, the ‘comic where you complete a MISSION and receive a REWARD’ is blocking disgusting pictures, not pornographic pictures.

ㄴㅇㅇ(176.28): Ah, I completely understand.

ㄴㅇㅇ(176.28): Go away.

ㄴJustice’s Magical Girl◇: Gallery emoticon of a magical girl giving a thumbs up.

ㄴJustice’s Magical Girl◇: Gallery emoticon of a magical girl halfway turned into a frog with a depressed expression.

Not at all.

Far from honor or power, she didn’t even receive the slightest respect.

Rather, the title of sub-administrator was merely a target of ridicule and criticism.

“Keuh…!”

Laplace, thinking of the Gallery, bit her lower lip.

Where on earth did they pick them up? The constantly appearing disgusting pictures and the spam posts that came up whenever they felt like it.

The countless Gallery users who fought for hours over irrelevant topics like whether mint chocolate is delicious or if pineapple pizza is blasphemy.

‘…Master, what kind of fight have you been waging until now?’

She knew that her foolish brain could not possibly grasp the Master’s grand plan.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but wonder what meaning this chaotic Gallery held.

Since there was no way the Master would enjoy the role of administrator, it was certain that even the chaos unfolding in the Gallery was part of a great plan…

But at least for Laplace, a ‘human’, it was an area she couldn’t understand at all.

“…Haa.”

Of course, it was true that Laplace had a desire for ‘self-destruction’.

But that was only a desire to be forcibly violated, used, and broken down in the face of the Master’s overwhelming ‘power’, no matter how much she resisted or begged for forgiveness, not to be ‘consumed’ in this way.

Nevertheless, Laplace endured.

In any situation, the Master’s command was absolute.

She was just an onahole for the Master to break if they wanted to, and to use if they wanted to.

However…

‘Keuk…! My head…!’

‘That thing’ she had seen a few days ago was beyond what Laplace could handle.

At first, she had thought it was just an urban legend floating around the Gallery, like ‘cola with the lid taken off that tastes like grape’.

Even Laplace, who spent nearly sixteen hours a day on the Gallery, had never witnessed it directly.

And even if she did see it, she thought she would be used to all sorts of disgusting pictures on the Gallery and wouldn’t feel much.

But ‘that thing’ was something that far surpassed Laplace’s expectations, understanding, and common sense.

“….”

They said that the ‘dragon’ that existed in the dark ages received love and blessings from the world.

If so, ‘that thing’ would be the exact opposite of a ‘dragon’.

A form seemingly forged by gathering only malice and curses from the world.

A horrifying something that, just by looking at it, denied the very foundation of existence and seemed to burn the mind away.

Sarak-

Laplace unconsciously touched her silver hair.

She couldn’t remember its shape or appearance, other than that it was terrifying, but only one thing was branded into her mind like a stigma.

It was a ‘pure white’ so intense that even Mapleflower’s silver hair felt black in comparison…