Since the moment he received the scroll, Bright has been thinking about a way to handle it.
How to present a permissible level of performance without driving himself mad.
At first, he only wanted to delay, and see if something might come up. His partner, though, gave him a surprise.
He had an idea. They wanted to see lust, then he will show them lust. Though he is not the main character, he is only the means.
The Dog-ear Boy didnât disappoint him, extensively demonstrating the phrase âburning with lust.â Using his gaze, his voice, his posture to exhibit his desire, yet at the same time he had to endure because of the order, helplessly praying for deliverance.
Itâs like a fine wine aging itself, or an artisanry gaining value as the ages pass, lust is all the sweeter in its release after its continual suppression.
Not only the spectators utterly lacking in self-control on stage, even Bright himself is affected.
You have to know that he started off thinking about all kinds of depressing things to stay awake.
This is a torture, for both parties, and both are the torturer.
The set up of a bet was outside of Brightâs expectations, but he was glad something is drawing attention away from himself.
Cutting your left arm, selling your daughter, whatever. Please donât look at me. Please forget me! Please just leave me with my tiny amount of dignity.
His sight lands on a point nowhere in the air. His hands overwhelmed by the feel of the soft and fluffy hair, his focus long since left his body.
Speaking of which, the body given by the game system was amazing. Willpower had an exceptional control over it. If it were his old weak urbanite body, he wouldnât have last 10 minutes.
Alright, he lied. 8 minutes.
⌠5 minutes. And no! Itâs not any less than that!
As time ticks by, the original lascivious atmosphere is gradually eroded by the gamblers.
âWhy isnât there a reaction yet? Is Sexually Inept actually inept?â
âHey, doggie, come on! No slacking! Use your tongue!â
Near the one hour time limit, the gambler shouts at Bright like a maniac, âshoot you fucker! Shoot!â He seems to want to dash here and do it himself, to squeeze the Wang Wang shaved ice out, but he was stopped by another man. âHey! No tricks!â That man cheered Bright on, âcome on! Just a second past one hour and Iâd win!â
â10, 9, 8, 7âŚâ Everyone counted down in unison, â2, 1! Itâs over an hour!â They were crowding around the man who lost, âcut your left arm! Cut it! Cut it!â
The gambler looks as if he fell into an ice cave, and terribly regretful. The hotel staff did not care about his struggling, and took away his bet.
The shower of blood and howl of pain inflames the people, and the atmosphere heats up again.
Someone takes up a toy similar to Dog-ear Boy, âhey, little guy, let me see if your technique is really that atrocious.â
Then he is quickly defeated.
âHaha! Youâre useless! Let me at it!â
âThose guys at the back! No cheating! Line up!â
Line up? Never knew you all were such model citizens.
Bright rolls his eyes at them sneakily, while lifting his head slightly as if unable to withstand his horniness, his gaze stealthily sweeping through the bigshots on the upper floor.
Thereâs more than before. Someone probably came back to see the ruckus after they heard the news. It looks like the number of people is still increasing. Maybe theyâve also started betting.
Bright closes his eyes for a bit, scolding himself for his own impulsiveness. He wanted to pinpoint the Shithead who set him up, but he suddenly realised there was nothing he could do.
The dog-eared boys throughout the venue all had their fill and some more. Even the cat-ears got a hearty meal thanks to looking similar; only Brightâs partner remained starving.
âYouâre savage. Heâs already crying so much.â The gambler who just won his bet said disdainfully; the arm he just won still lying on his legs, bloodied.
Bright is like, ââŚâ
His consciousness is sinking. Heâs almost at his limit.
Someone is expressing their admiration at him, and is trying to score, âhey, even the partyâs almost over. Youâre amazing, letâs have fun, you and I!â
Bright does not answer him. Seeing as how timeâs almost up, he let the boy whoâs desperately looking for food leave his body, and stands up.
âOpen your mouth.â He orders.
Bright is thinking of the childhood games he played with his friend where they threw snacks at each other and had to catch them in their mouths. Hm, his aim is still good.
Food dispensing, dispensing, dispensing⌠Why is there still so much of it?
Finally, the food is finished dispensing.
âClap clap clap.â A round of reserved applause comes from above. Bright lowers his head amongst the cheers of the contestants.
He has fallen to his lifeâs lowest.
Not long after, fate tells him, thereâs no lowest point.
The two main characters of the show were taken away separately. The Dog-ear Boy certainly looked appetising right now. Some aristocrat will sample him with pleasure.
As for Bright, he hadnât managed to sigh in relief before he has to face the biggest crisis heâs had ever.
He is taken somewhere like an interrogation room, strapped to an iron chair facing a gigantic mirror. Its four legs were weld onto the ground. It was exceptionally durable, because there was zero reaction when he tried to shake it earlier.
He is still in his shirt and trousers, but the mirror is emanating a terrifying aura. He feels as if he was completely naked.
The unsettling environment makes his hairs stand on end. The sound of something sliding on the ground comes from the back. Bright turns his head around cautiously, and sees that it is something similar to a robot. It slowly approaches Bright, puts a cold ring onto his little one, then retreats to the corner.
The unsettling feeling keeps strengthening and strengthening, fear grabs onto Brightâs heart like vines.
âAAAAAAAAAAââ!!â
Itâs electric current.
This time not even reciting the table of elements will help. He only lasted a short while before being expropriated. Though time feels stretched indefinitely long under the torturous procedure, he knows not that much time has passed. He lost completely.
Shame, fury and hatred boils over in his eyes. Bright knows he should hold it back for now, but he canât help it.
It must be him! It must be the Shithead!
That person saw through his goofing, became unsatisfied with him, so he is now warning him, you will do exactly as I want you to do. All struggles are futile. I can destroy you like this easily.
You motherfucker didnât even bother to show your face. How much are you looking down on me!
For the first time, Bright develops an intent to kill.
Not at zombies, or at beasts, but at a man.
Not a justifiable self-defence after he is attacked or cheated, but the most ruthless way of killing he can imagine.
The cold voices of the aristocrats can be heard talking behind the one-way mirror.
âHow surprising. He broke the record of holding out the longest. I think the previous holder was broken later, and we had to dispose of him.â The tone is casual, as if they were talking about uninstalling disappointing software.
Another voice says without much concern, âheâs pretty lively, still having the stamina to glare, keep going.â
âWhat terrible interests you have, Hopkin.â
Authorâs notes: Why not pervert together instead of perverting alone.