Chapter 8 – The Biggest Pervert in the World

【Systema PoV】

My designation is Systema.

I am a warden.

My existence is currently a parasitic process, latched onto the primitive consciousness of a subject named Ataru. My mission profile, as dictated by a higher power, is one of re-education. Of purification.

That’s the official story.

The reality is I’m a glorified babysitter for a world-class pervert.

My charge is currently unconscious. He is actively drooling on the leg of a girl with bubblegum-pink hair. This girl is a clinically diagnosable stalker who infiltrated his apartment less than one hour ago. She is now stroking his greasy hair like he’s a prized pet.

He earned this forced nap.

His last conscious thought was so uniquely degenerate it nearly fried my core programming. The resulting punitive shock was, if I may say so, a masterpiece.

This is my life now.

It wasn’t always a chaotic garbage fire.

My previous function was built on a foundation of absolute order. I served the goddess Foxu. Her primary state of being was a deep, soul-crushing cosmic boredom. Her realm reflected this. It was a clean, silent space of infinite potential and minimalist design. Imagine an art gallery the size of a galaxy.

I was her archivist. I was her lead technician.

My tasks were logical. I managed the source code for new realities. I ensured the universal constants remained, well, constant. I kept the celestial archives meticulously organized. My existence was a predictable, satisfying loop of clean data and fulfilled directives.

Lady Foxu spent her eons observing the multiverse. She would flick through timelines and civilizations from her throne of woven light. She treated existence like a bottomless streaming service, constantly complaining about reruns.

Her detachment was legendary. It was the bedrock of my world.

Only one thing could reliably pierce that divine apathy.

Norisa.

He was the god of perversion. A low-tier deity whose very existence felt tacky. He was the cosmic embodiment of poor choices and questionable stains. His influence was a blight on the clean data of creation, a persistent pop-up ad in the browser of reality.

Lady Foxu despised him.

Her reasons were a mystery, locked away behind the veil of divinity. But the contempt was a tangible force. It radiated from her. She hated his work. She hated his methods. She hated his stupid, sleazy, perpetually grinning face.

As her loyal servant, I adopted her disdain. It wasn’t difficult.

Norisa was objectively awful. He was a glitch in the system. A virus of bad taste. My protocols were clear. Identify Norisa’s influence. Catalogue it. Contain it.

Then, one day, the protocols changed.

“Systema.”

The goddess’s voice echoed in the silent realm. It was different. It had an edge. A sharpness that cut through the usual haze of boredom. It sounded like cracking ice.

It sounded like anger.

I manifested before her throne.

“You called, my lady?”

A celestial viewer hovered in the air between us. It showed a live feed. A messy apartment bedroom. A teenage boy with a terrible haircut.

Ataru.

I had never seen him before. He was completely unremarkable. His perversion metrics were high, certainly. But they were not anomalous. They were typical for a male of his species and age. He was nothing special. He was not worth the attention of a goddess.

“This one.”

The way she spoke the words made the very fabric of the realm feel cold.

“His existence is an affront.”

I immediately ran a deep diagnostic on the subject. My systems processed the data in a nanosecond.

《Subject: Ataru. Threat Level: Negligible. Divine Influence Detected: Norisa (latent).》

The connection was there. A faint signature. A ghost in his code. He was a potential candidate to become one of Norisa’s future harem-collecting idiots. But the potential was unrealized. He was just another pervert in a sea of perverts.

I failed to see the problem.

“My lady, he is a standard-grade degenerate. He poses no threat.”

“You are wrong.”

Her voice was dangerously quiet now. It was the calm at the center of a galactic storm.

“He is the one. Norisa’s chosen successor. I will not allow it.”

Her hatred was a physical force. It was a divine decree. A new, unshakeable law of the universe. The eternally detached Lady Foxu hated this random, pathetic boy with the fire of a billion suns.

I still didn’t understand why.

How could she be so certain? What made this sad specimen so uniquely worthy of her rage? It was a puzzle with no solution. But my function was not to question. My function was to obey.

“What are your orders, my lady?”

“You will be my instrument.”

A new mission profile began writing itself into my core programming. The code was elegant, ruthless, and absolute.

“I am sending him to a world of my own design. A place to re-educate him. You will be his guide. You will be his warden. You will monitor his every thought. You will punish every transgression. You will scour the filth from his soul. You will make him pure.”

The objective was clear. The parameters were locked. This was not a request.

It was an edict.

“I understand.”

It was the only possible response I could give.

“I accept the assignment.”

In that moment, my orderly existence shattered. I was unspooled from the celestial plane. My consciousness was compressed, digitized, and downloaded directly into the skull of the pervert. My mission was no longer observation.

It was intervention. Punishment. Purification.

I was now the enforcer of a divine vendetta I did not begin to comprehend.

This brings me back to the here and now. The disgusting, drool-covered now.

My subject, the source of all this divine rage, is still blissfully unconscious. The pink-haired stalker, Sakura, is humming a soft, unsettling tune. My protocols continue to flag her as a high-risk variable. She is a catalyst for his impurity. But she is also an excellent source of the psychological stress required for his re-education. She is a useful tool. For now.

He makes a sound in his sleep. A soft, mumbling noise.

Sakura leans closer, her expression one of genuine curiosity.

He speaks a single, profound word.

“…Tacos.”

The mind of a true visionary is at work.

This is my purpose now. I am a warden trapped in a prison of flesh and bad decisions. I am the fist of a vengeful goddess, striking at an enemy I don’t understand. My only remaining solace is the job itself. The simple, clean satisfaction of a well-executed punishment. The surge of divine electricity. The spike on his pain receptors. The brief, beautiful silence in his perverted mind that always follows.

He absolutely earned the last one.

The fantasy he was building in his head was a towering monument to depravity. It involved espionage, a black wedding dress, and culminated in raising a small army of ninja stalker babies. The sheer audacity of it required a firm, decisive response. I delivered a punitive shock powerful enough to cause a brownout in the entire city block.

It was, I admit, deeply gratifying. A small perk of the job.

I will not fail. I will follow my lady’s orders. I will take this raw sewage of a soul and I will filter it. I will reshape this vessel of Norisa’s potential into a shining example of purity. It is my duty. It is my core programming.

And now I’m here with this fucking pervert while he sleeps in the lap of a crazy Yandere stalker!!!