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Foot Odor Emerges: The World Submits
墨書 Inktalez
In the conference room, the cold light shone down like the unyielding glare of an operating room's spotlight, mercilessly illuminating Huang Haoran. He felt like a lab rat laid bare on an autopsy table, with nowhere to hide, awaiting the blade of fate to fall.
"Huang! Hao! Ran!" The supervisor enunciated each syllable of his name with sharp, piercing anger. "Are you here to work or to make jokes?! What is this?! Look at it yourself!"
On the projection screen, a solitary line of text hung awkwardly, a half-width comma blinking conspicuously like a red mark signaling a death sentence. The supervisor's finger nearly punctured the screen as his face twisted in rage, a near-manic smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "Is this your presentation? You can't even use punctuation? Huh?"
He slammed his notebook onto the table with a resounding crash that made the water cups tremble precariously.
The other colleagues in the conference room fell silent for a moment before whispers of laughter began to spread like a tide, drowning Huang Haoran.
"Seriously, this guy can't even type a comma?"
"Hahaha, did I hear that right? This kind of mistake needs our supervisor to point it out personally?"
"Wow, it's a miracle someone with this level of skill got into our company."
A female colleague lightly tapped her pen against the table, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Haoran, you must have just learned how to type, right?"
Some stifled their laughter to the point where their shoulders shook; others covered their mouths pretending to cough while they struggled to breathe from laughing so hard. One male colleague even pulled out his phone and whispered, "Hey, we have to remember this. Next time someone is in a bad mood, just look at this guy's presentation."
Huang Haoran's face flushed crimson, his ears buzzing as if the entire world was mocking him. His nails dug deep into his palms as he told himself to stay calm; this was just a small humiliation, an inconsequential public execution.
His lips slowly curled into a forced smile as if he were unaffected. "I'm sorry, Supervisor. I'll fix it right away." His voice was steady, even carrying a hint of humility, like a dog eager to please its master.
But inside, his heart had already been shattered by humiliation.
The supervisor snorted dismissively, eyes filled with contempt. "Consider this a warning. If it happens again, pack your things and get out!"
"Hahaha, pack your things and get out!" someone mimicked the supervisor's tone quietly, causing those nearby to burst into laughter.
Laughter echoed in the conference room, striking Huang Haoran's face like a whip. He lowered his head, gritting his teeth, swallowing all the humiliation deep into his gut and into the depths of his soul.
Huang Haoran returned to his seat, mechanically pulling out the chair and sitting down. His hands went back to the keyboard, continuing to type away at the endless reports. His gaze was somewhat vacant, his heartbeat still racing from the recent humiliation, but he told himself—he could not afford to lose this job. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the mocking voices out of his mind and focused on the mundane tasks at hand.
Before long, a folder was slammed onto his desk with a dull thud. Then came a second, a third, a fourth...
"Haoran, handle these for me; it's a good opportunity for you to practice," a colleague said with a friendly smile, though his tone dripped with an air of entitlement. "You’re not off work yet anyway, just help out."
"Yeah, let’s see if you can manage; otherwise, you might mess up even a comma later," another chimed in half-jokingly, prompting laughter from others in the room.
"Thanks for your hard work, buddy!" The last colleague placed a folder on top as if completing some sort of handover ritual before turning away with a sense of satisfaction, starting to pack up his things to leave.
Huang Haoran looked at the stack of documents on his desk, forcing a stiff smile. "No problem, it's just a small task." His voice was calm, almost devoid of emotion; only he knew that his fingers were clenched into tight fists beneath the table.
He glanced at the time; his phone screen lit up with the numbers 20:00.
Most people had already left; only a few stragglers remained in the office pretending to work late. In front of him lay five folders waiting to be sorted—tasks that weren’t even part of his job description but now felt like mountains pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.
Taking another deep breath, he tried to calm himself down and casually swiped open his phone to see if there was anything that could lift his spirits.
Instagram notification—[Goddess] has posted a new update.
He clicked on it and saw an exquisite handbag displayed in a shop window, illuminated by light that made it look particularly luxurious and elegant.
Beneath the post was a simple line of text:
"The color of this bag goes perfectly with my skin tone," he thought, his fingers effortlessly tapping on the shopping website. A quick glance at the price revealed it to be 88,000.
The glow of the phone screen illuminated his face, and his smile froze. It felt as if something had struck him hard in the chest.
Eighty-eight thousand...
After deducting rent and food expenses, along with sending a little money home for living costs, his monthly salary barely left him with enough to buy even a corner of that bag.
He stared quietly at the photo, imagining how proud and confident the goddess would look holding it, picturing her walking into a high-end restaurant, laughing and chatting with wealthy men. And what about him? Sitting in this damned office, staring at piles of paperwork that weren’t even his responsibility, struggling to keep his anger from exploding.
He took a deep breath, pressed the power button on his phone, plunging the screen into darkness. Then he lowered his head and opened the first file folder, beginning to input the cold data.
But he knew that the anger inside him was accumulating bit by bit, like a flood ready to burst its banks.
As night deepened, the city's neon lights flickered weakly, casting a dim glow on Huang Haoran's weary face. He dragged his heavy footsteps and slowly pushed open the door to his tiny rented apartment. The room was pitch black, greeted only by the cold air.
It was nearly 11:00 PM.
He didn’t turn on the lights; his body felt hollow as he leaned against the wall and slowly bent down to remove his leather shoes one by one.
Thud—
The moment his shoes hit the floor, the oppressive atmosphere that had built up throughout the day erupted. As he peeled off his socks, it was as if a seal had been broken. Instantly, a stench so intense it seemed to corrode the air surged forth like a malevolent spirit breaking through the gates of hell, spreading in all directions!
This stench coalesced like a thick fog, rapidly filling the cramped room. The air was almost visible with gray-green waves—the foul odor taking shape like miasma, slowly seeping into every corner.
For Huang Haoran, this was just another day. He had long grown accustomed to the terrifying stench that had been his constant companion since birth. One could even say that the smell had become a part of him, as natural as human breath. He didn't even furrow his brow; instead, he unbuttoned his shirt while yawning, preparing to take a hot shower in the bathroom.
However, the other residents of the apartment were far less pleased.
The odor silently seeped through the cracks of the door, spreading along the old apartment stairs. As the night breeze wafted through the corridor, it finally escaped through an open window, dispersing throughout the entire building. Almost at the moment the stench began to spread, horrified retching sounds echoed from above and below!
"What the hell?! What is that?! Whose garbage hasn’t been thrown out?!"
"Damn! Is that smell... is it a corpse?!"
"Cough cough cough—Who the hell opened that damn stinky box again?!"
"Good grief! How can this smell be worse than yesterday? Is there some kind of biochemical weapon leak?!"
There were even whispers in the stairwell: "Damn it, whose filthy socks are so rancid?! This apartment is unlivable!"
Huang Haoran listened to their painful retching and could even hear someone hurriedly slamming their window shut and another rushing into their bathroom to turn on the exhaust fan. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he wanted to laugh, but in the end, he merely shook his head lightly and muttered to himself:
"Tsk, these people are just too sensitive..."
He slowly walked toward the bathroom, turned on the showerhead, and let the hot water wash over his weary body. Steam filled the small space like a fog; however, no matter how hot the water was, it could not wash away the curse of stench clinging to his feet.
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