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“Oh my goodness, is that really a witch?”

In a dark yet oddly lively clearing of the forest, the witch Estella was being admired by someone.

The witch, pointing at herself, spoke. Although she was tired of hearing it and cursed her very existence, this time she didn’t mind it at all.

“…You’re a witch too, you know.”

In fact, the woman in front of her, who was so fascinated by her, was also a witch.

And she was quite the senior witch too.

She was Morone, the first witch of the Gallery, who had caught the Head of the Gallery’s attention long ago.

Now Morone was comfortably settled in the Morone’s Hut, which she had arrived at under the special care of the Head.

“Make yourself at home!”

“…”

Estella was amazed by Morone.

It wasn’t just because they were both witches.

“How can you be so full of life?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a witch, right?”

A witch, yet brimming with energy.

A witch, yet positive.

It was such a strange contradiction.

The phrase combined words that shouldn’t fit together, and that was Morone.

“Look around you.”

Morone smiled and spread her arms wide.

Estella slowly looked around.

“Oh?”

The yard was overflowing with ingredients.

Ingredients that would be hard to come by piled like mountains.

The inside was even more impressive.

There were all sorts of things: pepper, sugar, salt, frog legs, pig liver, and much more.

“Wait, how…?”

It was only then that Estella noticed Morone’s outfit too.

The fabric was something she had never seen before, captivating her.

Could there really be such a thing as a rich witch?

“I can’t believe something like this exists!”

A hut brimming with all these ingredients and guaranteed safety.

“It’s like a paradise.”

-Thump.

Estella’s heart, a witch who was all about emotions, raced wildly.

Just then, Morone approached confidently as if she knew everything and said,

“This used to be my home where I lived with my mother.”

“So…”

“Now, thanks to the Head, it’s a safe house for me.”

“Why?”

What exactly is a witch?

Of course, with ample support, Morone managed to create healing potions.

But this wasn’t enough to satisfy Estella’s curiosity.

Before the lavish support, she must have been a rather insignificant witch.

It couldn’t just be brushed off with the excuse of having talent.

“The Head is… well, the Head.”

Someone like the Head would get hurt and drink the healing potions?

She’d rather believe that he had dealings with monsters.

At that moment, Morone shrugged.

“I don’t know either.”

“Huh?”

“How would I know the Head’s intentions? I’m just doing my best to repay him.”

Then Morone stared right at Estella.

“You, as a junior, should know better.”

“J-junior?”

Surprised by the sudden shift in hierarchy, Estella understood her meaning.

After all, she was an emotional witch.

She was well aware that the Head helped her without any dark desires.

No, it was rather startling how transparent his intentions were.

Hadn’t he practically said it outright?

Head*: Go do your thing

Estella: Huh?

Head*: If you become a gallery expert, that’d be great. I don’t mind what potion you make.

Estella: But, what if I fail?

As a witch, Estella was too busy surviving to have the luxury of making potions economically or mentally.

Then the Head replied.

Head*: I’m investing in a witch, you see?

Head*: Stocks rise and fall, you know.

Head*: I’m the Head. If Gallum doesn’t survive, the Gallery won’t either.

Estella: No…

The more she conversed, the more she felt lost.

“I don’t know why, but…”

It felt like she was chatting with someone from another world, escaping her harsh reality.

Estella quietly said, reminiscing about that moment,

“Okay, I’ll try my best to make some potions.”

“Great! That’s wonderful!”

Seeing Estella determined, Morone paused her clapping and asked,

“But what will you make?”

Estella was an emotional witch.

She wasn’t just any common witch.

Curious, Morone inquired, while Estella stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before answering.

“…Uh, I’ll just do my best to make something.”

A faint smile bloomed at the corners of Estella’s lips.

*

Dragon Dragon X: (Coffee certification meme)

Dragon Dragon X: (Extreme death dragon meme)

Suddenly, Dragon Dragon X sent me a gallery meme featuring his own image.

Head*: What in the world is this meme?

Dragon Dragon X: This is a meme dedicated to me by mortals. What do you think of it? ㅇuㅇ

Head*: … ㅇㅇ It’s not bad.

“I’m so jealous.”

This was the perfect gallery meme.

From the quality of the tiny picture to the variety of situations it could be used in.

Most importantly, a meme perfectly optimized for medieval humor.

“I wonder if someone would make one for me.”

But that was just wishful thinking.

All I got were mixed breeds.

-Why doesn’t the Head use the memes we gave him?

ㄴ Seriously, I worked hard for a month!

ㄴ Seriously, it’s just a meme of a giant frog with huge eyes and no context!

ㄴ Head*: How can I use a meme of a cute girl character? ㅅㅂ

I did receive a ton of emojis.

The problem was that all of them were cute girl themed with just the Head’s name slapped on them.

Dragon Dragon X: Could I ask you to make some coffee again tomorrow morning, if possible?

Recently, I had gained a new task.

Every day, I brewed coffee for Dragon Dragon X.

Literally, I brewed coffee and delivered it right before his eyes.

“Well, I can do that much…”

But why me?

Perfect pour.

They say that a good person brews good coffee.

It felt strange being asked for help, especially since I only drank instant coffee or coffee sticks before.

Head*: Brew and drink it!

One cup of coffee was worth about 21 posts in the Gallery.

As I tried to protest a little, the replies were always the same.

Dragon Dragon X: That means you need to get your act together…!

Dragon Dragon X: Seriously, what kind of boss runs his shop for only two hours a week?

Dragon Dragon X: Plus, as someone above you, I should show some leniency to you, my little dragon! ㅇuㅇ

“Well… he does have a point.”

I was a Gallery expert spending sleepless nights working.

The cost of that was just a cup of coffee a day, which wasn’t too bad.

They said my brewed coffee was different in taste and aroma.

-Knock knock.

Just then, a knock on the door was heard.

I turned my head to find Penny peeking in.

“Hey, Malfight.”

“Huh?”

“Do you have the next part of that story?”

Once upon a time, she was so hooked on fairy tales, but had she read every fairy tale out there already?

In Penny’s arms was a book.

‘The Sorrows of Young Werther.’

“This one is weird. The content is perfect, but the main character dies in the end.”

“Oh, right.”

“So I’m dying to know how the author resolves this in the next part.”

Penny said with her eyes wide open.

It was as if she hadn’t even considered that this might be the ending.

“Nope.”

“…Huh?”

“Sorry, but that’s the ending.”

“Liar.”

Penny’s jaw dropped.

With wide eyes like a rabbit, she rushed over and plopped down on my bed.

“Unbelievable.”

She buried her face in the pillow and mumbled.

“I didn’t think it would end like this. It doesn’t make sense, right?”

“Um…”

For some reason, many famous classic novels had tragic endings.

This helped people remember the stories for a long time.

But it seemed like Penny had taken a severe blow.

Penny turned her head slowly to look at me and then suddenly said something strange.

“So can you rewrite the ending for me?”

“What?”

“Malfight’s story is always fantastic, but this ending is just not it. Killing him off is ridiculous!”

Penny clutched my face with her hands, looking so earnest.

“Please…?”

“But I’m not the author!”

Well, I could change the ending if I wanted to.

As long as it was a story I had written, that is.

But this wasn’t a story I had crafted.

I wasn’t brave enough to just change the ending of a masterpiece.

“Liar.”

“Do you know Johann Wolfgang von Goethe?”

“You wrote that, remember?”

Even mentioning the name didn’t get through to her.

“In a world with such lackluster literature, who else but you could write such a piece?”

Penny shook her head, looking as if she couldn’t believe it or refused to accept it.

Yet, despite her denial, the truth remained true.

After all, why would a guy who just lounged around in bed and browsed the Gallery be seen as the author of such classics?

“I swear on the Gallery.”

“…!!!”

“I didn’t write it.”

“No way.”

And there it was, me invoking the Gallery as proof.

Which meant it was the truth.

Realizing she couldn’t change the ending, Penny slowly slumped onto me.

“That’s impossible. Bel…”

“Who’s Bel?”

“It’s my nickname for Werther.”

Anyway, seeing Penny in such distress, I was convinced.

“Alright, I won’t bring this up again for now.”

Last time, the reaction to the fairy tale book had been so good.

Not to mention there was that strange red book that had caused chaos before.

With that in mind, I was thinking of releasing a novel at the marketplace, but that almost got out of hand.

If even rational Penny was reacting this way…

“The Werther Effect.”

Suicide contagion effect.

Of course, in modern times people might question if that kind of thing was real.

But in this medieval setting, it was entirely possible.

Besides, in this era of poor literature, distributing such a book would likely stir up emotional turmoil.

“The Gallums losing their emotions after reading my rage-inducing posts is more than enough.”

Just in case, I quietly stored the pile of novels I had ordered into the warehouse.

Plus, this Gallery didn’t need any such bait or firewood.

It was a Gallery of doom, with incidents and accidents constantly fueling the dopamine highs.

Tarldru: Brother! Are you there?

Head*: ㅇㅇ?

Tarldru: The great rift in the mines we talked about has opened! No, it’s exploded!

Head*: ?

A rather, no, very big problem had erupted in Kilgroth, the dwarves’ nation.

*

Deep within the underground kingdom of Kilgroth,

a dwarf was downing a shot in front of the rift that had appeared in the Third Mine.

“Gulp…!”

A hefty 90-proof drink.

Normally, he wouldn’t drink on the job, but given the dizziness the mine was causing, it was permitted as per the rules of standing guard against such a large rift.

“Ahhh… I could stand guard for life!”

To be able to drink freely while working, especially something this strong…

The dwarf was quietly mumbling to himself in the vast mine.

-Swish swish

“Huh?”

Something swept past quickly.

No, it was in and out.

A hand resembling a person’s momentarily appeared from the rift and then vanished.

The dwarf rubbed his eyes and chuckled.

“Just seeing things.”

The rift was one-way.

Unless a wave was involved, nothing could pass through from the other side.

Besides, if a rift was this size, there would surely be an immediate reaction to it.

While he casually thought this, pouring more drink for himself…

-Whoosh!

“Gah…?”

Suddenly, a hand surged up again, piercing through the dwarf’s heart.

A woman then stepped through the rift,

her alluring dark green hair and provocatively revealing outfit captivating his attention.

Then there were those emerald eyes gazing directly at him.

In disbelief, the dwarf muttered,

“Well, that’s quite bold…”

As the dwarf bled out and collapsed, the woman stepped out gracefully,

exploring the mine’s internal structure before saying,

“Head, could he be here?”

With a foreboding smile, she vanished back into the rift.

And before long, creatures began to pour out of the rift.

 

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